Remembering Nicolas and Nathan
A 22nd Birthday Tribute to my First-born Sons
The tone of this post is different from what I typically share. For those who aren’t in a place emotionally to read about death and tragedy, it’s probably best to drop back in another time. Here we go.
Perhaps Anna May and I were always an odd couple. Beginning when we were dating in our mid-teens, we spent a lot of time daydreaming about the life we wanted to build together. While some things varied, one thing was always consistent; we wanted children. We started trying to have kids ridiculously early in life, before either of us turned 20. We soon discovered that having kids wasn’t going to be easy for us. Conceiving children wasn’t a problem, but carrying them proved to really be an issue, and after numerous miscarriages, we found ourselves utterly devastated.
In 2001, a friend moved in with us who was greatly used in prophetic gifts. One day he came to us and said, “What would you like for me to ask God to do for you? You have given me a place to live, and I feel like God will bless you if you tell me what to ask Him for.” I didn’t hesitate. Immediately, I responded, “We want twins.”
The part of this story that I am choosing to tell is hard for me to wrap my head around even today, but here is what happened. Within a matter of weeks, Anna May was pregnant again, but this time everything seemed fine. In light of the ongoing complications we’d experienced, our doctor ordered an ultrasound pretty early and sure enough, it was twins!
I was ecstatic! I went down the hallway showing our ultrasound pictures to random strangers, yelling, “Look! Two babies!” Everything seemed fine until Anna May was around 5 months along. We went in for what we expected to be a routine appointment, but we left with difficult news. Our identical twin boys had a rare condition called Twin-to-Twin Transfusion Syndrome. Feel free to google it, but I’ll spare the explanation and simply say that it quickly changed an easy pregnancy to an uphill battle.
Every week, we went in for amniotic fluid reductions, ultrasounds, consultations with the medical team, conversations about possible experimental surgeries. … It was a lot. Before long, Anna May became frighteningly ill, unable to eat, and was hospitalized. Fast forward—after nearly a month in the hospital fighting for our babies’ lives as well as for Anna May’s, our doctors made the call that it was time for an emergency c-section.
On July 3, 2002, Nicolas Elijah and Nathan Elisha Willis were born at 26 weeks’ gestation. Nicolas weighed 1 lb. 7 ounces, and Nathan weighed 1 lb. 10 ounces. We nearly lost Nathan in the delivery room, but he proved to be a fighter and pulled through. They were so tiny! My wedding band hung off their arms like a big bracelet, and their blood pressure cuffs fit snuggly on my finger.
The moment I laid eyes on them, something changed inside me. I knew that I would do anything for them. Anything. Perhaps I should have mentioned that at the time, Anna May and I were itinerate evangelists and were seeing God work miracles quite literally every week. We knew that this test would soon become a testimony and that we would tell the world that Jesus Christ is the Healer! When the NICU doctor told me that Nicolas had suffered a massive brain hemorrhage and would not live, I looked him in the eyes and said, “Thank you. My son will leave here perfectly healthy and live a long life.” He didn’t.
The battle for their lives lasted 7 and 11 days. Day and night we were at their side—reading, singing, praying, holding their hands, and gently touching their heads. Every day. Every night.
The first time we got to hold each of them was when they died. Two trips from Springfield to Arkansas, two funerals—only days apart.
Why am I sharing this story? Why keep talking about it 22 years later? Thank you for asking. Nicolas and Nathan taught me what it means to be a dad. In those eleven days, I learned to put them before myself. I learned that fatherhood was not about them giving me what I needed, but about me giving them what they needed. Yes, I held them while they died, and that was devastating. You know what else happened? When their SATs dropped frighteningly low, I sang to them and watched them rise. I listened as NICU nurses said, “Don’t stop singing. It’s working.” They needed me, and that knowledge was enough to die to what I needed. It prepared me to be a better dad to the kids that came later in life.
Nicolas and Nathan taught me about the importance of a moment. I could open a story book or my Bible and read to them and the rest of the world disappeared. Nothing else mattered. Sometimes life gets so busy and full that it feels like we can’t catch our breaths. In those seasons, I remember that moments matter and that sometimes, we just have to stop and be and live in the moment.
