Some moments are so small that the world might miss them—but for a parent, they can hold the weight of everything. Today, after I left the hospital, Hailee got her hair done. Such a simple, gentle act. And yet it broke my heart and healed it all at once. Seeing her hair neatly brushed, soft and sweet, reminded me that beneath the tubes, wires, and machines, she is still just a baby. Still my little girl. Still Haileebug.

That image stays with me. I carry it through the long hours, the quiet drives home, and the restless nights. I picture the day when the tubes will come out, when the sedation will be gone, when she won’t need respiratory support anymore. I imagine the moment we finally bring her home. That vision lives in my mind constantly—it is the thread that holds me together on the hardest days.

A Year That Changed Everything

This year has been one of the hardest we’ve faced in a very long time. Twice now, my sweet girl has gotten sick and needed to be hospitalized. Twice we’ve watched fear creep in, stealing moments that should have been ordinary, peaceful, and safe. This is the first time she has been hospitalized during this season since her NICU days, and the pain of it is hard to describe.

Time doesn’t make it easier. If anything, it makes you more aware of how fragile everything truly is. You learn that stability can disappear in an instant, that comfort is never guaranteed, and that love often comes wrapped in fear.

The Pain of Leaving

Leaving Hailee today felt unbearable. Every time I walk out of that room, a piece of my heart stays behind. I tell myself it’s temporary. I remind myself that she’s in good hands, that her dad is there watching over her. But none of that quiets the ache.

This time, I was the one who had to leave her, and the guilt was heavier than I expected. Usually, it’s her dad who walks away, carrying that weight alone. Today, I felt it fully—and it nearly crushed me. There is something uniquely painful about leaving your child behind in a hospital bed, surrounded by machines instead of home.

What People Don’t Always Understand

I don’t think everyone truly understands how hard this is. You can explain it. You can try to put it into words. But unless you’ve lived it—unless you’ve had to leave your child in a hospital room—you can’t fully grasp the pain.

It’s not just sadness. It’s fear, guilt, exhaustion, and overwhelming love all tangled together until you don’t know where one emotion ends and the next begins. It’s learning how to function while your heart feels like it’s breaking.

Living in Two Worlds

Being a parent in this situation means living in two worlds at once. In one world, you’re strong. You talk to doctors. You ask the right questions. You take notes. You make decisions. You hold yourself together.

In the other world, you’re quietly falling apart. You miss your baby so deeply it physically hurts. You replay memories over and over—the sound of her laugh, the way she looks when she’s comfortable, the feeling of holding her without worrying about alarms or tubes. Those memories bring comfort, but they also hurt in ways that are hard to explain.

Missing You, Even When You’re Still Here

I miss you so much, Haileebug. I miss being right there with you—watching every breath, every movement, every tiny change. I miss whispering to you, touching your hair, reminding you that Mommy is here.

Being away feels wrong, like I’ve abandoned you, even though I know that isn’t true. My heart understands it, but my emotions don’t. They tell me I should be stronger, that I should handle this better. But some days, strength feels like a luxury I don’t have.

The Toll This Journey Takes

This journey has taken so much out of me. I try to stay positive. I try to hold onto hope. But there are moments when the weight of it all feels overwhelming. I struggle to sleep. I struggle to eat. I struggle to breathe without thinking about you.

I carry the fear of the unknown everywhere I go—wondering when the next setback might come, or when we’ll finally turn the corner for good. Hospital stays don’t end when you leave the building. They follow you home. They sit with you in the quiet. They change you.

Finding Light in the Smallest Moments

And yet, even in the hardest moments, you remind me why I keep going. Seeing your hair done today—such a simple thing—felt like a reminder that you are still you. Still my baby. Still strong. Still fighting.

It showed me that life continues even inside hospital walls. That there can still be moments of normalcy, beauty, and care in the middle of chaos. Sometimes, those small moments are what keep us breathing.

Dreaming of Home

I dream constantly of the day we won’t have to say goodbye at hospital doors. The day we won’t have to split ourselves between home and a room filled with machines. The day I can tuck you into your own bed, kiss your forehead, and know you’re safe without beeping monitors or IV lines.

That day feels far away sometimes. But it’s also the hope that keeps me standing.

Love, Fear, and Hope

This year has tested me in ways I never imagined. It has shown me how powerful love can be—and how deeply it can hurt. Loving you means carrying fear, pain, and exhaustion. But it also means hope. It means believing that this is part of our story, not the ending.

Mommy is struggling right now, Haileebug. I won’t pretend otherwise. Some days are heavier than others, and today is one of them. But my love for you is steady. It doesn’t weaken. If anything, it grows stronger with every challenge.

Until We Come Home

I can’t wait to come back and see you. I count the hours until I can be by your side again. I know your dad is taking such good care of you, and I’m endlessly grateful for him. But nothing replaces being there the way only a mother can.

You are my heart, Hailee Lynn. Every breath you take matters more to me than anything else in this world. I love you more than words can explain, more than tears can show.

One day, this chapter will close. One day, the hospital will be behind us. And one day, we will look back and see how far you’ve come—how much you’ve overcome, and how strong you were even when the world felt unbearably heavy.

Until then, Mommy will keep loving you, missing you, and fighting alongside you—every step of the way.