Mother's day has always been kind of bitter sweet.
It was 30 years ago yesterday I gave birth to our son, Brian Anthony. Close to 4 months premature, he didn't have much of a chance. As I looked into that plastic isolette, I could see he had his father's dark hair. I declined to hold him, wanting him to have the best chance and staying warm under the lights. I offered him my little finger and his tiny hand could barely wrap around it. It wasn't long. Our pastor baptized him, and soon after, Brian left us having lived only about 4 hours. Instead of the joy and happiness that surrounds a new birth, we were planning a funeral.
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