Is there anything quite so endearing as an hours old newborn? In the twenty years I kept my La Leche League Leader status current, I was near a lot of babies, always in the cradle of their mother's arms. But they were usually weeks or months old, and had let slip the remembrance of swimming in a watery world. That is if remembering is something they do. 

 

When an infant holds court they do so with an influence that cannot be measured by might. Usually newborns don't speak or even open their eyes. Yet I feel compelled to whisper, to take my shoes off, to touch their downy skin as if it has healing powers. Which perhaps it does. 

 

This week my aunt slipped from her worn out body, having milked it for ninety five years of good service. Her skin was thin as parchment, and opening her eyes had become too laborious to endure for any length of time. There has been a flurry of stories told by the many people whose lives she touched. Tales of her generosity, her flourish for entertaining, her wide travels which she shared with people who otherwise would never have left home. She took my own father in when he was weak with emphysema and could give her nothing in return except gratitude. She sent my mother a box of Florida oranges every Christmas, which was a grand tradition for our family. 

 

As she is reborn in a heavenly body, I wager that her skin will again be creamy. Her eyes will be wide open, in her eagerness to find familiar faces.