No, this is not my husband holding our newborn daughter.

He is not my brother.

He is not a cousin, nor a friend who I’ve known a lifetime.

This man was our son Julian’s neonatologist.

The same doctor who two years ago sat us down in the very same hospital and told us our baby boy was very sick with fetal hydrops.

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The same doctor who worked tirelessly amongst others in the NICU to try and save our son.

The same doctor who told us he would exhaust every option available to keep his heart beating.

The same doctor who had to deliver the somber news almost 36 hours later, that there was nothing more that could be done.

The same doctor who shared his own personal story of losing his older brother before he was born, and looked at a broken-hearted mother to tell her to never stop speaking Julian’s name.

The same doctor who never left our side and stood in the room as Julian took his final breath in mine and his daddy’s arms.

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The same doctor who I looked up at in between my deep howls and saw he, too, was breaking down as we kissed our son goodbye.

The same doctor who attended our son’s funeral.

The same doctor who called and reached out countless times after our son’s passing to check on us.

The same doctor who came to our follow-up appointments because he also cared enough to get answers as to what caused his condition.

You see, this is the same doctor who is holding our now five-week-old daughter.

My husband left the room ONE time this day. One time. And upon making his way back up, they crossed paths. They spotted each other with familiar eyes and to this doctor’s surprise, he came to learn we had just delivered our healthy baby girl.

What happened next?

Well, this same doctor came knocking on our room door.

This time it wasn’t to deliver any sad news.

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This time it wasn’t to tell us to get upstairs right away because we were losing our boy.

No, this time, it was different.

This time, he got to hold our daughter.

This time, we got to see him not just as Julian’s neonatologist, but as a friend.

This time, there were not just tears of sadness as we reminisced about those sacred moments we had with Julian, but also tears of joy, as he held our girl.

And what are the chances that this meet-up would fall perfectly into place?

Well, let’s just say, I have an idea of who helped make that happen.

Originally published on the author’s Facebook page.