On April 3rd, 2006 I received the call that the mother of my child was in labor and headed to the hospital. I was beyond excited and unlike most men from where I'm from, even at just 18 I was ready to be a great father to my son. I had been anticipating this moment for so long and been holding it in for even longer. I hadn't told anyone in my family because our relationships were not in great places. I wanted to surprise my mom on Mother’s Day with her grandchild, as crazy as it sounded, this was the way I thought I would mend the relationships and announce the new member of the Feagins family. I arrived at the hospital a little passed 7pm and as I walked into the room, I could feel an immense amount of pain in the air. She looked at me and just kept crying. As I held her, I listened to the doctor explain to me, what she had already explained to her and her family. I was in disbelieve and at the moment couldn't do anything but be strong for her. I held it in, I fought to hold it in so that I could hold her up and be her strength that she needed in this moment. She would have to deliver my sons' still born body, right now. She didn't want to hold him but something in me just thought, maybe just maybe there was life in him. Maybe, it's us. We are the family that gets to brag about the doctors producing a miracle. I held my sons' breathless body in my arms. I stared at him and in one moment pictured everything that I wanted to be able to do with him, to be able to just hear him say daddy, to go fishing, to start practicing for whatever sport he would like to do, to just sit on the couch and watch the NBA finals or the Superbowl. I would never get to have these moments. As I walked into the hallway, down to the bathroom I found my way to the stall and finally let out everything I'd held in for those 2 long hours. I held and screamed for the hurt, for the feeling of losing my child when I was there. I was there from the start and planned to be there forever. I was ready, I wasn't going to abandon my son. All of these fathers get to see their children born and never be a part of their lives, but I set here, and I planned to be the best father I could be and failed before I ever got the chance to start. It's been 14 years now since that day and It doesn’t seem to get any easier thinking about it. At some point I look at my sons and I see all the characteristics that Zyon would’ve had. I see his smile in them, I see is athletic ability in them, I see his sense of humor in them. Sometimes I find myself even with teenagers, standing in the doorway of their rooms and watching them sleep. Wondering what they are dreaming about, what fears they have and what they want to achieve in this World. Zyon took a breath I was told, so for 3 seconds, he was alive. Maybe that’s the miracle, the three seconds of life was enough for my three sons, Tyrese, Keyshawn and Deondre to have a part of him. But you never get over the loss of a child, you survive, you get up and life eventually continues with some sort of normal energy, but you're never okay. Never. Zyon your story lives and breathes within your brothers every day.