Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep by Katie Flanagan (e book reader txt) 📕

cells one by one. I have the power to end her pain.

Hurrying into my bedroom bathroom, I rummage through the medicine cabinet in search of the right pillbox. After a few frantic moments, I find it.

I pull out a knife and cutting board when I return to the kitchen. Pouring all the sleeping pills onto the wooden board, I chop them into tiny pieces before turning the knife on its side and pressing the pieces into a fine powder. Carefully removing the warm vanilla milk from the microwave, I set it down on the fake-granite counter next to the cutting board. Bridget painted the mug in preschool as a Father’s Day present. In wobbly red letters she had spelled, “DADDDY!” That mug has held my coffee every morning since.

I hesitate. I try to think what my life would be like without Bridget. Just imagining it makes me feel as if there is a huge hole in my body that can’t be filled. I can’t picture a life where I wouldn’t see Bridget’s toothless smile every day, or hear her giggle, or watch her discover something new about the world.
I remind myself that she is dying, no matter what. I have read all there is to read, and I know that there is no cure. The doctors have done all they could do. Bridget will leave my life anyway.

I try to accept that, but I feel something rising inside me, shouting against reason that there must be a way, that my daughter can’t die. Maybe if I just wait it out, they will find a cure that will save her.

The smell of freshly baked cookies is wafting across the kitchen, and I think back to the cookie trays. Tonight the strain of this disease was written across her face. Bridget is only starting to die, and now she knows it. All that is left for her is three months of deterioration. I have no way of comforting her, of protecting her. I don’t want her to have to live through her own death.

The kitchen is filled with the aroma of vanilla and chocolate chip cookies as I take a measured breath and brush the powder into the milk. Using a plastic spoon to thoroughly stir the mixture, I carefully carry the concoction to my baby.

Bridget is sitting patiently in her bed. She smiles up at me as I deliver the mug to her hands. “Thank you, Daddy. I love you.”

I force a smile, my heart aching. “I love you too, Baby.” I lean in and steal one last goodnight kiss. Her lips are warm and soft.

She sips the drink, her eyes lighting up. “This is good!”

I resist the urge to pull the mug away from her, to stop her, to keep her alive for me. I remind myself of her tears and sit quietly. She gulps the milk down quickly, and I worry that the hot liquid will burn her throat. Soon the mug is empty. She rests it on the bedside table before nestling down in her bed. I pull the covers up to her chin, and she moves her hands so that her fingertips are peeking out from the pink blanket in a shy wave goodbye.

Her eyes close, and I lay down in the space beside her to watch my baby sleep.
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Publication Date: 02-11-2010

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