Dear Mom,
I see you there, filled with worry and fear—feeling as if the weight of the world is on your shoulders. I understand, because I’ve walked that path. My daughter, Lily, and my son, Noah, arrived seven weeks early on a frigid winter morning. The doctors warned me that premature babies often face more challenges than others, and I was terrified.
Initially, everything seemed to be going well. They were breathing, crying, and nursing like champions. I felt hopeful as I anticipated bringing them home. But then came the call that changed everything: “Noah is not doing well.” That night was unbearable. I felt lost, and the uncertainty was overwhelming. Tiny screams echoed as the doctors drew blood—my heart broke for my little ones who just wanted comfort.
By dawn, we learned that Noah and Lily had RSV, a virus that can be mild for adults but poses serious risks for preemies. The sight of them struggling for breath, surrounded by beeping machines, was a nightmare. The nurses and doctors were relentless, working tirelessly while my partner and my mom encouraged me to focus on my health so I could provide milk for them.
In those long days of the NICU, I spent hours rocking and praying for my babies. One day, I noticed a wall filled with letters from other parents, sharing their journeys. Each note told a story of triumph, celebrating their once-premature children now thriving. Those messages of hope kept my spirits alive.
I promised myself that if my twins made it through, I would write letters of encouragement every year for 18 years. It’s a promise I’m grateful to keep. Now, sixteen years later, I still picture those tiny babies, and I can feel the anxiety of the parents who stand where I once stood.
I hope these words give you comfort amidst the uncertainty. Our little ones left the NICU after four weeks. We strapped them into their car seats, nervous yet excited to finally take them home. As they grew, they hit all their milestones—smiling, crawling, and running just as they should. They faced their own challenges, like teething and sibling squabbles, but they flourished.
Now, they are teenagers—honor roll students, athletes, and budding artists. Jacob towers over 6 feet and plays basketball, while Noah, who stands at 5’11”, has a knack for comedy. They are vibrant, healthy, and full of life.
These are the joys I worried about all those years ago, just as you are now. Trust in your medical team and know that countless thoughts and prayers are with you. One day, you too might find yourself writing letters of hope.
With all my heart, I send you warmth and strength. And to the staff who supported us, I’ll be back next year with more stories of our journey.
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Summary
This heartfelt letter offers solace to moms with premature babies in the NICU, sharing the author’s personal experience and the journey of hope and triumph. It emphasizes the importance of support, medical care, and the potential for a joyful future.