I loved my son for each of the 23 million seconds we had with him

August 27

Dear Shmuly,

You were born 16 days ago, my perfect little boy with radiant skin and a soft fuzz of brown hair. You came into this world on a Sunday evening, and when they placed you in my arms, I almost stopped breathing with wonder.

You’re the oldest grandchild for my parents, and you arrived into a family that’s been waiting for you from the moment I stood under the chuppah.

The funny thing is that five weeks before you were born, Bubby had a baby girl, my youngest sister. For reasons I still don’t fully remember — maybe her breathing was a little fast, maybe they were just being cautious — the doctors sent her to the NICU for observation. Two days later, she was perfectly fine and ready to go home. I went with one of your older aunts to pick Bubby up from the hospital. We were watching Bubby sign papers, ready to leave, when a nurse stopped us.

“Before you go,” she said to Bubby, “you need to do the infant resuscitation training.”

Then she looked at me and my sister. “You two might as well join in.”

I remember shrugging. Why not? I had nothing else to do. I was almost due. I was tired and uncomfortable, and figured I might as well sit down for 20 minutes and watch.

So I sat in that small hospital room with its educational posters and plastic baby dummy and the occasional cry from the babies in the nursery. I wasn’t paying full attention. I remember laughing a little at how strange it felt to practice pressing on a doll’s chest. But it was baby CPR, and I’d always wanted to learn CPR. The steps. The rhythm.

I didn’t know I’d ever have to use what I knew.

Love, Mommy

The post 23 Million Seconds   first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.