“The social worker breezes back in with a diaper and says we can change the baby. After we finish with the diapering, she stands there, her arms outstretched. I know this is it—the final minute with my son. I don’t clutch my baby close to me. I don’t kiss him. I hold him softly, the nubby texture of his yellow terry cloth suit against my hands and arms. And then I give him up without saying a word.”
To add a book to this page, search for it and add “Denise Emanuel Clemen Holding Him Softly ” to its characters section.