The First Breath

I am a stone cold atheist. Yet this essay has unexpectedly brought me to a startling fact: I find that I believe in miracles, and in my case the miracle is breath — first breath — the first breath of our daughter, who entered this world blue and worn from the long journey of her birth. I was there. I held her mom’s hand, witness to the focus and exhaustion that difficult childbirth can bring, witness to the emerging of life from life. I was there.

But there were none of the classic baby sounds. It was a hard slow delivery and our daughter was born low on oxygen. The doctor and midwife spirited her into an incubator and sucked the mucus from her airways. I was there. It was scary. Listen, folks can tell you about their child’s delivery all day long and you still won’t get it. But be there once and you get it all. It’s all about that first breath. And however they managed it, combining science and care, our daughter got the oxygen that she needed.

And through this miracle of breath, the gift of my daughter appeared. A gift I never anticipated having in my life, a sacred trust, a connection so profound that words are lost here to me. I was there at first breath. I looked in her eyes and my belief in her has not wavered since. (Well maybe once, fool that I am.) And somehow, from that moment on I’ve found that I believe not only in my child but in your child as well.

Perhaps you’ve seen me around town. I’m the old guy silently blessing young fathers caring for their children. Watching these fathers’ faces as their children call to them, “Daddy, look what I’ve done.”

I say to them, “Isn’t ‘daddy’ the best sound you ever heard?”

“You bet,” they always say, “the best.”

My daughter’s now 29, with two children of her own; her partner there for the births. Life from life, it’s an amazement.

What do I believe in? I believe in being there for the first breath and I believe in all of our children. And I forever thank my daughter for teaching me this simple truth because, truly, I believe in her.