The First Time We Held Hands

I remember the first time your tiny little fingers wrapped around mine.  You were four days old.

 

I still had not even been able to hold you, but you found a way to let me know you loved me.

 

Inside that incubator you were fighting to grow, fighting to breathe, fighting to exist.

 

1lb and about 12 oz by then of pure strength.

 

The diaper that was hardly larger than a panty liner engulfed your lower body.

 

Your skin - translucent.

 

Your coloring - pale.

 

Your eyes - covered with blue goggles to protect you from the warming light.

 

Your breathing - still aided by a CPAP.

 

But your spirit - vibrant.

 

Two days earlier, you lost your soul mate, your womb buddy, your identical twin sister.

 

But this day, you let me know you were here to stay.

 

I remember that moment.  The moment you let me know I could begin to hope.

 

I could begin to dream of taking you home.

 

My arms would not be left completely empty.

 

 

 

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