Davey,
This morning, as I knelt to pray, I thought for a long time about you. (I guess in reality it was a mere three minutes of quiet and tranquility before little feet pitter-pattered into my bedroom and excitement for the day began.) In that three minutes, however, my mind was able to focus deeply into my soul and my heart, pulling from memories, journals, scrapbooks, thoughts, and a million moments in time. I recaptured the last 30 minutes before your birth, your actual debut--the sounds, the feelings, the overwhelming love I felt (something I feared greatly wouldn't come, because I already felt such love for your older brother and your father).
The night before your birth I hardly slept a wink. In fact, I actually awoke just an hour after slumber, because I knew Kyler was not to be your name. I felt sick about it. We felt such a responsibility to name you correctly and to treat you the right way, just as Heavenly Father would have it. I sat most of the night, contemplating name choices and thinking about you. I woke up Dad and told him how uneasy I felt about our name choice, that I knew it was not to be.
Upon arrival at the hospital--Grandma McLeish drove Matthew and I in our little black Camry, dropped me to the ER entrance of the Logan Hospital, and Dad met us--Dad and I began discussing name choices. Shortly after the nurse started my IV and I began to settle, Dad looked over at me--the look he gives when he feels enlightened and feels the Holy Ghost--and we knew. He immediately called Aunt D'Lonna to ask her if it would be alright that we were naming our child an identical name, but with an obviously different last name (since your cousin is a Nelson) and after different men. After hanging up with her, he made the necessary phone calls to your grandfathers. I will not ever forget those conversations. Both of these men felt such honor and love to have a grandbaby named after them. Grandpa McLeish actually broke down. And we knew.
You were to be David Wayne.
Your arrival came much safer and easier than Matthew's, since I had a scheduled c-section at the OR. While we didn't experience the complications that we did with Matthew, I was more coherent for the process. In many ways that was wonderful, but in many ways that was really hard for me. Your dad was a great comfort. He calmed me and helped me to make it through. Then, after a short while, you were here. You had white hair, and you were so tiny--just 8 pounds 0 ounces. I couldn't get over how beautiful you were. My heart swelled and felt like it might jump right out my chest--definitely love at first sight.
And I was caught up all over again, like I was with your brother. I couldn't believe that I get to be your mommy. I couldn't believe that Heavenly Father entrusted me with something so perfect and close to him.
Early on, we knew that Heavenly Father loves you so much, because we felt it. We felt it in our veins. We felt consumed with it. We saw it.
It was made clear that you were ours on borrowed time. When you were only three months old, you became ill with pneumonia and RSV. After awaking to a very scary sound one Saturday night, we rushed you to the hospital. A quick test confirmed the results and a measure of your oxygen saturation level indicated just how sick you were. Over the next several days in the hospital on the pediatric floor, we prayed and pleaded. One particular night, we had an epiphany of sorts. Things were not looking up and doctors conveyed their worry to us. That night, Dad and I sat there, emotionally drained and helpless--you'd already had Priesthood blessings, meds, and nothing more could be done--and it hit us. We realized you were not our own. We realized at that moment that if Heavenly Father decided to take you home, it was beyond our control. All we could do was love on you, trust in His plan for you and our little family, and exercise faith. You got better that night.
Experiences like that would ensue. One particular event occurred when our family became infected with influenza in 2008. We were visiting Grandma and Grandpa McLeish in Colorado. We'd literally been there for a few days, when Grandpa insisted that I take you to the hospital. He urged me multiple times, but seeing how we'd already taken you once to confirm you had pneumonia and there was nothing more to do, I didn't feel to excited about expending more funds in behalf of the same results.
After about 20 or 30 minutes, Grandpa said, "Keri, I am not telling you this as myself. I feel prompted to tell you that we need to get David to the hospital immediately." Imagine my surprise when the nurse told me that she was going to get another machine, because this one was obviously broken. Another machine was brought and the same result showed--your pulse-ox read a dangerously low 67. You should have been blue. I couldn't believe my ears or eyes. MANY doctors came to examine you. They took you upstairs in an isolated wing of the ped's floor.
During that same time, your brother came down with a different strand of the flu, as did I, and both Grandma and Grandpa. We were all so sick. While our fevers reached a scary 104, yours went even higher. Grammy, Grandma McLeish, myself, and Diana Matney took 12-hour shifts at the hospital. One particular night, we again received devastating words from the doctor. You'd been in the hospital for five days with little to no improvement. Even with IV's, motrin and tylenol, nothing happened. They could not get your fever under control. Brain damage was starting to be talked about. That night, a doctor pulled me aside. He told me that it was really important that your dad get up here from Texas to see you, because you might not hold out much longer.
We decided to call some men in the ward for another Priesthood blessing. Dad couldn't get up for another day with travel time, you see. And again, we witnessed miracles. Your vitals turned around the next morning, your fever diminished and your body returned to a normal temperature, your oxygen saturation level improved immensely.
Davey, oh how we love you so. Countless prayers have been offered on your behalf since your arrival. I know there are times when we mess up or when we don't get along or we struggle. There are many hard days, but we really do have your best interest in mind. And we continue to remind ourselves that Heavenly Father has only loaned you to us for the time being. That helps me to remember who you really are. We love you just the way you are, Davey.
Could there be a boy more full of life? You have brought our family great joy and reminded us to laugh and smile. You have taught us about faith, prayer, and charity. Your talents are many: cooking, cars, sports and anything that involves a ball and/or coordination, penmanship, letters, coloring, and snuggling.
Probably one of my most favorite things about you is your laugh when something excites you so. It's unlike anything I've heard and no one can help but smile. It's contagious. The other thing is when I tuck you in. I LOVELOVELOVE how you ask for a "race car" kiss or a "dragon" kiss or "whatever you are into"-type of kiss. Many of my most treasured memories stem from our story times each day, after Ethan has gone to bed for nap and Matthew is away at school. I love hearing you tell me about your day or your jokes. And how can I forget our snuggles every morning. You sneak into bed with me, after Dad has gone to work. I LOVE that. I love your love of the Black-Eyed Peas, your attention to clothes and what you where, your love of spinach and garbanzo beans, and all of your other quirks. I love that you remind me of Peppermint Patty from
Charlie Brown when you eat. Particularly, that scene from the summer camp movie when the girls get lost and find the boys at the cabin. Peppermint Patty says, "Lets have a meal with these guys." Then, she finds out Chuck intends on feeding her cereal for dinner. She's so insulted. He tells her she can take it or leave it. So . . . she sits up, completely disheartened and perplexed over eating a breakfast food for dinner. It's the look she makes as she eats. Her forehead is creased and she's dissatisfied, but not enough to give up food. There are oh so many other things I love about you.
Last night, as we celebrated your birthday, I watched you from across the table. Again, as I sat there, though it may have been just mere minutes, my inner self somehow transformed time to slow down and contemplate. I thought about how it was your special day, about how you were so excited to be there with our family and that was the only place you wanted to be. You knew that a cake and ice cream would be waiting for you, along with your simple gifts, when you returned home from school. You were so pleased that we sang to you. It didn't matter about any of the things happening outside the walls of our home. Your eyes lit up with each gift. And I found myself just not wanting anymore time to pass,
willing it to stop, in fact.
You are ever precious in His sight, Davey, just as you are in ours. We love you. Happy 5th, special boy!
(pictures to follow)
