Early in the morning of the 10th, my son stopped breathing. His eyes rolled upwards and in, and his skin took on the appearance of wax. I held him in my arms, and his body was limp as a rag. I knew he was dead.

My wife called 911. I did the only thing I knew, and breathed my own air into his lungs. I felt resistance for a moment, and then his lungs filled, like I was breathing into a leather bag. I looked at his face, and repeated the steps.

Ian's eyes focused with sudden clarity, and he breathed on his own.

I have the rare honor of having brought my child into this world twice. Whatever else comes from this ordeal, I will always feel blessed.