Approximately seven years ago, my spouse and I went through a rather troubling experience. She was several months into her second pregnancy, and we were looking forward to welcome the newest member of the family. It had already been four years since our eldest hatched into our lives. I was away from the nest when it happened, occupied with building skills for bringing home food for my family, that the news came in across the air.
We had lost our baby. I was far from our nest. I felt guilty.
I immediately flew back home to my distraught wife. Upon reaching our nest, we decided to move in with our matriarch in the meantime. It was there, during this period of healing, that I found an unusual attachment to a material object, something I would keep with me during my resting hours to this very day. Call it what you may, but in that thing I found my security. Something that would keep my family close with me whenever I had to leave the nest. For years to come, it would serve as a constant reminder to me that whatever happened, I needed to find my way home.
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