I was at the NICU visiting my friend and her new baby earlier this week. When I stepped out of the room so that two nurses could move about without me getting in the way. I looked back in.
I should have seen the scariest of worlds.
I can’t even imagine what it must be like to have given birth to a baby and not be able to hold him. To only be able to touch him for a week. To place faith in strangers. But what I saw was different.
I saw a mother’s love and strength.
This, all of this, is Flynn’s story. The fight for life… That is his, but it is also Juli’s.
Daily, Flynn grows stronger. Soon the time spent in the NICU wont even matter to him. He wont remember the fear. The pain. The worry. But Juli will. She will forever remember standing beside his table. Being able to only touch him and root him on.
She’ll tell him stories of how she would leave the room to try and rest, and would end up calling the hospital every three hours. She will forever remember the machines, beeps, and tubes.
I went there hoping to take pictures of Flynn, but when I stepped out of that room I knew that the picture I needed was not of Flynn alone. It was this:
A mothers love.
A mothers strength.
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