I hadn’t known anything about her.
But somehow, looking at Lucy felt like finding a missing piece of myself.
We stayed at the hospital until sunrise.
There were forms to sign.
Questions to answer.
Arrangements to make.
There was also a funeral to plan for a daughter I’d met only through photographs.
Before we left, I asked the doctor for one thing.
“Can I see her?”
He understood immediately.
Anna was in another room.
I walked in alone. She looked peaceful.
I touched her hand.
“I’m sorry I didn’t find you.”
There was, of course, no answer.
But I stayed there for a long time anyway.
When I returned to the waiting room, Michael was holding Lucy.
He looked at me.
“What do we do now?”
I looked at my granddaughter.
Then at Eleanor.
Then at Anna’s husband.
“We take her home.”
And we did.
