At birth he was just perfect. Cody was chubby and pink all over with big blue eyes and round little cheeks. He was the picture of adorable, with hair like cotton and the cutest little baby grin. Within a month or two, he became sickly. Although he was a happy baby, it was obvious that he was not feeling well at times. His little face would become red and distorted, and he would grasp helplessly at his tiny ears and cry. While drinking his bottle, he would gasp for air and frequently have to stop sucking just to get a breath. This would go on for a few days and after a round of antibiotics from the doctor, he would perk back up and be his happy, gurgling baby self again.
             The worst day of my life happened in February, 1996. The day began like any other Saturday. My children, Kaitlyn, then age 5 and Cody, then age 7 months woke at their usual ungodly early hour, and I got up to fix them breakfast and prepare for the day. We had no big plans for the day, it was just an ordinary weekend day.
             It was an unusually warm day for February in Arkansas. The sun shone brightly in an azure sky. If I did not know better, I would have believed it was late spring. The children and I went into town in the afternoon to run errands and do some shopping. As we frequently did on Saturdays, we met my mother at Wal-Mart, with Kaitlyn begging "MeMe" for whatever Barbie item was considered a necessity at the time.
             After returning home, I received a call from friends asking us to dinner that evening. I was glad to get out of the much hated chore of cooking and the even worse chore of cleaning the kitchen and I happily obliged. All throughout dinner that evening, everything seemed fine. The baby ate dinner and cooed and gurgled and was entertained by his big sister, and all of the other people at the table, who passed him from lap to lap and oohed and ahhed over how cute he was. Nothing at all was out of the ordinary.
             ...