There are nights when I look at the moon and talk to God. Especially when it’s a full moon and it’s hard to ignore the beautiful sphere illuminating the night sky.
When my grandma faced secondary infertility, she would bathe under a full moon in the corn fields, in belief that it would purify her body and give her a child. She later gave birth to two boys, fifteen years after the birth of my mother. A different lifetime and the same moon now watches me and listens to my conversations with God.
I wonder how many cycles we’ll go through together.
I wonder how many women the moon has witnessed crying before it.
I wonder how many prayers and secrets it contains.
I wonder how many times it has rejoiced when it has lit up the face of a small angel asleep in his or her bed.
These are the things I wonder during my restless nights.