How My Newborn Son’s Near-Death Taught Me that We Can Always Choose Gratitude

baby boy  Seventeen years ago this morning, my (then) wife gave birth to our first son.  He was six weeks premature.

I caught a glimpse of him as the nurse whisked him to the delivery room table where the team gets babies breathing.  My wife and I waited, anxious to hold him.

But we heard no cries from our baby.

More nurses began to gather around the table and assist the doctor.  The team’s activity became more frantic; we could hear the concern in their voices.  Minutes passed, seeming like hours, but still we heard no sounds from our baby.

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