I remember your face before it was covered with tubes and wires. I remember not knowing I wouldn't see it that way again for months. I remember scrubbing in every day, over and over again. How the seasons changed and my hands chapped, reminding me of where I'd just left my heart and where I'd go back to retrieve it day after day. I remember hating the phone, for different reasons that we all do now. Waking up each morning in a house where you should be, waiting for a NICU nurse to pick up the line and tell me everything was okay. That you had made it through another night. I remember short carrides to the hospital that seemed so long. Levels that were too low or too high. Continue Reading
