This day, 6 years ago, my daughter died. She had a cold. The world only knew her for 20 days. She came into the world 26 weeks into the pregnancy – three months too soon. Her lungs were a mess. Her heart was not formed right. Her body didn’t have any fat on it. When she was wrenched from my wife’s womb, she was silent.

I was still with fear, shock, amazement, sadness, happiness, and defeat when I saw her for the first time. Before I had a chance to even begin to comprehend what I was feeling, her brother, Rhys, was pulled from the safety of the womb – also three months too soon. He wasn’t in much better shape at all. He did make a sound, however.

My daughter was wisked away before I could even catch a breath. My son was placed in a warmer that was here in the operating room. My wife lay there on the table bleeding more than she should have been. She wasn’t able to see anything that had come to pass, but she was awake laying there behind the curtain and experiencing everything through my face and my actions. I tried to be strong and give her some sense that everything was ok. But it wasn’t. All three of my immediate family were literally dying before my eyes.

When this day started, my wife and I were on the way to go see a movie. :) How different it turned out. They were finally able to stabilize my son and daughter – at least as much as they could. They were able to finally stop the bleeding and patch up my wife.

We stayed three months in the NICU. Everyday we prayed that our twins would be alive the next morning. Almost everyday we woke to find either one of the twins’ neighbors in the NICU gone, or there was a new roommate for them there at the NICU. The term “good day” changed for us during our stay at the NICU. A good day was when our son or daughter didn’t crash. Or maybe there were no brain bleeds. Maybe the brittle bone baby down the way didn’t break a new bone. Maybe that baby who’s parents “couldn’t handle” the reality of the NICU might show up to say hi to their little one instead of asking them to find someone else to deal with it. Maybe one of the babies who didn’t seem to have any visitors at all would finally have someone come in and care about it.

It also gave a new meaning to a “bad day” as well. One day, we received the “call”. Leilani, my daughter, was crashing. The infection that she had was not clearing up, and it was the beginning of the end, we were told. We rushed to the NICU as fast as we could safely travel. We arrived there and my daughter’s nurse was in tears. We were too late. I never got to say goodbye to my little angel. She lay there. Her life was obviously passed on. It’s hard to describe what it felt like. My son was on the other side of the wall and was still a very critically ill little baby.

My first time holding my daughter was after her passing… My wife got to hold her twice. I’m so very glad she was able to do that. I wouldn’t take that away for anything.

I never got to know my daughter, but I know she would have been a powerful force. She would have been beautiful and amazing, I’m quite certain. She touched our hearts deeply in the short time we knew her, and we still miss her terribly to this day…

If you want to donate to the March of Dimes to help fight premature birth and the complications that come of it. We set up a link in Leilani’s name, but didn’t publicize it well. Even if you donate time, or anonymously, that helps. The improvements they’ve made in technology and procedure and education already may have made the difference for Leilani to live had she been born today.

Thanks for letting me get that out. :) See you tomorrow. :) It’s POETS Day!!