It was quiet, with the exception of the white noise and the lullabies in the background. I lay next to her to stroke her back. It had already been ninety minutes of calling, "daddy...mommy." We took turns going up to try to calm her and encourage the sleep that was needed. As I scratched her back, her eyes grew heavy, yet they would not close. I thought to myself what a wonderful moment it was, to be with her in the quiet and calm of the night. There was safety and security with her during those moments, smelling her strawberry shampoo on her still wet head and feeling her soft skin. It was a moment between mother and daughter that was full of meaning while no words were spoken. Her heavy eyes would look at mine and there was a shared communication between us. It was about love and care and we both understood. We both felt it and savored it.
After several minutes of quiet communication, I let go, literally and figuratively. I left her, with her sleepy eyes and strawberry scent. She continued to hold onto my love just as I held on to hers as I left her room.
And then, there was quiet.