I Hope You Forgive Me.
I remember the day I first met you. It was a quiet Sunday, early in the morning. I heard a commotion out by the check in desk, and your mom’s scream: “My baby’s not breathing!” The first time I saw you was in your mom’s arms. Heartbreakingly, you weren’t snuggled like a baby should be, or even limp. Your tiny body was twitching, seizing, curling up in the all too recognizable form of a massive head injury.