My wife and I tried to consider for four long years. We endured one heartbreak after another, feeling four pregnancy losses before our wonders finally inwards. Our hearts overflowed when we greeted our baby boy, Noah Watson Miller. To pay tribute to my grandfather, who had died of cancer, we selected his middle name.
Noah was delivered via emergency C-section on May 31, 2017, at 10:28 PM. When he arrived, he was robust and fit a perfect little boy we had wished for over such a long time. Before anyone else, I was the first to hold him and kept him close for three valuable hours.
Even at that time, I could know he was someone special. He hardly cried, looking peaceful and content, as if he already knew how much he was loved.
When I first looked into his eyes, I found it hard to believe he was actually ours. Our rainbow baby arrived after years of loss and pain. We often speculated about the kind of man he would become kind, funny, perhaps adventurous. Noah was instantly adored by everyone who met him. He grinned at everyone, including strangers, without bashfulness or fussiness. His presence lit up any space.
With every landmark he reached, we were filled with pride. As he started to rock back and forth on his hands and knees, nearing the point of crawling, we encouraged him. He was keen to discover the world, and we were thrilled to introduce it to him. His health was generally good, aside from a slight propensity to hold his breath at times somewhat doctors indicated is typical for infants.
However, when Noah touched the age of seven weeks, everything changed. While he was sitting next to me one day, he suddenly turned blue. As we dialed 911, panic began to take hold. I held him alongside my chest while on the phone, and suddenly he began to breathe again as if nothing had happened. He was examined by paramedics, after which we elated him for medical tests.
Following that, we exercised great caution. We ensured he slept safely by checking on him throughout the night. It appeared that everything was fine once more. As he reached the age of seven and a half months, he came down with a cough. For three consecutive days, we brought him to the doctor, but they dismissed it as a viral chest infection. They informed us it would go by. He even appeared to be improving by the end of the week. Even though he wasn’t feeling well, he was still his cheerful self and still amused.
Then inwards the night that would change our lives for good. On that Sunday evening, Noah lay beside me on the couch, fast asleep.
This time, something was seriously amiss. He appeared to be pale, his eyes wide open yet expressionless as they gazed at the ceiling. I shouted his name, but he didn’t budge.
I yelled for assistance and dialed 911. For ten excruciating minutes before the paramedics came, I did CPR on my baby. His minuscule chest wouldn’t expand, and his heart wouldn’t thump. They hurried him to the hospital, where for 45 minutes nonstop the doctors worked. Finally, through some miracle, his heart started beating once more.
He was transported by helicopter to Calgary’s children’s hospital. It was there that the doctors delivered the news no parent ever wants to hear. According to them, the brain swelling was serious, and it would take 72 hours to determine whether he could survive. However, after just one day, they informed us that his brain showed no remaining activity. Medically speaking, he was gone. However, to us, he remained our baby, his body still warm and his heart still beating.
We bid farewell that night, encircled by our loved ones and affection. After life support was removed from Noah, silence enveloped our world. At just seven and a half months of age, he transformed our lives for good
