She was quiet for a moment.
“Your grandfather and I tried to have a baby for four years,” she said. “Four years, Daniel. Every month, I’d hope. Every month, I’d cry. And then finally, in 1972, I got pregnant.”
She smiled a little. A sad smile.
“Frank was so happy he cried. He started building a crib that same night. He built it out of cherry wood, with little stars carved into the headboard. He spent every evening in the garage working on it for months.”
I knew that crib. It was in Grandma’s attic. I used to play in it as a kid. I never knew why there were stars carved into it.
“I went into labor early,” Grandma said. “In March of 1973. Seven weeks early. I was working my shift when it started. Right here, on the second floor. They put me in the nearest empty room.”
