At 3:07 am a cry pierced the night silence.  Clara's hunger pangs rang clear through the monitor and in a more muted manner from the door down the hall.  I waited a few seconds to determine if her cry was a one time affair when she rolled over or if she needed my attention.  The fuss continued and I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and pushed myself up.  I paused, seated on the edge of the bed, while my heart gave a few heavy thumps from being jolted away.  Lumbering to the bathroom to turn on the hot water, I steadied myself in the door frame.  After warming the water I made my way down the hall to Clara's room.  I found her perched on hands and knees, head down and eyes closed, crying quietly as she searched for the strength to keep herself lifted.

I picked her up and laid her head on my shoulder.  My hand patted around the bed feeling for the pacifier.  Clara sensed that I had found it and turned toward my hand with her mouth open and eyes closed.  Returning to the bathroom, the water had warmed and was ready for filling the bottle.  With Clara cradled in my left arm, nearly too long to fit there, I filled her bottle and screwed the cap on.  I covered the end of the nipple with my index finger and shook the bottle to mix the powder.  When I removed my finger the bottle emitted a quick spray on the bathroom mirror.

Clara and I made our way to the glider chair next to Cathy, the same chair where Cathy would nurse Clara if she needed a nighttime feeding.  I sat in the chair with Clara's head resting in the crook of my left arm and her feet touching the arm on the right side.  I hooked the pacifier on my left index finger and replaced it with the bottle in her open and waiting mouth.  Her eyes still closed, Clara drank deeply.  Clara extended her arms and spread her fingers probing for something to feel.  She found her hair and began gently pulling on a few strands.  Her left hand released its grip on her hair and moved toward the bottle.  


Clara's left hand, with it's impossibly soft skin stroked my right pinky.  The soft pad of her thumb explored the sharp edge of my nail.  She curled her tiny fingers around my pinky and gently pressed against the pad of my pinky with the edge of her thumbnail.  Her right hand wriggled through the opening in the crook of my arm and reach behind me.  She patted my back as she continued to drink.


The bottle emptied and Clara ejected the nipple with a light kiss.  The thin line of white formula between her pursed lips reflected the light from the window next to us.  I put the pacifier back in her mouth and lifted her to my shoulder.  I patted her back waiting for the burp that rarely comes.  Instead, always to Cathy's delight, my efforts to burp Clara resulted in my own little burp.  I returned Clara to her bed and laid her on her back.  She instantly rolled on her left side, bringing her knees and elbows together.  Clara was ready for a few more hours of peaceful sleep.


Every night as I sit in the glider, feeding Clara, I'm thankful for opportunity to care for her and love her.  I pray that this time that we have together when she in an infant will provide a strong foundation for our relationship as she grows older.  With mixed emotions I realize that were it not for Cathy's cancer I would never have had this opportunity to bond like this with my only daughter.


For the last ten years I've thought of cancer every day.  It was about this time in 2002 that Cathy noticed a lump in my neck.  At that time I knew that it was possible that it could be cancer, but I waited four long months for a diagnosis to be confirmed.  


In those days and in the days since I have asked myself and asked God, "Why?"  I ask why not from a sense of self-pity, but in a search for purpose.  What is the greater purpose for my cancer?  What is the greater purpose for Cathy's cancer?  In ten years of searching for those answers I have come to no definitive conclusions.  

I have learned that the answers are different for every individual involved.  Anyone who has had cancer knows that it doesn't just effect the victim, it effects that family and friends, as well.  In the case of my cancer, its purpose in my life and the purpose in Cathy's life may well be very different.  The same is true in the case of Cathy's cancer.


I have also learned that there may not be one big purpose that is gift wrapped for easy discovery and life revelation.  The purpose may be a long chain of tiny events that lead to the exposition of God's will in our lives.  While I hate that Cathy has this disease and must suffer the pain of its eradication, I am grateful for the bond that I now have with Clara, the bond that would not have been if Cathy continued to nurse her.  Would I trade this time with Clara in exchange for breast cancer to never have existed in Cathy's body?  Absolutely.  I know that for me, my bond with Clara is one positive part of the chain of tiny purposes during this awful time.  I pray that my eyes are open, as well as Cathy's, Jonah's, and Aaron's, to see the possibilities and opportunities that exist in the times of difficulty and crisis.  I pray also that God's will would be constantly woven through these chains.