Some memories can change: They are as fluid as their outcome and depend heavily on it. They can sway to the right or left with the brush of feather, a second of change, one tiny instant of uncertainty.
Thankfully for us, our memory is a good one.
Looking back through some old photos of the children, I came across some of Buddy’s days in the Nicu. Buddy (formerly Baby O, see notes) was born nearly a month early. This isn’t extreme by any standard and he was strong and fought for air. Literally. The nurses in the Nicu loved and cared for him while he learned to breath on his own and we watched from a rocking chair holding his tiny hand and snuggling his oxygen-masked tiny face.
We knew he would be ok. Of course we knew. But in those moments, those times of uncertainty, where a brush of a feather to fate could make the outcome something unavoidably horrible, we held our breath and pictured him toddlering about, giggling, laughing, running.
I’ve never been so glad to be so right. Or as thankful to not have to be wrong.