A few years ago, when my wife was expecting our second child and close to giving birth, my mother came to stay with us. One evening, she asked for a pen, a piece of paper, and an envelope. She wrote something down, sealed it, handed it to me, and said, “Keep this in your pocket. Don’t open it yet—you’ll know when the time is right.”
About half an hour later, my wife told me it was time—she was in labor. We rushed to the hospital, and after nine long hours, at exactly 3:45 a.m., our second daughter was born. She weighed 8 pounds, 11 ounces, and was 20 inches long.
This was before the days of cell phones, so I called my mom from the hospital to share the joyful news. But before I could say anything, she said, “Open the envelope.” I did—and was stunned. Inside, she had written: Girl, 3:45 AM, 8 pounds, 11 ounces, 20 inches.
I kept that note for years. It felt like a piece of magic. But after my mother passed away, I went to retrieve it from our document safe—only to find it had vanished.