Different Kind of Strength

Today, on Pediatric Nurses Day, I’m reflecting on moments in our journey with Erin, her birth and the time surrounding her passing. During both the most joyful and the most devastating days of our lives, it was the nurses who stood beside us. From helping bring Erin safely into the world, to advocating for her care during a medical emergency at just 10 days old, to staying past their shifts to support us in our final moments with her. Erins passed close to a shift change. Her nurses, who have families of their own could have went home. Instead, they stayed. They stayed and helped me bathe her one last time, let me cradle her in my arms without a time limit, they captured her footprints, her handprints, gave us locks of her hair and so much more. They cried right alongside of us. They showed a level of compassion, strength, and love that we will never forget. This poem is a thank you to the pediatric nurses who carried us through what we couldn’t carry alone.

Different Kind of Strength

Today’s memory doesn’t just show up

it settles in,

quiet and heavy,

pulling me back

to moments I didn’t know

I would survive.

Pediatric nurses are a different breed

made of something softer,

yet somehow stronger than steel.

They don’t just care for children,

they carry families.

I remember hands that didn’t rush,

voices that didn’t break,

even when ours did.

When Erin came into this world,

it wasn’t just a doctor who brought her here

it was Jessica,

steady and calm,

reminding me I was stronger than I felt,

breathing with me,

lifting me,

calling me a rock star

when I felt anything but.

She saw meat my most vulnerable

and never looked away.

And then, just days later,

when fear took over,

when our baby turned blue

and time stopped breathing

it was Cassie who met my eyes

and gave me something to hold onto:

She will be okay.

You did everything right.

It was Megan,

watching monitors like they were lifelines,

fighting for answers,

fighting for Erin.

It was Dolly,

who knew a mother couldn’t keep going

on empty,

who promised to stay

so I could close my eyes

without fear.

They weren’t just doing a job.

They were standing in the storm with us.

And later, in a room no parent should ever know

in those quiet, final moments

that don’t belong in any world

they stayed.

Past the shift.

Past the clock.

Past what was required.

They bathed her with us.

Held her with us.

Gave us time when time felt stolen.

They made memories

where there should have only been heartbreak

tiny boxes filled with love

for Erin,

for her sisters,

for pieces of a life

we will always carry.

They didn’t clock out.

They showed up.

Over and over again,

in the hardest chapters of our lives,

nurses have been there—not just with skill,

but with heart.

With compassion that doesn’t run out.

With strength that doesn’t ask for recognition.

With a love

that leaves a mark forever.

So today,

on Pediatric Nurses Day,

we say thank you!

Thank you

for the hands that held us,

the voices that steadied us,

the moments you gave us

when everything else was being taken.

You are more than nurses.

You are part of our story.

Part of Erin’s story.

And we will never forget

the way you stayed.