Early in the morning, as the sun still struggles to bring its glow to the sky, before Stanley has made it through his first 24 hours, we notice that he doesn’t seem to be doing well. His breathing is labored; he seems to be in some distress. He feels a bit cold to the touch and he seems a bit pale. The fact that the hospital is as cold as an icebox doesn’t help. Could this be it — the moment we lose him?

Though he was only born a few hours ago, the grief at possibly losing him is intense. We say a prayer. My poor little boy. Keep going, little man! Is he too cold? Does he need human touch to rally his strength? Knowing how much new babies need skin-to-skin contact, we unwrap him from his blanket, place him on Dad’s chest, cozy under his grey zip-up sweater. Stanley has his ear right over Dad’s beating heart as he is held close and we continue to pray over him

Dad feels Stanley warm up. His breathing normalizes and he makes gentle movements. He’s comfortable now.

The sense that life and death are so tenuously separated is nearer now than ever. Stanley lives on borrowed time. It becomes even more real to us now that we all do too. Who knows how much longer any of us have. Today, this moment, is precious – use it wisely.

The rest of the day goes well. More friends, family, and co-workers come to visit and to hold Stanley. Everyone comments on how beautiful he is — we agree! We keep feeding him, caring for him, holding him, and enjoying the intimacy of these profound moments.

As we prepare for another night’s rest in the hospital with Stanley still holding on to life and resting comfortably, we feel beyond thankful.