I had my daughter, Sarah, when I was forty—my miracle and my only child. At thirty-one, she was expecting her first. Last year I lost her during childbirth. She never even got to hold her baby girl. Her boyfriend disappeared soon after, leaving me to raise little Amy. He sends a small check every month—barely enough for diapers—and that’s all. So it’s just the two of us now. I’m older and worn out, but she has nobody else. Yesterday, after a grueling visit to the pediatrician, I slipped into a s