On the evening of September 14, just 12 hours after the dust and the chaos of the day had settled in for the night, I walked up to the NICU to see you.
I sat helpless outside of your isolette watching you through the clear glass — you were too little to hold, too fragile to rock.
You were wrapped in wires and tubes. Your chest pumped up and down as you struggled to take in your own breaths. Beeps filled the background.
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