Twenty years ago, a drive to the hospital in the morning.
Twenty years ago, calling off work because it was time, the baby was on his way.
Twenty years ago, bright sunny skies over Buffalo.
Twenty years ago, a very long day of pain and struggle.
Twenty years ago, thinking, “At the end of this day, one set of dreams comes true and another starts.”
Twenty years ago…seeing them wheeling her into surgery prep, and being given ill-fitting scrubs to change into.
Twenty years ago, sitting again by her side while they did the Caesarian.
Twenty years ago, thinking, “This isn’t the way we wanted this to go, but we’ve been here before and we can do it again.”
Twenty years ago, sensing a change in the mood of the doctors as they extracted him from the womb.
Twenty years ago, wondering why he wasn’t crying yet.
Twenty years ago, hearing one of the doctors–the main one, maybe?–saying, “This isn’t good.”
Twenty years ago, looking at that other table and seeing them taking out the intubation tool and thinking, “I’ve watched enough ER that I know what that is. Why are they using that? What’s going on?”
Twenty years ago, waiting at her side while they did whatever it was they did to him and for him, someplace else in that giant building that was always too cold no matter where you were.
Twenty years ago, being taken upstairs finally to see him instead of him being brought to us.
Twenty years ago, meeting the NICU nurses for the first time.
Twenty years ago, wondering how they could hook all that stuff up to a human being that tiny.
Twenty years ago, wanting to know why he couldn’t cry.
Twenty years ago, seeing that new set of dreams stop before they could even start.
Twenty years ago, learning that life was somehow going to be more now about fighting than living.
Twenty years ago, starting the remainder of my life to wonder what could have been, who he might have been, what he might have become.
Twenty years ago, beginning an unbroken streak of asking “Why?” each and every day.
Twenty years ago, the first day of a life that lasted for 458 more.
Twenty years ago, our son.
Happy birthday, Quinn.
Where are you?
