It was 2:30 a.m.
I was deep in sleep when a gentle nudge on my left side stirred me — followed by the quiet, urgent sound of my wife calling for help. Her face carried the shadow of worry, eyes wide, uncertain. I glanced at the bed and noticed the sheet was wet. At first, I thought it was just a spill. But no — to my astonishment, the water was coming from her. She was in the final stretch of her pregnancy, and this... this was no ordinary night.
Like a prince roused for his beloved, I leapt into action. I supported her carefully, trying not to show the tremble in my hands. She told me she wasn’t in pain — only discomfort from the fluid steadily flowing. I held her close, clipped her safely into my arms, whispered reassurances that everything would be alright. I led her gently to the bathroom. Then, foolishly thinking we could still sleep this off, we returned to bed.
But sleep had other plans.
Minutes later, another shout — this time with urgency in her voice. She had spoken with her OB-Gyne. “We need to go to the hospital. Now.”
We scrambled to pack. I showered in record time. Then we rushed into the night, hailing a taxi as the city slumbered. Inside the cab, we made light of things — joked nervously that maybe this was it. That maybe our baby didn’t want to wait the remaining three weeks on the OB’s calendar. That maybe today would be the day we’d become parents.
At the hospital, she was questioned quickly, and then — just like that — they wheeled her toward the delivery room.
Wait... what? Already?
That day, we were gifted a son. A fragile miracle. A boy with lungs too weak for this world, but with a spirit that fought for sixteen days inside the NICU. And then... he let go.
That was seven years ago today.
This is his seventh death anniversary.
And every year, the pain replays like a scene I can't edit. I was young. Unprepared. Maybe even foolish. I missed the chance to hold the title of “first-time father” in full.
My son — wherever you are in the vast universe, in a place I can’t reach but feel so near —
I LOVE YOU.
Always.
#everyone #firsttimefather
