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for Caleb, who died at five days |
| While my nephew lived, five days in April I should have been taking classes and writing papers due the week after he was born, but I was in the hospital watching the ventilator move his lungs and watching the monitors trace his heart, and somehow, twenty-five pages on Henry James couldn't hold my attention like his tiny hand. For one hundred-seventeen hours and twenty-three minutes, we crammed into the NICU, never leaving him alone, so many tears, so many songs, lost in white noise. For a lifetime, (a too short eternity abounding with greetings, partings, hope, despair) we told him stories and we loved him and when he left us, we ached with an absence we'd only begun to know. line count: 25 Author's Note ▶︎ |