“Tell me again.”

Sherri smiles as I hold her hand and she begins to speak softly. “His name is Sammy, for Samuel. It means ‘God heard’, and he’s our little miracle.”

“What will you do?”

“Everything. We’ll do everything, my love. I’ll take him to the farm. All the time, I promise. Your parents will tell him about you. As he falls asleep I’ll whisper in his ear of his father and his dreams for his boy. How he was loved before he was born. He’ll have the benefit of everything that made you the man I love, but there’ll be room for him to grow and be his own person.”

It had taken the better part of a decade, but Sherri had gotten pregnant just before my diagnosis. She’s my everything and I can’t stand that I’ll be leaving her alone. It wouldn’t be so bad if we’d never met. I could face this if she hadn’t entered my life, but the thought of not being there when she needed me tears me up.

“Give me a story.”

She smiles again. It was a game we played. We’d pretend that I wasn’t dying and that I was going to be there for her and Sammy. She would make up a small story of a day in our life, just the three of us.