It’s 26 days until my husband and I will participate in the March of Dimes March for Babies in honor of the life and death of our son Izzy. I’m pushing myself to write and post on the blog each day until the walk—some days a little and maybe some days a lot—in hopes of shedding light on issues like miscarriage and infant loss so that other women who go through these types of things know that they’re not alone. Please share this post generously to spread awareness!
Sade said to “Cherish the Day,” but I would go so far as to say “cherish the minute.” A day is full of 24 hours, which is 1,440 minutes. I may have only gotten about 15 minutes or so with Izzy while he was still breathing so he taught me that each minute is invaluable.
I remember the delivery doctor saying, “One more push will do it.” I took a deep breath and pushed on the exhale and there he was. I didn’t know he was a he until my doctor with the big poufy twist-out (yes, I had hair envy even in the delivery room) quickly looked between Izzy’s legs and said that this long, wrinkly baby was my son. I looked at my husband. He looked at me. And for a few long seconds it seemed like the whole room held its breath to see if we would hear anything from Izzy. His heartbeat wasn’t being monitored during the delivery because the medical team thought it might be too stressful for me if I heard the baby’s heart become distressed (or stop altogether) during the delivery. But after those long, uncomfortable seconds, we heard Izzy’s shrill little cry. He only cried out once, then it was silent again. He wasn’t anything like his older sister who just wailed and wailed when she was born, making it fully known that she was indeed born and not at all happy about it (but that was already evident by the fact that she was born nearly 2 weeks after her due date).
No, Izzy was calm and quiet. He kept his big, round eyes closed as I held him close and told him all about his big sister and all of her stuffed animal friends. I knew in those moments with him that I had to be completely present because I didn’t have long with him. I had to tell him I loved him then because I didn’t know how many times I would get to tell him. I had to sing “twinkle, twinkle little star” to him then because I didn’t know how many other opportunities I would have to sing to him. I learned the value of each minute from trying to hold on to that time with him. A minute can be a long time if we really focus on it and give it the treatment it deserves.
So now when I have a bunch of things on my mind or things that I’m trying to do around the house, I try to remember to slow down and read when Izzy’s big sister, the Wailer, asks me to read her “Close Your Eyes” book for the millionth time or asks me to help her build a train with her Duplo Legos–help meaning build it for her. I try to remember what’s really important—each minute that we have on earth and with the people we love and who love us because we don’t know how many more minutes we’ll get.
My family and I would love for you to donate to our March for Babies campaign! Any amount no matter how small may help other families of premature infants. Click here and know that we’re so thankful for you!