Still, the couple waited. And as they waited, they discovered something about themselves. They wanted an heir, yes, but they also wanted a child. A child, for its own sake. The woman wanted a baby to suckle, a child around that would smile and laugh, a child that would grow up to walk and run, to dance and play. Even infant cries, heard on the street or in the course of her work, were enviable to her now. There were some days she wanted nothing more than to hear that infant's cry and know it was her own. Her husband shared her desire; he wanted a child, boy or girl, it didn't matter, but a little one, with tiny hands and feet and a presence that would brighten everyone's day. He wanted to share his knowledge, impart his trade, on someone who would outlast him. He wanted small hands that he could watch grow, watch until they were big enough to handle the tools of his work. He wanted to be able to see his child grow up, watch until, at the end, he could stand and give witness. He wanted to be able to say "Yes, I was there. I watched how my child went from a small thing that had to take three steps for every one of mine, to an adult who could match my pace. My child was a delight to have as a small child, and it's a joy now that I can know this child as an adult." He wanted to able to say those words; he wanted to be able to know that one day he could say those words.
It was late October, 1983, and their hope was flickering, a candle waiting to be blown out.