If there were ever a day I wish I could wipe from the calendar, it’s this one. This day marks the worst nightmare I’ve ever lived through. Lennox’s death was hard, but not unexpected. We’d accepted that his chances of surviving were so small. Zoë, however, brought us so much hope every single day. When we rushed into that NICU room two years ago today to see a crowd of nurses and doctors surrounding that little bed, our entire world just slammed into a brick wall. It never goes away. It doesn’t fade. I can still recall perfectly every second, the sound of empty vials of drugs being dropped on the floor, the sight of the neonatologist’s eyes staring at me over his mask, the feel of someone pressing a wet towel against my neck. I remember feeling too heavy too move and, at the same time, like I’d lost the boundaries of my body and become vapor.
Every morning, I put on my necklace with their names, and they are with me. In my life, so different from what I thought it would be two years ago, they are with me every day, every hour. I say their names. I remember the feel of them in my arms. I remember holding Zoë against my chest and feeling her tiny fingers grasping against my skin.
Thank you for remembering our Sweet Zoë with us today.
As I did for her brother, I am putting out the request for donations to the March of Dimes. I can think of no better legacy for Sweet Zoë than working to prevent premature births and to increase the knowledge needed to care for extremely premature infants. Any size donation is welcome; there are pre-set amounts and an option for a custom amount. Donations may be made anonymously if you prefer not to have your name listed on the web page, and the amount of your donation is not disclosed to anyone.