I would like to take this day, as I have been doing, to remember someone very special. Her name was Breanna, and in her extremely short life, she accomplished an act of heroism few adults could ever claim. She saved my son.
Today, she would have been three years old. If she had survived.
Celebrating the life of an infant, who was taken away when she was only two months old, takes on a special significance for me because our family directly benefited from her death. It sounds horrific to put it in those terms, doesn't it? It's true though. Truth can sometimes be a hard thing to grapple with. It doesn't always make sense, or seem fair. Sometimes when you lay awake at night listening to the sounds of suburbia, it hits you in the face and knocks you cold.
It boiled down to this: My son needed a heart transplant urgently. He was given a very short time to live. No one believed he would last long enough for a heart to be found.
But he did. Breanna's heart beats inside of him. Do I have a reason to celebrate? Of course I do. My son is alive. But never for one minute do I ever think that...without also thinking about the baby girl who died. The two events are joined together, forever inseparable.
Your life was short Breanna, but you were loved. You were a beautiful and joyous baby girl who will forever grace our memories with your smile. Today would have been your birthday.
Rest in peace baby girl.