Witness

If I were a mystic, or given to mystical reflections, I would believe that the pain I’ve been dealing with as a father with Lyme disease is reflected in the light of my daughter’s eyes, that the deeper my suffering and the greater my willingness to surmount it on her behalf, the brighter her eyes, and the greater the love we share. Whether or not such a transaction is taking place, in a dimension whose outermost edges I can at best barely ascertain, something of note is happening in this house.

I am happy to be a witness to it.