The Mariana Trench of Missing Motherhood

Light has never been here, in the deepest part of the Pacific.

The closest to the core of the earth any surface dweller can go is named the Mariana Trench, which feels rather Biblical.

Maternal.

And apt.

Maternity is often marine-like in my mind. Aquatic. It’s bathed in water, birthed in water, healed through water.

Drowned, by water.

My mother is a swimmer. Even in her seventies, she still swims a mile, back and forth in a lap pool, three times a week. She wears goggles now — giant, snorkel-like goggles that must make the physics of movement more challenging — it’s clear…