I recently read “David and Goliath” by Malcolm Gladwell. The book discusses how our assumptions about strengths and weaknesses are sometimes wrong.
In the middle of the book, Gladwell writes about people who have endured trauma, and in particular, people who endure the loss of a parent while they are children.
We arrived in Montreal last night, and life has been a whirlwind. In the past five days, we have trekked from Chicago to Ann Arbor to Toronto and finally here. When we stepped into our apartment, it was cold and rainy outside, and I felt such relief to land in the place we will spend the next two weeks. But the apartment was old and creaky, and the there’s a half-foot elevation change between the front door and the back patio, which is evident in the bowed wooden floors.
When Henry was about a year old, Greg and I started to talk about having another baby. We were out on a walk, pulling the kids in a wagon, and they were so darling together, with Eleanor singing and Henry giving hearty belly laughs. I imagined Thanksgiving and Christmas with three kids or get-togethers in 20 years with all of those adult children.