I crawled into bed at five thirty-three Monday morning and put my head on Rich's shoulder. It was the first time we had shared the bed that night. "Just coming to bed?" he asked, "How is he?"

"Yes. He's asleep. Thanks for the notes." I responded. Neither of us said more. For a few moments the only noise in the room was the hum of the air compressor for Nathaniel's heated humidity. I drifted into a light sleep, and Rich's deeper breathing resumed.

From under his pillow the alarm on Rich's cellphone went off.  Five forty-five am.  The shoulder I was using as a pillow moved, and then was gone.

A young facebook friend asked an honest question about Nathaniel last week, “Could he possibly die, Kim?”

I had posted information about a doctor’s appointment and diagnosis, a newly found hole between the Nathaniel’s upper heart chambers. The question was genuine and filled with concern. I crafted an answer that tried to delicately balance between the truth of mortality rates for children with a tracheotomy and trusting in God.

The question has stayed on my mind. It has taken me back twenty-five years to a hot June night in 1990. I shifted between nestling against Rich’s chest with his arm wrapped around me and rolling onto my right side away from him. He would have slept soundly through my tossing until I deliberately woke him up.

“Will she die?” I asked.

Nathaniel came home from the hospital with round the clock private duty nursing. I would love to write a blog post on how smooth Nathaniel's second first night home went. But it didn't. We were up all night fixing problems the night nurse was creating. At two in the morning I asked her to sit in the living room. She had told me she was afraid to drive in the dark and I couldn't turn her out in the middle of the night.

We are starting our fifth year caring for my husband’s father in our home. It has been a very rewarding experience that has enriched our lives tremendously. The last four years haven’t been conflict free though, and I’ve learned a lot through the process of sharing my home with an in-law. Perhaps these three lessons will encourage other families in a similar living arrangement.

We had the opportunity this fall to visit the Menominee Indian Reservation in Wisconsin with a group of volunteers. We spent a Saturday cutting firewood for the tribe's senior citizens. As our group processed what it meant to be invited onto the reservation, we were challenged to think of ourselves as bridge builders from one culture group to another, and then further challenged to think of tangible things we could do to build bridges.

There are few things that annoy a parent more than a child constantly interrupting.  

Some bloggers I follow have been posting lists so readers can quickly get to know them.  I've been thinking of what 10 things about us I might share and finally have my list together.  Enjoy getting to know us a bit more!