People keep telling me they couldn't possibly handle what I'm going through right now, that I'm so much stronger than they can imagine being. I'm not so strong. At times, I am wilting inside. I certainly didn't walk into this heartier than anybody else. I distinctly remember thinking, long ago before all this happened, that I wouldn't be able to bear walking out of the hospital and leaving my baby behind. Although I knew nothing about preemies and NICUs back then, I definitely would not have thought I could face that. But I am, not because I'm especially strong, but because I have to. Nobody's giving me a choice. Surely, nobody has given my baby a choice. She doesn't get to decide whether to be here, living in an isolette, intubated, sedated. And because she doesn't get to decide, neither do I. I either show up and walk this road beside her or I renege on my promise to be her mother, all that that entails. Even if it's this. Especially if it's this. It is what any mother would do. It is what mothers do in the NICU every day. It is nothing extraordinary really. The babies are the ones who are extraordinary. We are just unwilling passengers.

Human beings rise to the level of the challenges that threaten to drown us. That is what we do, whether in the face of this or something else. We find our strength as we need it. We do the unimaginable not because we are unimaginably strong but because the alternative-giving up-is unacceptable, especially when there is still hope to hold on to. No, I am not strong. Just human.