We live in a four-bedroom home.

And this is us.

Every night and every morning.

This is us.

I used to fight it. I used to tell them that this wasn’t healthy. I’d tell them that they’d get better rest in their own beds. To give it a chance. That their beds are more comfortable than my floor. It never worked. No matter what I said.

Two Februarys ago, I spent each night, on the floor, next to my wife Rachel's hospital bed. People tried to tell me to go home. To get some rest. To give it a chance. That my bed would be more comfortable than the floor. It never worked. No matter what they said.

It took me almost two years, but I get it now. No one was going to convince me to leave her side. No matter what anyone said, by her side is where I was going to be. There was no place where I felt more safe, than on the floor, right next to her.

I don’t fight it anymore. It’s been two years since they lost their mommy. In that time it’s become pretty clear that by my side is where they are going to be. And that to them, no place feels more safe than on the floor, right next to me.

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