His birth was hers. Before him she was not what she is today. His new life has transformed the shape of her old one. It continues to do so. She was always near him, attached as if he was an extension of her. She reached levels of care she never thought possible. It's a strange thing to be absolutely depended on for life. The greatness of providence is thrust on someone so unprepared and ill-equipped for a role most fitting for a god. But she has been faithful. She has fed him, cleaned him, held him, sung to him, created a world with him in which they both dwell as its sole interpreters, its language and its customs often remaining inscrutable to outsiders. Yet dependence in this world is not only his but hers also. These two that were created on the same day -- a mother and a son -- cannot be transported into bigger worlds without feeling the loss of the smaller one on which they have come to rely. She didn't realise it until now, but as she sees him climb over the fence into the neighbour's back garden and as she moves right against the window to catch sight of him hopping into a car destined for some place outside of home, she is left in a world that is empty and unintelligible without its co-creator. She cries into the freezing windowpane, and as the tears run down she wipes her eyes and begins imagining what the new world might look like.