We get back up out of bed at night, stay up late, or get up earlier and check our email to get the latest news, hoping that the news will be good. We are on pins and needles during procedures, but knowing that it could be many hours or days until we can hear the outcome. We rush to work early to access email before the work day begins and we can have a few minutes to read and absorb all that has happened.

We pray hard when things are tough and we sing and dance (snoopy), when we can finally relax with good news and recoveries. We cry tears of such depth that our families are at a loss to understand how a machine can cause us so much pain. They see the emotional toll, but we are the ones who create and support this circle and we cannot break away when the the hurt seems to be more than we can endure.

We are with you in the days and weeks of waiting for surgeries and procedures that no child should ever have to endure. We are there with you when you hand your most beloved child to the physicians and nurses. We stand behind you in the waiting room and pace the hallways with you.

We know the look of a child on a respirator and the anxious feeling of wanting them to be independent of machines. We have experienced the joy of the successful surgery and the need to stroke a cheek and coo at the child we know we are fortunate to have yet.

The news travels to us all over the world and we collectively sigh, grin and shout and jump for joy. The meaning of each outcome is so clear and important to us. No achievement is too small to be recognized and celebrated. Our fears too are real, and sometimes realized. Our arms encircle you as you bear the weight of news that you cannot bear to hear. We too, want to block it out, deny the truth and run.

Your child and your family are a part of mine now. My calendar brings with it memories of children who struggled and lived and of those who fought so hard and died.
I will never forget them.