Gone
We saw her born. I cut her cord. We waited. We loved and thanked her birth-parents. We visited with them, ate with them, rejoiced with them. We took her from the hospital. We watched her all night. We hardly slept. We set up stations for changing and sleeping. We fed her. We changed her. We worried about germs. We held her. We prayed over her. We sang to her. We talked to her. We cleaned the stub of her umbilical cord. We memorized her changing little face: her nose, her ears, her blue eyes, her soft dark hair. She was perfect and we fell in love right away. She squeaked. She sighed. She looked at us. She snuggled. She held our fingers. She ate passionately, liked noise better than quiet, and learned to anticipate a camera's flash by the "1 - 2 - 3" that preceded it. Never had either of us been so happy. Yesterday, we packed her things in the car. We started driving back home. I drove. Olivia sat in the back with her. We sang praises to Jesus. Every mile was joy. We stopp...