The First Part Last

The other day I read a part from a book that was amazingly beautiful. It made me stop and experience a wonderful epiphany of life and truth that still lingers with me today. It is from the first chapter of Angela Johnson's The First Part Last:

"So last week when it looked like Feather probably wasn't ever going to sleep through the night, I lay her on my stomach and breathed her in. My daughter is eleven days old.

And that sweet new baby smell...The smell of baby shampoo, formula, and my mom's perfume. It made me cry like I hadn't since I was a little kid.

It scared the hell out of me. Then, when Feather moved on my stomach like one of those mechanical dolls in the store windows at Christmas, the tears dried up. Like that.

Things have to change.

I've been thinking about it. Everything. And when Feather opens her eyes and looks at me, I already know there's change. But I figure if the world were really right, humans would live life backward and do the first part last. They'd be all knowing in the beginning and innocent in the end.

Then everybody could end their life on their momma or daddy's stomach in a warm room, waiting for the soft morning light."