A love letter to my youngest son reflects my thanks

By Dr. Heather Bozant Witcher
Clarion Herald

It’s been one year since you entered the world. Early. Small and gasping for air, but strong. That was the word the doctors and the NICU nurses kept using: strong. A fighter.

I knew that would be the case. In every rush to triage, with every lurch and pause in movement, every gush of blood, the monitor and ultrasound showed your small – but perfect – form. Thumb often in mouth, heart beating strong. The problems were all on my side; never yours.

Strong isn’t necessarily the word I’d use now. Happy. Content. Balanced. Often, in the midst of the maelstrom created by 2 1/2 -year-olds coming home from school, you’ll be sitting in the middle of the mat, arms outstretched, taking it all in. Chill. That’s probably the word that best suits you.

Independent would be another. You’ve had to learn the joys of solitude, of patience as you wait for us to finish riding the tantrum waves or simply for arms to be free to hold you.

One of my greatest regrets in this past year has been the missed moments. The lack of one-on-one time, outside of our nursing times. The videos of your firsts interrupted by your older brothers. But as I look back on them, what I see isn’t the perfectly captured video, it’s the reality of the year, of this season in our lives. So maybe they aren’t missed; just different.

Difference sets us all apart, and what sets you apart is your giant belly laugh and huge smiles. From all gums to eight teeth, all of your mouth becomes visible the moment you open your eyes. You greet each morning with the biggest smile – so happy to be alive, to be picked up and covered in kisses.

That smile follows you everywhere. You crack yourself up at the smallest of things. The most precious of things. I captured your first strawberry on camera. The squish between your fingers and your surprise. Then the rapture and pure enjoyment of the first taste. Smiles and laughter.

That’s how I would characterize your “w-one-derful” year. Smiles and laughter. That’s what you’ve brought to our world. Last year, at this time, I was scared – no, terrified. We had experienced so many complications, so many frantic car rides. I hadn’t even imagined what it would be like when you were finally here.

And now you are. A puzzle piece that had been missing. A gap filled that we didn’t know existed. Smiles and laughter, and my little Easter bunny.

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