Mother never forgave me for my birth ruining her Christmas. That is how I made sense of her treatment as I share in the following few paragraphs extracted from my story, as told by me.

SONG OF THE AGES
Prologue

“For unto you is born this day in the city of,” and there the similarity with the sacred writings ended. For this story continued, “Wyandotte, a daughter was born.”

Mother didn’t remember the birth of this special child who shared a birthday with the Holy One. Drugged by the doctor, who, peeved at being summoned very early on this special day, demanded the birth be over with quickly. Huge, inflated salad tongs, called forceps were ordered.

Mother slowly awoke, groggily, having slept through the miracle of the delivery room, jealous of the baby’s attention. For after all, she had suffered the pain all those months. It was she who had her holiday ruined. This small girl would not usurp her—never. The baby, placed in her mother’s arms for the first time, gently smiled, her clear blue eyes searching for love to be returned. But, it was not to be. Her eyes met cold eyes, and the baby felt a cold stiffness, and the memory of the place she had been sent from faded.