He wanted her to know there was never a moment when she was unwanted, never a moment when he regretted becoming her father, and never a moment after the diagnosis when he stopped imagining the person she might become.
His illness had taken away the chance to watch her grow.
It had not taken away his love for her.
I lowered the pages.
Our daughter moved slightly against my chest and settled again.
For the first time since Mark died, I did not feel as if I were standing only at the end of something.
I was also standing at the beginning.
Months earlier, I had begged Mark not to talk about death while our baby was kicking.
I understand now why he answered the way he did.
Her movement had not reminded him that he was dying.
It had reminded him that someone he loved was still beginning.
That was why he chose donation.
