I hope I can always remember the exact pitch of his peals of laughter. The ones that escape him as I get him ready for bed at two years old. In 16 years, I want to hear his parrot-pitched squeals reverberating still in my eardrums, painful now, but a welcome echo of life and love from this tiny creature. I feel it slipping through my fingers. If I can cling to those peals I'll be able to hold on for just one more moment.