As we walk along this long path called life, we often encounter situations that we either unconsciously bury in the back of our memories or deliberately avoid discussing due to certain traumas or hurt feelings that are associated with such an event.
It is by no means that I intend to ever forget my daughter’s premature birth or her long NICU hospital stay. At 26 weeks gestation, she arrived weighing barely 12 ounces and measuring only 8 inches in length. Her chances of survival were very slim. With all that still fresh in the back of my mind, I can’t help but be moved when I discuss the events that went on during those long first eight months of her life ten years ago. I can’t even explain or express the feelings that engulf me when I remember those lonely days and nights gone by. Those first few months are forever engrained in our lives. They shaped my daughter to become who she is today and for me to grow into the mom that I am today. Many a times, I had wished that things would have been different for her starting out. However, that was out of my control. The endless wait was unforgiving, and the longing for a homecoming was unbearable. I never would have wished such a traumatic birth and after-birth unto any mother or child. In spite of it all, we made the most out of the cards that we were dealt.
About three weeks after my daughter, Alex, was born, my sister approached me saying:”we must take pictures”. I questioned her request with a bewildered and puzzled look asking: “pictures of whom?” Her reply was simple:” Alex, of course!”. At that moment in time, pictures of the new baby were the furthest thing from my mind. As I looked into the four enclosed glass compartment that housed my tiny child, I wondered if my Alex would even appear in those pictures. It was a new concept that I had to digest.
I will forever be indebted to my sister for taking those pictures. As difficult and as hard as it was at the time, it had to be done. They remain as a symbol of the miracle that is my daughter and I hold them dear to my heart.
It is those same pictures that brought about the Déjà vu that I experienced this evening. I was sharing them with a friend in dance class. As a physician, she understood very well the complexity of the situation. She was at awe at those pictures and could not believe the story that I was telling her. I could barely believe it myself! It seems that it had happened to someone else and not us.
As she turned to me asking how we could’ve survived such a difficult past and reached to were we are today, I had no other explanation but to tell her that: ”I always believed in Miracles..”
©Copyright 2008.Najwa S. Hirn. All rights reserved.
3 comments:
What a poetic and inspiring story. Thank you for sharing it. Your writing is very poetic and encouraging.
Very touching story! I believe in miracles also! My grandfather who was born in 1906 weighed the same as your daughter, just 12 oz. at birth. Somehow, even though it was over 100 years ago, against all odds, he survived!
Amy (radmom40)
http://www.antiaging-skincareproducts.com
Thank you both for your comments:
Princess: Glad that you are enjoying my articles. I write what I feel.
Amy: Thanks so much for sharing the story about your grandfather. That is so encouraging and gives me such hope.
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