What if you no longer could walk up the stairs to kiss your kids at night. What would you do?

Andrew and I were on the phone one day, when he started telling me about how hard putting the kids to bed was the night before when I was working. Elliana still requires us to lay with her until she falls asleep, and at times, this can take an upwards of 1 hour. Graham? Graham is still a baby who just so happens to wake up as many times as he pleases throughout the night. Most times it is just once, but upwards of 2-4 on others. Regardless, it wears on him.

As he was talking, I cut him off. Something I need to work on anyway. It reminded me of something I had read the night before. And as I started telling him the story... I had to pause in between moments to hold back tears.

"Andrew.. honey... I know it's tough, and I know that it can be frustrating, but remember... we will miss these moments." 

"Becky, I know that but.."

"No buts. Think about if you only had a few nights left with your children. How would you approach bed time then?" 

"You can't say it like that"

"But I can... you see, I read about this mom. This beautiful, loving, caring mom. Who was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Who during her last few nights at home, became so weak that she could no longer walk. One of the moments that she cherished was bedtime with her two kids. So you know what she did?.... She crawled up the stares, just so she could have those moments to hold them, stroke their hair, kiss on their innocent cheeks, and whisper I love you. Think about if you didn't know when it would be your last time to do that."

Silently, I cried. I cried for this mother that I didn't know. For the children that I would never meet. And for the widow husband that I wish I could hug.

"Becky, you know I hate all these sad stories you tell me. Stop reading that kind of stuff, and lets talk about something else."

I wiped away the tears, and I let it go. I knew what I had said was already enough to make him think about it and remind him in the future when he has yet another one of those {inevitable} stressful bedtime routines. There was no need to push it on him. I knew that he preferred that I didn't share so much sadness with him, but at times, I feel like I have to. This one in particular hit home.

And so this got me thinking. Why are we so moved by other people's stories. More importantly, why are there so many sad stories.

Look, I'm not sure why sadness happens in the world. Why the young can't live until they are old, why pain and suffering occurs, why mothers, fathers, and children die. I'm not sure why things end the way they do and why we may never get that explanation as to why they do. Not while we are on Earth that is.

But I do know one thing, and that is that everyone has a story. And when they leave this life, we, the ones that are left behind, get to share that story.

If stories like this didn't exist? Then how could we possibly ever know how precious of a gift life truly is. How could we possibly know what it is like for a mother to know that she will never get to kiss her children at night again. How could we possibly imagine a life without our loved ones. Without our health.

Or without the strength to walk up the stairs to tuck our children in at night.