I knelt not to pray, but to retrieve a timecard sidelined against the wall of my nightstand drawer. For thirty years, I've kept this card wrinkle-free with no dog-eared corners and pristine as the day I signed it. Of course to some extent it yellowed, but what hasn't turned a slight variation of color during these past three decades? Even my blonde hair has gotten darker not grayer but for a few wisps around the ears. Holding the card between my thumbs and forefingers, I sat on the edge of the bed, as my thoughts drifted back to that day.

    Saturday, March 14, 1981, after almost twenty-four hours of intense labor trying to induce a natural childbirth, the doctor and staff decided in the best interest of my wife and unborn child's safety, to perform a cesarean section. They wheeled my exhausted wife from the "birthing room" to prep her for surgery. As I waited in the lounge, reflecting the past day's events, my wife gave birth to our first child, a baby girl, Kristen. Married just shy of two years, we were starting our family, the beginning of a dream. Excited, I called my parents and in-laws telling them the news.They were grandparents.

    As I sat with my wife in recovery, I held her hand and with my fingers, brushed her hair from her forehead. Suddenly, the nurses rushed to get baby Kristen baptized. Shocked to what exactly was happening, we waited trying to calm each other, and prayed for her safe return.

    Kristen's birth was complicated by Meconium Aspiration Syndrome (MAS), a medical condition that can affect newborn infants. Meconium is the baby's first stool which normally occurs after they are born. Meconium aspiration occurs when the baby passes its first stool BEFORE they are born and becomes part of the amniotic fluid. If they breathe in utero before they are born (as many babies do), the meconium can get into their lungs. This thick, black, gluey-like substance blocks the airways and doesn't allow the lungs to work properly. As a result, the baby will have trouble breathing and getting the oxygen in and out of their lungs.

    Kristen was alive and on this earth for forty-five minutes fighting for her survival before God made her one of his angels. I can remember the nurse asking me if I wanted to hold her, and just like it happened yesterday, I can still feel the warmth of her body as I clutched her against my heart. I wanted her to feel the beat of my heart, as I willed the beat of my heart to miraculously start hers. As I spoke to her, I hoped she would open her eyes, if only for a moment to see me smile at her. Her strawberry-blonde hair peeked through the baby blanket. I kissed her forehead, told her I loved her and would miss being her dad. I held back my tears. I wanted to be just as strong for her as she was for us.

    We knew God had other plans for Kristen, and as believers, we put our faith in his hands. With our guardian angel watching over us, we again started our family. We have been blessed with three healthy children, ages twenty-eight, twenty-five and twenty-three. Our daughter has been married for nearly two years, our youngest son is engaged and will make us grandparents this June, and our oldest ... well, let's say Kristen hasn't finalized her sprinkling of "love dust" on his relationship.

    I sat on my bed with the timecard in my hand, the timecard I never submitted to payroll after returning to work following this tragedy. To this day, I can still feel our little baby swaddled in a pure white blanket resting in the palm of my hands, and I can feel her being lifted away by the band of angels sent by God.