When a nurse led her to the neonatal unit, Margaret saw the infant lying in a clear plastic crib, wrapped in a soft yellow blanket. Her eyes were closed, her hands curled into tiny fists.
That was it. Something inside her broke open and filled with light. “Her name,” Margaret whispered, “will be Clara. Because she’s a bright light in a dark world.”
Defying the Doubts
When Margaret told her sons about the adoption, they were furious. “Mom, you can’t do this,” Daniel said over the phone. “You’re seventy-three years old! You can barely carry groceries, let alone a baby.”
“You don’t understand,” she said softly. “I feel alive again.” “Alive? You’ll wear yourself out,” he snapped. “This isn’t love — it’s insanity.”
Neighbors whispered. Some even laughed. “She’s lost it,” one woman muttered at the grocery store. “A baby with Down syndrome at her age? That poor child.”
But Margaret ignored them. She had always been gentle, but beneath that gentleness was steel.Continue reading…
