Twice now I have personally witnessed the birth of a child. On both occasions my younger sister has given me the very great privilege of accompanying her through the hazy hours on the edge of the universe where women go to do this amazing thing they do.
My nephew was born 40 years to the day after my older sister was born. For my own mother, also present at the birth of her Grandson, this must have been an amazing marvel and I have to say some of the tears I shed after our gorgeous lad’s appearance were for my mum – who took that journey alone all those years ago. No sister held her hand; no mother was allowed in the room; no husband could witness the miracle. Only a crisply starched nurse held her hand as she gathered her strength to push life into the world. How things have changed for the better!
One of my clearest childhood memories is the day my younger sister was born. I was so excited as we crowded around her cot to welcome her to our lives. Pretty much every day since she has given me cause to marvel at her creativity and her strength. Sometimes, even when she seems at her most vulnerable – she digs reserves from somewhere and she brings beauty forth from pain.
No matter what I do in this life – it will never come close to that. But at least I was there to hold her hand and for that I will be forever thankful .
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