02/16/2026
If you haven’t ever
held your child in your arms
while machines breathed for them,
counting seconds between each rise of their chest
like prayers you were afraid to finish,
I hope you know how lucky you are.
If you haven’t ever
whispered between sobs bargains to God
in a hospital room at 3 a.m.,
promising everything you are
for just one more heartbeat,
I hope you know how lucky you are.
If you haven’t ever
curled your body around theirs
in a narrow hospital bed,
careful of wires,
afraid to sleep
in case their numbers changed,
I hope you know how lucky you are.
If you haven’t ever
stared at a ventilator
like it was both savior and thief,
hating the sound
yet fearing the silence more,
I hope you know how lucky you are.
If you haven’t ever
held your child down for labs,
apologizing while they cried,
letting them believe
you were part of the pain
because it was the only way to help,
I hope you know how lucky you are.
If you haven’t ever
measured time in test results
instead of sunsets,
I hope you know how lucky you are.
If you haven’t ever
celebrated things
other parents barely notice,
a stable oxygen level,
a fever that finally broke,
a discharge paper in your shaking hands,
I hope you know how lucky you are.
Because normal parenting
is loud and messy and exhausting,
but it is sacred in its ordinary.
Bedtime battles.
Untouched vegetables.
Shoes on the wrong feet.
Toys on the floor.
A child calling “Mom” or “Dad”
for the hundredth time.
These are miracles
disguised as inconveniences.
So if you haven’t ever
begged the heavens
to let your child live,
hold them a little longer tonight.
If you haven’t ever
slept beside hospital rails,
be grateful for your crowded bed.
If you haven’t ever
feared a machine going quiet,
listen closely to their laughter.
And please,
don’t take the normal for granted.
Because for some of us,
normal was once a prayer
we weren’t sure would be answered.
-sawyer the warrior
