Still, Small Quiet

We have a routine for Rachel that ends with teeth brushing, flossing, face washing, a devotional reading and then a prayer in her room.  We've done this since she was a baby and I regret that we haven't done the same with Ben.  But usually after the prayer, Rachel will ask one of us (usually me) to "stay for a little while."  I'll lay on the floor in her room, but the rules are that her eyes and mouth must stay closed and her head must stay on the pillow.  Sometimes I'll fall asleep next to her bed and sometimes I'll only stay for a short while before attempting to make an escape (which she usually catches me doing).  Far too often I'll beg off.  Tonight I lay there next to her bed and listened to her breathing growing heavier and heavier.  Her hand was at her face, but its movements had slowed.  The rain continued to beat heavily on the house.  I began to get up to leave.  She whispered, asking me once again to stay.  I declined and she sat up, eyes still closed and stretched out her arms.  Another hug, another kiss and she laid back down, and I departed, whispering to her the two last things she hears from me every night (which means I repeat it an awful lot some nights when she has a problem staying in bed and is calling for us constantly), "Good night" and "I love you."