If I leave here tomorrow,
Would you still remember me?
For I must be traveling on, now,
'Cause there's too many places I've got to see.
The nestled, dark, comforting and mostly noisy moments of my existence had been all I had known and all I had desired before my bright, cold and mostly noisy entrance into the arms of Sister Peter Marie at St Mary and Elizabeth Hospital in Louisville, Kentucky. The date was December 20, 1959. The hour was late. As my mother stared after me, I was taken from the room. I was weighed, examined and finally swaddled in cotton and placed in a warm and mostly quiet crib.
I suppose my first hours were spent as most infants. I longed for my mother’s touch. For her nourishment, her familiar sounds. I was hungry and soon enough the rubbery softness of a nipple was pushed between my lips and the first few drops of milk slipped onto my tongue and I began to eat.
