Becoming a dad for the first time was a moment I’d dreamed about, but nothing prepared me for the reality of watching my son enter the world too early. He was so small, fragile, not even close to ready for everything this world throws at you. In those first hours and days in the NICU, I was scared—not just nervous, not just concerned. I was terrified.

I noticed things, little signs that didn’t sit right. He seemed uncomfortable, fidgety, in distress. I asked about it. Again, and again. But most of the nursing staff brushed off my concerns. “It’s normal,” they’d say. “He’s adjusting.” Maybe they weren’t wrong, but they weren’t listening. And then David came in. From the moment he laid eyes on my son, it felt different. He didn’t just glance, he looked. He noticed, he listened, not just to my words, but to the silence between them. I saw him stand next to my son and gently adjust him, repositioning his tiny limbs as if he were handling something sacred. And honestly, to me, he was.

In the hours that followed, something incredible happened. My son started to settle—his breathing steadied, his body relaxed. The tension in his little face eased. It was subtle, but as his dad, I knew. David wasn’t just giving medical care, he was giving attention, intuition, empathy—and it showed. I remember watching David during one of those long shifts, and a thought hit me hard: someone is loving my son while I can’t. And that was everything. Because in that moment, the panic in my chest softened. I could breathe. I could trust. I could rest.

David didn’t just care for my child—he cared with me. He saw my son not as just a premature baby, but as a person. And he saw me not as a worried man, but as a father. That connection—that humanity—is why David deserves the DAISY Award. He made the hardest moment of my life bearable, and for that, I’ll never forget him.