Something happened last week. Something amazing that marked me in a way I never thought possible: my sister gave birth a little baby girl.
When I met her for the first time, she seemed both fragile and intimidating. Fragile because of her size (no one is very big at 36 hours of age), and intimidating because of what she represented.
As I held her in my arms, a loud voice screamed from the back of my mind.
“You’re the grown-up now,” it said.
With it came the realization that something inside me had disappeared forever, something I’d never get back.
And yet, as I held my niece in my arms and she slept peacefully sucking on her pacifier, I knew this is how things had to be, that she now had what I had lost, and that everything would be alright.