...we arrive here improvised
and leave without the chance to practice...
(Wislawa Szymborska, from Nothing Twice)
Sleeping long into the morning in the furred oblivion of pregnancy—fifth month, first child.
Waking and shuffling over to the answering machine: 12 messages. The first from my husband, who’d risen to run with his best friend, and three more from him, “Wake up, baby...” Followed by my mother, my aunt across town offering that I come be with them. My best friend. The husband again. My mother-in-law....
Then, years of wondering why I was allowed this life, this turn at driving with my infant children in the car, a selfish gratitude.
Still no answer, as there never is with the senseless taking of lives.