To have life, we need energy.  To gain energy, we need air.  To have air, we need to breathe.  In order to breathe, we need life.

It’s always easier to understand life when you can make it into a circle (cue Lion King music here) – its actions and reactions constantly giving and taking.  All circles are different, and none of them are perfect.  While they differ in size, shape, depth, color, and gradient, every circle can make an impact.

Last week, I had the honor to meet a beautiful baby girl named Leona.  She was born in the early evening of a late August day in Palo Alto as the daughter of not only two great friends of mine, but two of the kindest souls I know – Mac and Kim.  I must admit that prior to meeting Leona, I was rabid with excitement, nervousness, pride, fear – while I felt everything, I knew nothing.

All I knew, was to breathe.

When I arrived to the hospital, it didn’t feel like a hospital, and I really liked that.  After a few hours of catching up with Leona’s parents and other friends, it was my turn to see her.  All those uncontrollable feelings came back again and any senses of calm I gathered before dissipated.  So, I leaned back on what I knew, back to the basics: breathing.

Mac led me to another room to Leona.  I checked in, turned a few corners, and ensured that I applied enough antibacterial on my quaking hands.  After treading through showering sounds of beeping machines, overlaying voices of nurses, and a handful of other crying babies in the room, I was finally in the grace of Leona’s presence.  And the moment I laid my eyes on Mac and Kim’s daughter, in absolutely every sense I was swept off my feet.

Leona moved, albeit in small doses, with curiosity.  Her scent was sweet and refreshing.  She was unburdened with worries and new to earth, and in this moment with Leona she made me feel what I can only imagine what she felt – unsusceptible to gravity.  Most of all, Leona was full of might.  More might than I can ever gain in my lifetime, more might than I have seen from a team of champions.

Leona’s story, unfortunately, is one with complications.  She required the aid of a machine to breathe, and the burden of this condition on Leona and her parents is one I will never be able to fathom.  She fought and defied every single odd that went against her and her family.  She made every play on the field, threw every pitch with pinpoint perfection, and had a batting average of 1.000 at the plate.

She did it all.  And she did so, for seven days.

My one and only meeting I will ever have with Leona is on repeat in my memories.  While she was not granted a full life, she put on a dazzling display of courage over fear, and risk over regret.  We are reminded that life is short, whether it be seven days or seventy years.  And in that time, while life simply means that you’re breathing, the meaning of life depends on what you do in between the breaths that you take.  This is the story of Mighty Leona, a story that will never end.

All that might, she got from her parents.