Grief slammed into me like a collision I never saw coming. One moment I was choosing paint colors; the next, I was choosing whether to sign DNR forms with shaking hands. The NICU wasn’t just a unit; it was a courtroom where hope and fear argued in whispers. I wanted to vanish. Instead, a quiet nurse stood between me and the dark, translating alarms into sentences I could bear, reminding me to breathe when I forgot how. Years later, I saw her again, cradling another fragile child, and realized her miracle was never the medicine. It was the way she taught my shattered heart that choosing tomorrow, even with empty arms, was still a kind of lov… Continues…
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