I am ashamed to say that often, when I hear the call, "Imma," from my two girls, I tense up. It is as if, on some level, I resent their encroachment upon my time, my peace, my quiet, my thoughts.  When I stop, in the quiet of the day when they are at gan, or at night when they are fast asleep, to think about this reaction of mine, I feel nothing but remorse and a desire to take them out of gan and lavish attention upon them, or go into their room at night and kiss their foreheads as they sleep. But being human, the next morning, when one is demanding more cornflakes while the other is having a tantrum and refuses to go to gan, my good intentions fly out of the window, and I feel once more resentment at having to deal with the stress.

I acknowledge that the above concession does not make me an evil person, just a human being. But some events have unfortunately occurred over the last few weeks that have altered my perspective. Unfortunately, a close family member of ours has been diagnosed with the big "C." The prognosis is good, and please G-d, we are all praying for her speedy recovery, and the medical statistics give us a lot of reason to hope.

Since her diagnosis, she has created an online journal, where she can keep friends and family apprised of her condition. Her entry yesterday struck me to the core. She wrote that she believes that G-d knows what He is doing, and that everything that is happening to her is happening for a reason. What she fears, however, is that in the same way she often rejects her kids' requests, regardless of how much they wish for what they can't have, G-d is going to reject her entreaties. And she is frightened of leaving her husband and three kids alone, without her.

Without being too morbid, it struck me deeply what a gift I have, every single day, to have my girls call my name, to be their support, their rock, their shoulder to cry and kvetch on.

What a beautiful, amazing gift that I am strong enough and healthy enough to be their support mechanism. Not everyone gets to have that choice. Not everyone has the ability, even if the will is there, of being able to physically GIVE to their children. And it makes me realize that the sweetest music to my ears are those four letters which I hear a million times a day: Imma.

Please pray for Sarah Shayndel bat Frumah.