A Life for a Life by Amy Hendrickson Mommy drives back and forth all year from the hospital of her dying grandpa to the patient rooms at the pregnancy center. I bet sometimes she wonders what the future holds for us— The machines hooked up helping him breath— the sound of my heart beat in her belly all she knows. Soon she might by standing by a grave, wearing black with a splash of baby spit on her shoulder. I’ll be just starting to say, I love you, Mommy, crawling around, trying to eat the lilies. theMeadow 87
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