As Long As You Love Me (Backstreet Boys) / You Will Be In My Heart (Phil Collins) - Day 24

Anyone who knows me, knows that nineteen ninety-seven was the most horrific year of my life. It was the year I lost faith in God, and watched as two beautiful small children had to move forward in the world, without the most amazing mother I’d ever seen or met. Mary’s death changed so many lives, including my own selfish, day-to-day existence. Reality planted my very heavy feet that day in October, and I knew, through floods of tears, I would never ever see the world the same way again. In the weeks and months following the loss of Mary, I spent a lot of time with her babies. Watching them grow and wonder, and try to put their tiny fingers on what the hell happened. I would cook them grilled cheeses and some soup, and we’d sit on the couch watching Disney movies, hoping to make it all just go away. I would leave the room to go sob in Mary’s kitchen, trying desperately not to let them see me. One time, that I can never forget as long as I have memory, as I sat in the kitchen sulking, little Mike wandered over and peeked his chubby cheeks from the doorway and asked, “Uncle Nicky, why are you crying?” Immediately I dried my face and said, “I’m not crying Mike, I’m ok.” He walked into the room, pulled out one of the heavy wood chairs, and climbed up onto his knees to rest his elbows on the table. Without words or provocation, he began singing along to the song on the radio. “I don’t care who you are, where you’re from, don’t care what you did, as long as you love me.” Every single word, clearly, as if he were the littlest Backstreet Boy, never ever taking his eyes away from mine. In the other room sat the sad little girl without a mommy, watching Tarzan. Mike and I went into the living room to join Angela and as soon as we sat, Phil Collins', You’ll be In My Heart blared, and she looked up at me. “Oh stop you’re crying, it’ll be alright. Just take my hand, hold it tight. I will protect you from all around you, I will be here, don’t you cry.” As I teared up again, she grabbed my hand. A 4 and a half year old was reassuring me, with strength and love, that can never ever be matched or lost.