Blessed be the One
who made me me.
Yes, the One might have aimed higher:
made me smarter, nicer,
more loving, more generous.
But the One could have also have done far less:
given me limitations and burdens
and weaknesses that might have broken me.
Blessed be the One
who made me the daughter of my parents,
who brought me to existence in the United States
in the last third of the twentieth century,
a time after penicillin
and before social media.
Blessed be the One
who made me a reader,
a questioner, a thinker.
Who gave me life and faith
and health and so much—
so infinitely much—
more.
Erika Dreifus is a New York-based writer and book publicist.
