| | back & forth | | ||||||||
| November 25, 2013 @ 3:27 p.m. | ||||||||
| Once, on a quiet night... | ||||||||
A call woke me up. And my father said my aunt's name. And I knew. I knew my grandmother had passed away. Because no sister calls her estranged brother at 3am with any other kind of news. And when I heard no cry, no wail, just a defeated sigh, that was the moment. The moment my pregnancy became more than an abstract concept. It was more than an event. More than pragmatic plans for the future. The pregnancy became a baby. That baby a lifeline for my father. Because I know. I know whom I inherited this darkness from. And while I have my mother's fire to battle it, my father is mostly dark. And he had just lost the little light he had. I was so glad he was visiting. I was so glad he was not alone in Seattle. I was so glad for that baby. Such a terribly quiet night. |
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| movingsands | | o | p | n | d | | |||||||