They taught me the power of presence. I couldn’t fix anything. I couldn’t do anything. I could be there, and that was enough. After fighting for their mom’s life through long nights of prayer, I was blessed with the opportunity to be by their side and to know that even though neither I, nor Anna May, nor our parents could do anything else, we could be there.
Maybe this sounds crazy, but my babies also taught me the value of love at the moment of death. I believed in miracles then, and I still believe today. Then, however, I really didn’t believe someone could die if my faith was strong enough. When I realized that Nicolas was dying, I shook and cried in stunned disbelief. I don’t know the doctor’s full name. I called her Dr. Rose. She looked at me and said something I will never forget. She said, “Someday my own life will come to an end. When it does, I don’t want to be alone in a cold hospital bed. I want to be in the arms of someone who loves me. You have done everything you can to help your son live. Now it is time to give him a good death. One of you can hold him, or I can hold him; whoever holds him, let’s let him know he is loved as he leaves this world.” An angel sat perched above his bed. Believe it or don’t believe it. I really don’t care. He was there, sent by Jesus to prepare Nicolas for the journey home. Painful memories have blended together so that I no longer remember if it was at his death or Nathan’s, but I distinctly remember Pastor Walter Brashear saying, “Look, he just reached up for someone,” and then he was gone.
My Momma held her grandsons as her and Dad traveled to Arkansas for the funerals where we laid the boys to rest in the Sherrellville cemetery in one of the most beautiful places on this planet. Family and friends came by the scores. People shared their condolences, their prayers, and sometimes their unsolicited advice. People helped. People hurt. People had no clue what to do but wanted to do something, and for that, I am truly grateful.
Twenty-two years have passed. God has blessed me and Anna May with six more amazing kids, a daughter-in-law, nieces and nephews, and many other people who have become family to us in various ways. Nicolas and Nathan’s death changed me in ways I can’t explain. It broke things inside me that in some ways were never fixed. However, it also forged a new kind of faith that I’m not sure I could have ever known otherwise. I learned that death is not the end and that it’s ok to long for eternity. I learned that it’s possible to expect miracles but not give up on life and faith if they don’t happen the way you expected them to. I learned that God is greater than grief and that grief doesn’t mean you are weak. I have learned that denial, anger, questioning, and regret are all normal parts of the grieving process and that there is absolutely no reason to assume that someone’s faith is damaged or flawed if they are experiencing those emotions even in their strongest expressions.
Life has brought our family around a dozen miscarriages, the death of two infant sons, and medical conditions that have been tough to process—some of which have given way to miracles and some that haven’t. Anna May and I have been blessed to see miracles that stagger the imagination, and we have suffered through things that tested everything we thought we knew about life. I have found tremendous comfort in the words of Job.
For I know that my Redeemer lives, and He will stand at last on the earth; and after my skin is destroyed, yet in my flesh I will see God (Job 19:25-26).
The day will come when wrongs will at long last be made right. There will come a day when families will be reunited in the glorious presence of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. On that Day, we are told that,
God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes. There shall be no more death. Neither shall there be any more sorrow nor crying nor pain, for the former things have passed away (Revelation 21:4).
Until then we wait, we trust, and we believe. We look for the appearing of Christ and allow the longing that is within our hearts to connect us with eternity. The life of faith feels paradoxical at times. We endure sickness yet rejoice in healing. We suffer yet experience supernatural comfort. We face death but long for resurrection. Happy 22nd birthday, my precious sons. You changed my life. Your memory has been painful, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. You made me who I am, and for that I am forever grateful.
If I could send a message back in time to those 22-year-old kids that thought their world had ended, this is what I would say, “The pain won’t all go away, and everything won’t always be ok. Still, you’re going to make it. God has beautiful plans for you. You’re gonna mess some of those plans up and you’re going to get some of them right. Be patient. It will be ok. Your hearts will begin to heal, and someday you will laugh again. More miracles are ahead. Today, you’re not ok. You don’t have to be. People are praying for you. It feels like you’re alone, but you’re not. God’s plan for your life isn’t over. Cry. Be angry. Just don’t quit.
Maybe you are reading this and that message I would like to send to my young self is for you. Go ahead and apply it to your life. I am glad to share it.
Like the song we sang at the funeral says, “The sun is coming up in the morning. Every tear will be gone from my eyes. This old clay is gonna give way to glory, and like an eagle, I’ll take to the skies.”