I see those four words in my Facebook news feed every night.

Every night for over a year now.It is a message to an angel in Heaven that my friend Jim posts each night since the passing of his beautiful daughter, because he misses her terribly and his heart still aches for her.Thirty-year-old Jennifer, who had a smile that "brightened the darkest days," waged war against cancer for three years before her body succumbed to the disease.While she was in the hospital, Jim tells me that she was always more concerned about the well-being of everyone around her rather than for her own situation.During the last few weeks of her life, Jennifer became very weak and was unable to speak due to the tubes she had in her throat; so she and her father communicated via text messages.(Thank goodness for technology.)Each night around 8 o'clock he would text her, "Goodnight. Love, Daddy," and although she is no longer present here on Earth, it hasn't stopped Jim from continuing to express his love and devotion for his daughter.Faithfully engaging in this practice helps to keep Jennifer close to his heart, and there is a part of him that likes to believe that somehow, she is able to see those sentiments from her lofty perch.At first, reading those messages made me feel very sad for Jim, but as time went on, I found them to be endearing.Recently, however, those messages have had a different effect on me.I have two daughters who live outside of the home and one still with me.My children know that I love them and I do express that to them, but perhaps not as much as I should.It seems we are all always so busy and in some kind of rush.So much that phone calls between us are often just for informational purposes and in an effort to provide and receive said information as quickly as possible, I have noticed that before we end our conversations, my children always say "I love you" as I am in the process of saying goodbye and then subsequently hanging up.It seems that in my haste, I have been neglecting to end those exchanges by responding in kind or worse yet, not being the first one to say them.As I continue to read Jim's valedictions, I am gripped by the notion of what it must be like for him to no longer be able to hear the voice of his "little girl" speaking those precious three little words.The thought that at any moment, in the blink of an eye, that could very well be me now haunts me and I imagine too that my children would miss hearing them were those three words never to depart from my lips again.So last night I made the decision that whether it is in person, by phone, text, Facebook, Snapchat, smoke signal or by any means possible that I would let my three precious jewels know that they are loved every day, at least once a day for as long as I am able, and I will wait for and look forward to hearing it from them as well.Goodnight, Jennifer. Your daddy loves you.I can vouch for that.And so as not to waste this opportunity, goodnight, Amanda, Heather, Cassidy and Audrey.Mommy/Mimi loves you.