When Breathing Stops

DRAFT opening for The Value of Nothing

My son stumbled so gently, such a thin toddler falling on the carpeted floor of our campus living room, that I expected nothing more than his usual “oof” and giggle. Instead, neck bones cracked as his little chin caught the edge of the small wooden table. His arms and head landed motionless with an abrupt finality.

I was at the kitchen table, studying for an economics test in my UC San Diego economics PhD program. Two textbooks were cracked open on the table, amidst a jumble of notes and academic papers. I watched my boy fall from across the room, and though time seemed to stop, I found myself on the carpet next to him. I don’t remember moving; I was just there.

Sean didn’t stir when I rolled him onto his back, his eyes blank, his muscles completely soft. I moved my face next to his, almost a kiss, listening for his breath, trying to feel it. I held my own breath tight and felt no air flow. Felt no pulse. The quiet was heartbreaking.