The Birthday We Would Never Forget

On that bright, clear Tuesday morning, I gave birth to my second son.

I was scheduled for a cesarean section that morning because my baby was breech, and I was only one day away from my due date. Everything about the morning seemed completely ordinary. I was about to meet my baby.

At 8:00 a.m., my son was born.

But before I could even see him or hold him, the nurse whisked him away. His hands and feet were blue, and they needed to get him warmed up. My husband went with our little baby while the nurses gave him his first bath and placed him in an incubator.

At that moment, we had no idea that 8:00 a.m. would forever have a meaning far beyond the birth of our son. It was the brief moment between the two planes that struck the Twin Towers in New York City.

We knew nothing about what was happening.

An operating-room technician stepped out of the room for a moment. When he came back, he looked at me and said, “You’re never going to forget your son’s birthday.”

Of course, I asked him why.

“I think our country is under attack!”

I remember asking him why he thought that.

He told me, “I’m a Navy medic, and two planes have hit the Twin Towers in New York.”

I was still lying on the operating table, being sewn up after the cesarean, when I noticed that my OB looked unusually pensive. I didn't know why at the time. It wasn't until my six-week checkup that she told me her mother lived in the Bronx, and she had been worried about what was happening to her.

Around 9:30 that morning, I was brought to my room. The nurse urged me not to turn on the television.

But I was unable to get out of bed because of the spinal, and I wanted to understand what was happening. So I turned on the TV.

At first, there was so much speculation. No one seemed to know exactly what was happening. Then, as I watched the news coverage, I saw the first tower fall.

It was awful to witness.

And then the second tower fell.

The reality of what had happened was horrifying.

Yet in the middle of all that fear and uncertainty, I was still waiting for my baby.

Around 11:00 a.m., my husband came into the room without him. They were still trying to warm our son, he explained, but he would be brought to me soon.

My husband also wanted to go pick up our older son from school. He was in first grade. But when he got there, our son decided he wanted to stay with his friends.

To this day, I am thankful that his teacher made the children feel safe and didn't tell them too much about what had happened. While the adults around them were trying to comprehend the events of that terrible morning, he protected those children from having to carry the full weight of it.

Finally, my baby was brought to me.

I was able to nurse him, hold him and finally look at the little boy I had been waiting nine months to meet.

He was beautiful.

We named him Ian, the Scottish form of John, which means “gracious gift from God.”

Later, my husband returned with our older son. When he walked into the room and saw his little brother for the first time, he was in awe. It was almost as though he didn't quite believe the baby was real until he could see him for himself.

That day, two very different things happened in our family and in our country.

Our nation experienced unimaginable loss, and our family experienced the joy of welcoming a new life.

We never did forget our son's birthday.

For the last 25 years, his birthday has carried with it the constant reminder of September 11, 2001. Each year, as we celebrate Ian, we also remember those who lost their lives. We remember the families who lost loved ones. And we remember the courage and sacrifice of so many who served that day.

And there is one more part of the story that I never could have imagined on that bright Tuesday morning.

That little boy who was born at 8:00 a.m. is now almost 25 years old and is serving his country in the United States Navy as a member of the Security Forces.

His older brother is also serving his country in the Navy as a Strike Fighter aviator.

I think back to the words of that Navy medic who stood beside me on the morning Ian was born:

“You’re never going to forget your son’s birthday.”

He was right.

We never have.

And perhaps, in a way, the greatest gift of all these years has been seeing those two little boys grow into men who chose to serve their country.