I wrote about this before, quite differently, here.
This is one of the few photos of me when little, there are no baby photos.
Of course, I do not remember being born. But that moment lies in the marrow of my bones. A time when doctors feared the sound of struggle and my mother lay in chloroform unknowing. My face trapped by forceps listened looked for voice and face, alone away from drumming throbbing space. Of course I do not remember missing her. I remember the crown of my son. His head turning to my joy. Sadness rose unbidden. My mother Learner of love, never knew that miracle, the crowning glory. Crying: Hey, it’s me! I’m here!