Before you were born, I wondered what you would be like, what you would look like and why you were kicking me so hard.

When you were born, I looked at your face and saw pieces of your dad, some of grandpa Foss, my eyes. I saw your future and wondered why you were so anxious to join the world. What I didn’t see was the print you left on my heart.      

The Dr. cut the cord when you were born, only to replace it with new ones: heart rate, oxygen. Desperately we wanted to cut the cords and storm out of the hospital.

You taught us so much in your first breaths of life. How much we love you. How close heaven is. That prayers are answered.

We learned in those first few weeks how strong you are. That you are a  fighter. That you love life.

We prayed for you to gain weight so you could come home, so that we could hold you in our arms without monitors beeping.

We love you, little man.