She’s my mini—she looks like me, thinks like me, and carries an energy that’s absolutely intense.
As a parent, there’s nothing more terrifying than watching your child face health challenges, especially the kind you can’t just soothe with a spoonful of medicine or a comforting hug. It’s overwhelming and scary.
All you want is to make it better. To make *them* better.
But when you’re helplessly watching them get sicker, it feels like your world is crumbling around you.
Even after they recover—after they come home from the hospital or heal from surgery—the memories linger. The haunting images stay with you. And that gnawing feeling of guilt, that whisper in the back of your mind saying you somehow failed them, refuses to go away. Deep down, you know it’s not your fault. You didn’t choose for your child to face these struggles. Yet, you convince yourself that somehow, you could have done more. You *should* have done more.
Even as you sit beside them in that tiny hospital room, 24 hours a day. Even as you hold their hand through every needle, every scan, and every tear, you still carry the weight of that impossible expectation. You tell yourself there was something else you should have done, something more you could have given.
And even when they recover, the fear doesn’t leave. It’s always there, overshadowing the relief. What if it comes back? What if, next time, life doesn’t allow me to be there the same way? What if next time, they can’t fix it?
She’s my mini. And today, as she goes in for her bloodwork checkup, I’m reminded of one simple truth: being there is enough. My presence is enough. Holding her hand is enough. If I could take her illness on myself, I would do it in a heartbeat. But since I can’t, I will do everything within my power to make her feel safe, loved, and supported. I’ll hold her hand, stand by her side, and love her through it all.
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