Rating: 5 stars
In May 2007, I held my daughter Lorelei for the first time. My first day as a mother was an idyllic bubble of joy—Lorelei nursed confidently, I capably soothed her cries, and the nurses were a short call away should I have any questions about the many things I didn’t know how to do.
On Lorelei’s second day in this world, my father came to visit. He came, of course, to say hello to Lorelei, to welcome her into this world and our family, to congratulate my husband and me. He sat holding his granddaughter, singing Ranger jodies into her tiny ears. He also came to say good-bye. He deployed for Iraq the next day.
It’s hard for me to imagine how my heart held these two giant, opposing emotions. My blissful hours with Lorelei had an undercurrent of fear as my father bunkered into and worked from the Green Zone. I endured six months of this, of letter writing and baby bathing, of worrying and cooing.
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