In this excerpt from Preemie, right after Andie’s sudden birth, I tell Lee about the vision I had of her as a healthy, happy 5-year old.

“For two days, Lee continued to go back and forth to the NICU alone. He left Polaroids of Andie on my bedside table. I covered them with a box of tissues. On Wednesday morn- ing, he was about to walk out the door when he turned and looked back at me. His eyes were red from lack of sleep and his hair was sticking up every which way. “You’ve got to see her at some point,” he said and then walked out.

Fifteen minutes passed before I moved the box of tissues and picked up the Polaroids. It was hard to see her beneath all the tubes and wires, but when I held the photos at arm’s length, I saw she was more human-like than I had thought. I ran my finger over her tiny fingers, her closed mouth. Her eyes were like the eyes of a baby robin I’d discovered as a girl in a fallen nest. Everything was there, just miniaturized.

When I looked up from the photos, Lee was standing in the doorway. “I had a vision,” I told him. “I saw two paths. One leads to a funeral in a week. The other to a beautiful five-year-old girl.” He stood still, watching me. “I’m going for the latter,” I said.

Relief flooded his face and my journey as a NICU Mom had begun.”

I held onto that vision and called it upon it repeatedly to keep from losing faith throughout the days, months and years that followed.

And then, five years later Lee showed me the photo he’d taken of Andie out twirling in the backyard.

I sucked in my breath.

It was her, the girl in my vision.


For Photo Friday, is there a vision of you own you’d like to see?