"Through a Glass Darkly" begins my juxtaposition of past and present. The foreground shows my mother smiling at Cynthia. In fact, my mother’s expression is radiant. I can almost hear her satisfaction because Cynthia is finally gaining weight. It is a bright autumn day and winter’s death is distant. Perhaps my mother felt that Cindy’s future could be as bright as the sun behind her. The image is only slightly marred by her baby’s unusually bent left hand indicating her cerebral palsy. There is also a girl obscured behind a cut glass door window. She is separated by time. She is my daughter, Joanna. Fortunately, she was born during a time when the barbaric practice of delaying delivery until the obstetrician arrived had been stopped. My daughter’s birth also came precipitously with no doctor in attendance but, in the 1990’s without unnecessary interference, her birth cry was robust.