Jake MacDonald was born in Toronto on January 06, 1994. He arrived as a healthy third son to Paul and Lori MacDonald, a brother to Mark and Luke. A few days after he arrived home to Brantford, he became increasingly sick. Jake was first taken to hospital in Brantford, where he was seen by a pediatrician, Dr.Padamadan. She worked diligently to find why Jake was getting worse, what was causing his condition. Her confidence in finding the answers eroded quickly. The decision was made to send him to McMaster for more intensive care. Before the move, he had a seizure. The need to move him become more acute. Once there, questions arose from the specialists, questions no spouse or parent should never be asked. More imaging, endless blood tests. As the days progressed, the same puzzlement set in with the specialists at McMaster, with no cause there was no specific treatment, no specific treatments led to providing him with every treatment. Family came, many prayed. We saw many other parents who waited with uncertainty in the pediatric/neo-natal ICU. A strange club formed. A strange phenomenon: you started to ask other parents (with concern) about their children, they asked about Jake. The human spirit was still there, for us, for everyone. The first time I almost fainted in my life was when we returned to the hospital after being away from the hospital for a couple of hours. The doctors had put Jake on an oscillating ventilator, which shook his tiny body like a can of paint at a hardware store. With all the wires, tubes, plastic and metal, he no longer looked like a precious baby. Instead he looked like someone was trying to take away a flesh and blood baby and replace him with a synthetic toy. Sometime after this, Dr.Cresswell told Lori and I that we needed to prepare ourselves for the fact that Jake may die. We bargained, we pleaded, we cried. Eventually we composed ourselves. Doctor's induced a coma, shutting his body down. Staff talked quietly, they moved more slowly around us. We spoke softly in his ear. I told him how proud we were of him, of how hard he was fighting. We told him the most difficult thing any parent can tell their child...that it was okay, okay to let go, okay to leave us. As his father and mother, we gave him our love and our blessings...however painful. The greatest small miracle took place: despite the fact he was paralyzed, despite the doctors asserting he was brain dead, Jake opened his eyes. He opened and closed his eyes twice. Slow. weary. Still he blinked Twice for YES. Twice for YES I hear you Mom and Dad. Twice for YES I am slipping away. YES I love you both. A little while later, permission was given to remove the tubes, the wires, all the metal and plastic. Jake was back to being the precious baby, the gorgeous little boy born January 6,1994. We sang him one last lullaby, held him one last time, kissed him, kissed him one last time. It was January 18,1994. On that day, Jake died. On that day Mark and Luke lost a younger brother. That sadness lingers today, they have no memory of him. They were too young, there was too little time with Jake. We were destroyed as parents, as individuals. Who we were as people changed, erased by pain. The people we became on January 19,1994 were different, we were not the same. Twenty one years later, we have re-built ourselves, our lives. So much has changed, so much time passed. Another 21 years will pass and another 21 and we will still have the pain. Sad lives gave way to normal lives, Normal lives gave way to happier lives. With the blessings of Mark and Luke, of new relationships, of rewarding jobs, we have built different lives. January 18th, we remember the pain and the pride. We relive the suffering, the love pours into our heart. Most of all,this day, every January 18th, deep within,the loss of Jake poisons us, the loss of who he could have been pierces us. Each and every January 18th, we die too.