Three years after my dad was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, his body finally succumbed to the illness and it became clear that he was going to die very soon. I didn’t have children, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for children. But there was nothing sweeter than seeing him interact with kids, and when I realised that I’d never get to tell him when I one day became pregnant — would never get to see that specific joy on his round, expressive face — I threw away my half-finished birth control pack and bought a bottle of prenatal vitamins. One morning, four days before he died, I sat next to him on his bed as he prepared to swallow the panoply of pills that were managing his nausea, edema, and pain, and said to him, “Look, Dad. I’m taking my pills too. We can do it together.” I showed him the clearly labeled NatureMade bottle and slipped a folic acid tablet into my mouth, watching as it dawned on him what I meant. He was too weak to speak very loudly at that point, but he turned his face toward the ceiling, his eyes glossy with tears, and he managed to whisper, “I wish you so much good. I wish you so much good.”