How does one remember a life which ends before it begins? How can one offer a good word about a life whose every moment was coded for death? Is it all a waste? And when I consider Donell - his life - is it a waste for him?  As I think through these questions, I reflect on Donell’s  experience. Our precious, vulnerable son is experiencing the fierce and undying love of a mother who cares for, nurtures, carries, and cries over him. He is hearing Micah's joyful sounds of laughter as he refers to his brother affectionately as "Stone." And Donell is hearing me say "I love you" as I try to find a way to protect him. Would Donell have been better off having not experienced his mom's love? Is his brother's love and laughter wasted? Are my words insignificant to his little life?"

Now, standing on this side of Donell four hour and fifty-eight minute life - and having held my son for almost that entire time - I think I'm in a better position to answer these questions.

For the short time Donell was alive and in our arms, he breathed, he studied our faces, he listened to our voices, and he responded with soft and sweet sounds. He was determined. He was courageous. He was beautiful.