When we went for our routine 20 week ultrasound for Marcus Antonio, we stayed for much longer than necessary and didn’t even get a little print out of our little boy’s ultrasound. Instead I get an urgent phone call the next day asking me to come in right away. At the meeting I was told that our son may be “incompatible with life” due to some abnormalities they found during the ultrasound. They listed all the things that could go wrong and advised terminating the pregnancy to avoid any further complications. When I told Stephen what they said, he replied with a resounding,

“No. That’s my son.”

A few months later on January 5th, I found myself tossing in bed trying to sleep and drenched in sweat. At 38 weeks pregnant I told myself that we just had to wait until the morning, after all, my daughter waited for her due date, surely that is how ALL pregnancies are. Unable to bear the sweating anymore, I woke Stephen up and told him to call my brother to come and watch Lena so we can head to the hospital because something was not right. It was 2:30am. We made a mad dash to the hospital, where we were told there was no room at the inn, but if I just have a seat they will see what they can do. It was 3:00am. I just couldn’t stop sweating and my breathing was starting to get shallow, Stephen kept telling me that it was going to be ok.

At 4:00am we were told that there was a room at the end of the hallway and “it would be good for the baby to walk there.” After the quickest walk down the longest hallway, we reach a dimly lit room and the nurse cheerfully tells me to put on a hospital gown so she can (finally) check on our vitals. Apparently, “I really need to poop,” are the words that spring nurses into action. Within seconds of uttering those words I hear, “Get her on the bed!” Stephen had to drag me out of the bathroom and I managed to get myself half on to the hospital bed when I am checked for the first time. An abrupt “Oh!” is all I heard before the nurse murmured, “Code blue,” and pushed a button that filled the room with light and the most nurses and doctors I have ever seen in a room. With one foot still dangling off the bed, Marcus made his very abrupt entrance into the world at 4:17am during the Feast of the Epiphany. We had a healthy baby boy. Stephen wanted him to be called Marcus Antonio – a strong Roman name fit for a warrior who defied what was expected of him. The only complication that they wrote on my chart was, “Precipitous birth.”

Tomorrow that baby boy turns seven. “Seven is the same number of letters as Daddy’s name, so it’s a good number to be!” Although a lot has changed over the past few years, Marcus still takes on life the way he did when he was born: completely invested and at full speed. He wears a ninja mask around his neck most days and is always ready for any ninja activities. He has a tendency to climb or bounce off walls and furniture and I am pretty sure he was born with a built-in loudspeaker, like his dad. He is surprisingly my most responsible child who would clean bathrooms and complete all his school work without prompting. He has never left a blank space in any picture he has given me, all of his art is always filled with color.

He is also the child who is able to turn his grief into hope. Marcus loves Stephen so much. Like any little boy, he wants to be JUST like his dad. He wants to play “all the sports that Daddy played” and is often found sneaking Stephen’s old belongings into his room. He currently has Stephen’s guitar, his golf bag, and a collection of Stephen’s old phones in his room. He plays chess with Stephen’s cherished chess set and is very careful to ensure all the pieces are well kept. Like Stephen he is very particular about his clothes and hair, and he eagerly awaits the day he can use Daddy’s shoes and clothes. Tomorrow he wants to be called “Stephen” because it is the coolest name!

There certainly is always a sadness when a milestone passes and the kids say, “Daddy would have liked this” or “I really wish Daddy was still here.” Birthdays, as much joy as they bring, are always harder to look forward to because I dread hearing those words at the end of the celebrations knowing that nothing we do can really ever fill that loss no matter how much we try. During these times, Marcus would promptly remind us that, “Even if Daddy isn’t here, we will see him again in heaven.”

Happy birthday my son. You are very compatible with life!