Another happy phone call; C tells me of the birth of her second grandchild, a boy, 2,500 miles away. We talk of weight and length, and how perfectly he fits into our ideals. Forgetting, of course, his older sister who was also so very perfect at a very different size.
The chemicals course through her veins and she murmurs in agreement that she is feeling what I can hear in her voice. But back to happy blue things and flowers. This new life, as are all to someone, is what she has been waiting for, and she is laughing as we hang up the telephones.
I remain a moment longer there, my hand still upon the phone, feeling the smile of birth drop away and I worry. This is what she has been waiting for.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology