Letters for Madison

My dear Madi Rae,

The day you graced the world started with a migraine. There were many bumps in the road during the pregnancy. (Okay, maybe bumps is an understatement. It was more like gigantic potholes.) We knew it was going to be difficult. Your sister was born eight weeks premature and warned that another pregnancy would be high-risk. Your mom was battling high blood pressure throughout and this day brought us to the emergency room.

It was June 30, 2011, the first of many days I felt helpless. You and your mom were whisked away to a larger hospital, knowing you were to be born today. It was an emergency c-section. I was there, in the room, when you were born, sixteen weeks too early. 

When your sister was born, there were a few agonizing seconds before I heard her cry and make herself known to the world. I’m certain it was only 3-4 seconds, but it felt like an eternity in the moment. For you, I can never unhear the silence that dragged on. It didn’t end. I feared that silence.

That’s when the helplessness started. You were brought to the NICU and I was kicked out of the operating room. Your mom stayed in surgery for hours. All I could do was sit and wait. My mind traversed through the endless scenarios, the what-ifs, and the reality I may lose you both. Sit and wait. Helpless. All confined within a sterile waiting room. Family and friends came to support you, your sister, your mother and I. My mind was too consumed with the silence, the fear, and what reality may await me on the other side of the excruciating wait.

By the day’s end I saw you both, but neither of you were out of danger. But it did end with the decision that prevented me from being there with you. Your uncle was getting married in two days. Your mom and I went back and forth on what I should do. The next morning I left. Still waiting, still helpless, desperately avoiding the silence I could not unhear.

I love you always,

Dad