There is no difference in quality between a life lived forward and a life lived backward, she thinks. She had come to love this backward life. It was, after all, the only life she had. Furthermore, she isn’t sad to be a baby. As the wisest here know, it isn’t a sad thing getting older. On Earth, the attempt to stay young, in the face of maturity, is futile. And it isn’t a sad thing growing younger, either. There was a time Liz was afraid that she would forget things, but by the time she truly began to forget, she forgot to be afraid to forget. Life is kind, the baby thinks.
