As I strained through the phone to hear my husband’s words—shallow, barely audible, delivered in the staccato cadence in which I used to play my concerto pieces as a teen—I was catapulted back in time to five years ago, when our 18-year-old, special needs daughter, Emma, lay in her hospital bed, attached to a ventilator that worked to keep her alive, until it no longer could. Then, pneumonia gave way to Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome which overwhelmed her lungs and took her breath away. Then took her.

Now, a new enemy was battering my young and healthy husband’s body. The man who five years ago ran the NYC Marathon alongside me, only slowing down to keep pace with my less trained lungs. The man who picked up fencing as a hobby to encourage our son and daughter to embrace the sport the way he did, and continued long after they retired their foils. The man who spent years on his high school tennis team, then more years on the college swim team. The man who skied then snowboarded every winter season.

This man now lay in a hospital bed—the victim of, like so many others, COVID-19—struggling to breathe.

For the first three years of Emma’s life, we were inextricably linked to the clear plastic nose cannula that we secured to her full porcelain cheeks with medical tape, which extended to a portable oxygen tank that resided in her stroller basket when we went for outings. The smaller tank resembled its larger parent version—the one that flanked the side of Emma’s crib. This sea-green metal cylinder towered ominously, competing in height with me, and could be mistaken for a missile.

RELATED: Grief is a Constant Companion for the Mother Who’s Lost a Child

Now, my husband is the recipient of supplemental oxygen via the same nasal cannula, barely able to answer my panicked queries about his oxygen saturation.

“Hard . . . to . . . speak . . .,” I manage to make out, his lungs emptying effort at pacifying my worries. “Text.”

So, I do. YOU HAVE TO BEAT THIS! I type, in bold screaming letters so he hears my urgency, my panic. WE CAN’T LOSE YOU, TOO!

Our children had already buried their older sister. Lightning can’t strike twice, I tell myself.

But, in the darkest recesses of my mind, I know it can. Life is fragile and often too short and no one is immune to grief, to loss of one kind or another at one time or another. So, I beseech my staunchly atheist husband to please pray to his daughter, our angel, for help. That’s what I had been doing myself, in a state of desperation and despair. Because there are no atheists in a foxhole, right? Because what have you got to lose?

Only your life.

RELATED: “I Remember Your Eyes.” This Touching Story About a COVID Patient and His Kind Doctor Moved Us To Tears

One of my earliest memories as a little girl of four or five is of my father lifting me out of a car in which I’d fallen asleep on our drive home. Though fully awake, I continued to feign sleep, forcing my body to go limp as he held me upright, my head on his shoulder. Intent on not being discovered, coupled with the fear of losing my elevated status and worse—suffering the indignity of being made to walk—I decided at that moment that a sleeping person did not breathe. So, I held my breath.

I would learn soon enough that breath meant life.

It would become the stuff of all my nightmares on repeat—overtaken by a wave that would thrust me under, smother me in its unwelcome embrace, and occupy my lungs like some forsaken territory.

RELATED: I Feel My Purpose in Coming Here Was To Save Her Life

Memories of our daughter on the respirator, sedated into sleep, with an offensive plastic tube snaking out from between her crimson lips, IV’s and other lines emanating from her like more vipers attacking her defenseless body, was the cautionary tale I fought, to keep it from overwhelming my sensibilities, dissolving me into a messy puddle, useful to no one.

I knew all too well that the respirator was the worst-case scenario, that you don’t always come back from it.

I knew it from seeing my daughter take her last breath, a sharp, sudden intake of air, mere moments after being extubated. A breath so deep and expansive, that it appeared as if she were intending to inhale all the oxygen in the room. I saw her chest rise and then fall, and I unraveled, convinced she was trying to hold on to life and to breathe on her own. My own breath caught in my throat and I cried out, directing my words through heaving sobs at the pulmonologist in attendance, “I think she’s trying to breathe. I think she’s trying to live.”

My husband made it home. He was one of the lucky ones. Sadly, not everyone will be so fortunate. I was again reminded that breath is life—tenuous and fragile and worth fighting for.

So God Made a Mother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A MOTHER available now!

Order Now

Check out our new Keepsake Companion Journal that pairs with our So God Made a Mother book!

Order Now
So God Made a Mother's Story Keepsake Journal

Diana Kupershmit

I hold a master's degree in social work and work for the Department of Health's Early Intervention program. I have a memoir coming out in the spring of 2021.

We Built a Rock-Solid Foundation in Our Little Home

In: Living, Marriage
Couple on front porch

I found my brand-new husband, sitting on the floor of the only bedroom in our brand-new house. His back propped against the wall, muscular legs extending from his khaki shorts, bare feet overlapping at the ankles. His arms were crossed in a gesture of defiance and there was an unfamiliar, challenging scowl on his face. Plopping down beside him on the scratchy harvest gold carpeting, I asked, “What’s wrong?” “This is it?” he mumbled. “This is what we used our savings for?” I stood up, tugging on his bent elbows in a vain attempt to get him to his feet....

