The Presence of Absence

I had bundled up the baby for his daily walk, a ritual he insists upon.

I was thinking idle thoughts as I plodded along, Baby’s eyes bright with happiness in the depths of his stroller. At one point in our wanderings, I became vaguely aware of two women walking toward me, one pushing a carriage.

From my vantage point, they looked somewhat similar in appearance, so I decided that they were sisters. But as they drew closer, it became clear they were mother, daughter, and grandchild.

This generational tableau hit me like a physical blow. My heart seized. I was short of breath. The mother smiled at me, and in my shock, I only managed to pull my mouth into a rictus of a grin as they went past.

The mother looked at me strangely. I don’t blame her.