ArticleContributorColumn

What kind of parent was I, bringing her into this unaware?

A proud mama watching the pure pleasure lighting up my son’s face

“Kinderlach, when you’re on a mountain, never take the easy way down. Always make your way up.”

The shrieks arise from all sides, as we, strangers all of us, jump in a completely unrehearsed, perfectly synchronized dance of dread. It’s an instinctive scream, helpless in its futility.

The distance eats away at me. I feel unmoored, floating. My best friend is in pain, and I’m hiding

I wait. I wait for the birth pangs, I wait for the mourning. But both are slow in coming