The tears just keep pouring out. I’m standing here at my desk, with my office door closed, trying to be as quiet as I can.

I saw Dr. Kate this morning in the elevator. I have always liked Dr. Kate and had a good relationship with her, especially as the NICU & Peds Manager. She asked how we (our family) are doing, and I smiled and said fine and thank you. I was starting to tell her how much I appreciated her sympathy, and remembered that I had texted her the days before you passed away that morning. Maybe even the day before. I was so worried, and I didn’t want to bring you in anywhere. I thought the Urgent Cares would not know what to do, and feel you were out of their league. I didn’t want to bring you to an ED or even Peds ED because of the same. Every time in the past, they had always gotten a little freaked out because whatever was going on. Dr. Utzurrum was always understanding, but she retired and I wasn’t sure if she would just say to go to the ED. So I texted Dr. Kate.

I had remembered how some people got medications or antibodies, and even Dr. Akkad had mentioned a medication to me if I didn’t feel better. But when I looked it up it was only authorized for patients over 18 years of age. So really I was kind of phishing to see if maybe Dr. Kate had any lead ins for a way for you to get it. If only you were just a few weeks older. She was very helpful, she had a few thoughts and suggestions and even followed up with what she found. Ultimately, I didn’t want to risk standing in line for a long time at the Convention Center for something that we might not even be eligible for. Plus, you seemed OK. Just sleeping soundly.

I didn’t remember all that at the moment, in the elevator. But I felt that same feeling I felt that day before you passed. Worried, not really panicking but concerned. And in that flash of time, it was like I was there. I could feel it again. So there in the elevator, and stepping off with her at her floor I cried but reassured her I was OK. I explained it happens every day, and that I get emotional but not embarrassed about it. She was crying too, and I felt sorry that she would start her day that way.

When I got into the office I closed the door. There is a new girl at the front desk, just outside of my office. I didn’t want her to worry, I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t even know. It is her third day at Mercy. And as I sipped on my coffee and put jelly on my biscuit I stood here weeping.

It reminded me of when you were in the NICU. There were two times actually. One was my first day back at work at LMU. Through all your weeks in the NICU, the nurses always assured us that when I went back to work, if I was worried or wanted to know anything to just call. And I had seen nurses answer phone calls all the time. So my first day back to work, I wanted to do the same. I was nervous, but make the call. Wanda, one of your nurses back then answered. I’m not even sure how much I introduced myself or how much she told me, but she suddenly cut me off and said “I’m sorry I have to go, your baby is seizing.” Then click, and hung up. I stood there, in that office and broke into tears. I remember I was crying so much and so hard I didn’t want to call Rosie our receptionist, so I called one of the other counselors, Steave. I told him I was crying and couldn’t come out, and asked if he could tell Rosie to cancel my appointments that day. Another time, was during mass. Even then, I attended noon mass whenever I could. I would pray for you, and when they priest would ask if there were any intentions I would simply say aloud “for William”. Everyone would pray, and one day one of the older ladies from the community that went to mass there, stopped me at the end of mass to ask about “William” since we pray for you all the time. As I told her you were small, and early, and in the NICU I started to weep. Hard actually. And I couldn’t stop. She sat for a while to try and console me and keep me company but after however long she left. The priest stayed too, I remember he was young, and new. I think he was uncomfortable but he stayed for a while. Ultimately everyone left and I was in that chapel weeping by myself. I didn’t want to walk back to my office, because the thought of crossing a college campus, even through a building in that state, seeing students all around wasn’t something I wanted to do.

In that book by Levi Lusko, he references St. Paul’s letter to Timothy, and the “sorrows upon sorrows”. Lusko writes about the original Greek nautical term, about waves crashing on a beach. I’ve tried to find the real term, but it may be old (Ancient) Greek, or I just written in Greek and I can’t read it. But I feel that. Sorrows upon sorrows. Some translations and commentaries say sorrows on top of sorrows, or unending waves on top of waves. I think that is right, that is how I feel.

So here I am again, 18 years later. There is a familiarity in it, like I’ve been here before. But when you were a baby you felt far away, so small and so far from my office when you were in the NICU. Now I feel you here with me. I just miss you still. Tomorrow will be 3 months since that morning. It seems both far away and near. I love you very much, and I miss you so much.

Love,

Dad