I sway slowly…waiting.
A tiny, fur-covered figure–a fraction of what he once was–is swaddled in a newborn’s receiving blanket.
“first moments” the tag on the blanket reads.
the irony burns my eyes and the letters blur together.
small snores escape his parted mouth.
I don’t even notice my face is wet until my brother leans in and touches each cheek with a tissue.
thank you for so many years…
thank you for sticking by me while I labored with Eddie…
thank you for staying by my side while I cramped and miscarried.
thank you…
and then…
nothing.