There’s something wrong with your baby’s heart.
It was two years ago this week when we first heard those words. Anxiety stricken, we began to wrap our minds around that reality. Loving you before ever meeting you, we were now faced with fears we never anticipated.
Knowing we may never be able to hold you, to take you home, to help you grow up, the next few months were agonizing. Wondering if you’d have the strength to remain in the fight. Believing that you would.
On that day in August, the world changed. Pacing the hallways with rosaries in hand and prayers on our lips, you made your arrival.
Six minutes. Six percent.
That’s what the doctors told us. If they could get you into surgery within the first six minutes you had a six percent chance of survival.
Your angels were everywhere that day. From one end of the hospital to the other, traffic was stopped, elevators were waiting, doctors were expecting you.
Hours felt like years. With each second, someone, somewhere was whispering a prayer in your name. Asking God to give you strength, to beat the odds, to make it through.
Saturday, we will be walking with you. Because each breath you take gives us faith. Brings us hope. Surrounds us with love.
You are our miracle.