Keep Reading

To the Woman Navigating Divorce: You Will Get Through This

In: Living, Marriage, Motherhood
Woman with eyes closed standing outside, profile shot

On May 4th, 2023 I was delivered devastating news. My husband no longer loved me, and he wanted to end our marriage. This was the last thing I expected. I tried to get him to work things out, but he was firm on the decision that we were done. My heart broke for my children and what I thought I wanted for my life. As it turns out though, this separation and soon-to-be divorce is probably one of the best things that could have happened to me. It has given me a new appreciation for myself, brought me closer to...

Keep Reading

We Got Married Young and We Don’t Regret It

In: Marriage
Bride and groom in church, color photo

In a world that tells you divorce is inevitable if you get married young, I did the unthinkable: I got married at 22 . . . straight out of college. We had no money and lived off love for the first couple of years in a cheap apartment in the worst part of the city. Black specks came out of our water pipes sometimes. Occasionally we had to take back roads to get to our apartment because police had the nearby roads blocked off for searches. Regardless, we were happy. RELATED: We Married Young and I Don’t Regret it For...

Keep Reading

But God, I Can’t Forgive That

In: Faith, Marriage
Woman holding arms and walking by water

Surrender is scary. Giving in feels like defeat. Even when I know it’s the right thing, yielding everything to God is scary. It also feels impossible. The weight of all I’m thinking and feeling is just so dang big and ugly. Do you know what I mean? Sometimes I cling so tightly to my fear I don’t even recognize it for what it is. Bondage. Oppression. Lack of trust. Oh, and then there’s that other thing—pride. Pride keeps me from seeing straight, and it twists all of my perceptions. It makes asking for help so difficult that I forget that...

Keep Reading

My Husband Doesn’t Change Dirty Diapers

In: Marriage
Father holding baby

My husband doesn’t change dirty diapers. He hates it. The mere thought of a dirty diaper makes him gag. He will drive almost any bargain to get out of changing a diaper filled with anything stinky. In fact, there are a few things my husband doesn’t do that fall solely on me. If I sat down (okay, sort of like I am right now), I could compile an entire list of things my husband doesn’t do for our family. I could write about everything I do better than him and everything I know more about. But that wouldn’t be fair....

Keep Reading

You Came between Us

In: Marriage, Motherhood
Toddler between mom and dad under sheet

Right in the middle of our deepest love, you came—just between us. A silent, unseen surprise. A mysterious miracle of incarnated love and joy. From that sacred moment that we couldn’t imagine being any sweeter, came you. Sometime in the middle of all the daily goodbye hugs, my stomach began to grow and you came between us. This beautiful bundle of life blossoming right inside of me. And we were in awe of every single tiny formation of you. In awe of who you were, excited by who you’d be, in awe that you were ours. You came between us...

Keep Reading

To My Wife: I See Your Sacrifice

In: Marriage, Motherhood
Family of 3 sitting on floor together at home

Selfless. No other word more clearly depicts your commitment to your family. Motherhood is drastically different than you dreamed of your whole life—the dreams of what sort of mama you would be, of how much you would enjoy being a mother even on the tough days. Since day one of our relationship, you’ve been selfless. Since day one of being a mama, you’ve been selfless. Your love for your family shines through on the brightest and darkest days. But on the dark days, it shines the brightest. I can’t count the hours of sleep sacrificed, the tears cried, the time...

Keep Reading

If You’re Fighting for Your Marriage Right Now, Keep Going

In: Marriage
Couple embracing with worried look on woman's face

My husband and I just celebrated 20 years of marriage last week. For the first five years of our marriage, we had no kids. We now have six. We have been through multiple moves, job changes, pregnancies, miscarriage, child loss, the death of loved ones, grief, three adoptions, mental illness etc. I see marriage totally differently than I did 20 years ago.  I believe, above everything, it takes two people willing to sacrifice and work hard (maybe one more than the other during different seasons) in order for the marriage to stay afloat. Marriage, if done right, does not puff one up...

Keep Reading

She Left Him on Valentine’s Day

In: Faith, Marriage
Husband kissing wife on cheek, color photo

“Can you believe that?” Those were the dreaded knife-cutting whispers I heard from across the table. I sunk deeper into my chair. My hopes fell as everyone would forever remember that I had left my fiancée on Valentine’s Day. Maybe one day it would just dissipate like the dream wedding I had planned or the canceled plane tickets for the Hawaiian honeymoon. Some bridesmaids and guests had already booked plane tickets. It was my own nightmare that kept replaying in my head over and over again. I had messed up. Big time. To be honest, if it made any difference,...

Keep Reading

“I Can’t Do This Anymore,” He Said—Then Everything Changed

In: Living, Marriage
Woman with head in hands

The questions are very much valid. Did I know when I married him? Did I know when we struggled with infertility and trying to become parents? Did I know when we unexpectedly became pregnant with our second child? When did you know your husband was an alcoholic? The answer is simple yet so complex, I pretty much knew from the first year, yet I was in complete denial. When I met him, he was just my type—a bad boy with a bad reputation, yet so cute! On our third date or so, I saw how much he could drink and how...

Keep Reading