Forty-two years old, that’s my age the day Emmanuel arrives.Through each day of carrying a child, my body shouts that it’s too late, too tough, too heavy. Yet what do I feel inside? Nothing but fullness.A cry cuts through the air — tiny lungs filling. The doctor smiles, voice steady. A name begins here.One child. At last, a boy arrives following four sisters before him.Tears stream down Amon's face. At twenty-two, fresh out of college, David captures each moment on his phone. From the waiting room come screams — Joy, just seven, along with Amara, Zara, and Kiya, caught in a burst of joy.Little face here, so quiet now. His dark hair sits soft on his head. Looks just like Amon right there by the nose. That chin though — mine for sure, same hard line when he pouts. The whole thing fits together, somehow. Just him.Amon moves his hand gently over the small head. Emmanuel, he whispers softly. With us is God.Still here, though Ayana is gone. Breathing happens now like something earn
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