tonight's prayer

A beautiful, perfect day. Anna called first thing, to say she'd just had an ultrasound and all is well. "I just caught my first glimpse of my son as a teenager," she said. "They wanted him to move for the ultrasound, and he was asleep and didn't want to wake up. They poked a little with the wand and he tried to push it away. It was so cute."

A walk on the Don Valley trail, where I saw two families of Canada geese - male, female, goslings - on the shore by the river. John came by and fixed the electricity. I cooked while listening to Eleanor Wachtel on CBC, feeling, finally, that I am home, that this house is truly mine again. I just watched the season finale of the Sherlock Holmes series on PBS - riveting. Victoria Day parties and firecrackers are popping out there, at 10.30 p.m. - lots of noise.

But everything is changing. Tomorrow morning early, I will go to St. Joseph's Hospital, across town, to do what I can to help my daughter as she gives birth. This seems so monumental an event, and yet women, mothers, grandmothers, do this all the time, every day, everywhere.

So I sit in my big house, listening to the firecrackers and the drunk party guests outside, with the sweet night air wafting in, and I pray for the safety of my family. As my friend Wayson says, all that matters.

P.S. The cat sleeps, sleeps, sleeps nearby. Just looking at her forces me to relax. How can a creature do so little and still be alive?