Remembering when Owain Almost Died. But He Didn’t.

Three years ago, today was Mother’s Day. The day started with a phone call to UVa to talk to Owain’s nurse to see how things went overnight, after getting off the phone with her I thought that while things were not really getting better, they weren’t getting worse. I spent some time with his 3 big brothers, reading all of their Mother’s Day cards, laughing with them and enjoying their excitement. While there was definitely a hole in my Heart, longing to have Owain there with me for his first Mother’s Day, the love that came from his brothers spilled over into it and I was able to relax for the first time in a week. The moment was cut short when we got a call from one of the fellows, I don’t even remember which one, who told us that things were not going well for my Little Owee and that things were actually getting worse. Much worse. We had to give permission over the phone for the surgery and were told all sorts of things that terrified me. His surgery that was scheduled for 2nd in line on Tuesday got bumped to 1st in line Monday morning.

We packed to spend the night at the Ronald McDonald house to be close to the hospital and spent the rest of the day with Owain by his bedside. We stayed late and got up early. The nurses later told us that they didn’t think he would make it to his surgery. They struggled and worked so hard to save his live. I owe his life to not only his surgeon who is amazing, but to all of the nurses in the NICU and PICU who stood by him those nights so I was able to go home to be with my older children. They are amazing.

Tonight I cuddled with my Little Owee like I do every night. I spent the day with him, we played, he threw temper tantrums, he sang me songs, he screamed at me something about a wash cloth, his sister and a sippie cup…I never did get the story behind it, but he was very upset.

I have talked before about how hard it has been for me to remember the days and weeks both leading up to his birth and the weeks and months after. The first 2 years, I was a mess. I could barely function. It was like it was happening all over again. I tried to make it stop, but it wouldn’t.

I have also mentioned that I have worked very hard this year not to fall apart. I searched for an inner peace.

Tonight as I cuddled on the couch with him, I help him close, kissed his curly head and told him how much I loved him. I told him he was my Hero. He told me he didn’t want to be a Hero, he just wanted to be my Little Owee. I told him I was good with that…but I lied, because he is my little Hero. He is strong, he is a fighter, he is brave. He is my little Hero, whether he likes it or not.

Tonight I thought about the Mother’s Day he almost died. And I thought about how he didn’t.