This is the 24th anniversary of the death of my infant son. He was 12 days old and showed more courage in those days than most people will in a lifetime. No, I don’t think of him every day. Sometimes, a week or two may pass without thinking of him. But when this day comes, every year, I relive the pain as if it was when it happened. I remember what it was like when they pulled him from life support and placed his dying,tiny body in my wife’s arms. When she passed him to me, a soft sigh came from his mouth and he died, that instant. For several more minutes, as he got colder and colder, I held him.
We gave him back to the nurse. I remember the looks of pity and compassion from the doctors and nurses as we left the NICU. It is so painful for me to discuss, there are people I have known 15-20 years that do not realize I had a son that died. In the days and weeks following his death, I felt that the grief would literally kill me. In the past 8 years, I almost died twice. I don’t fear death. Let it come because I can finally see him again.

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