Oh how I wish I could have breathed for you, peanut. You fought so hard to get off that ventilator. One time I attempted to calm you with a different tactic, I embraced you in bed while I placed one hand on your head and one at your feet, like the nurses taught me. I joked with you, “Mama teaches people how to breathe deeply in yoga, I can teach you too.”
She was so strong, on the day of this video she had reared back in my arms and pulled her own breathing tube out. “Breathe, baby, breathe” is what it says on the IG post I made that day.
But her body wasn’t designed to breathe easily, I could see it in the way her lips would turn blue if her head wasn’t positioned just right. Her big brother never did that.
Eva taught me that this instinctual act is not something to take for granted. I focused on her inhalation and exhalation, rooting each one on. Every now and then when I take a deep breath on my yoga mat, I stop and remember how difficult it was for her.
I’m grateful you no longer have to struggle to breathe, Eva, but I’ve found it’s been hard for me to breathe since losing you.