PHOTO: Zach Guinta
BY: Dawn Nargi for Best Self Magazine
A widow rediscovers hope, purpose and her true self
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Norman and I were married in 2004 in Italy surrounded by family and friends who traveled 2,000 miles to celebrate the occasion. The mountains of Ravello, the winding roads along the coast, and the White Cathedral in the square combined to make the Amalfi Coast a magical spot to celebrate our love. In 2007, my husband and I felt like the luckiest people in the world. We had just purchased our dream home, a two-bedroom apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, and we were expecting our first child in February 2008. As soon as we learned we were going to have a boy, we began to prepare our home to welcome him, and started calling him William Louis in honor of our fathers. Norman seemed to experience the pregnancy with me; friends joked that Norm and I were so connected that he was carrying a baby with me, experiencing all the joy and sympathy pains as we anticipated William’s arrival. But when I was told on December 19th that I needed an emergency C-section, William Louis was born two months early at 2 pounds 14 ounces. Small, but breathing on his own, he was placed in neonatal intensive care (NICU) for monitoring. That’s when Norman and I began to learn all we could about caring for a premature baby. William was released from the NICU on January 18th, 2008. My husband and I were thrilled and terrified to bring him home. At four pounds, he looked so tiny in the car seat, fragile and vulnerable. But once we got home and put him in his bassinet, we believed our grand luck was beginning again… READ THE FULL ARTICLE > VIEW FULL ARTILE