My mom & I have been on this painful journey of AML for 3 plus months thus far at City of Hope. We have met an incredible staff of incredible people. Yet today, we met Sara Wilson. She is some kind of magic. She is so thorough, so detailed in the way she listens to us family members, to my mom, the patient, and to my mom's body. She is incredibly gracious in her ability and skill, her time, and her touching hands. Your attributes above define Sara, yes, but so many are missing, such as: true kindness, humanity, grace, class, knowledge, healing hands & soul, and honestly…also…love. I felt Sara had love for my mom today. My mom is strong, powerful, and fierce. She is a mountain. But I believe today, being in the hospital this long, losing control…sunk my ma. She was disappearing. I didn't know. Was it the tests? The pain? The not knowing? Yes. All. But Sara was seeking answers WITH me; she saw my mom getting poked time and time again, no veins left to stab, labs taking 45 min to try and get any amount of blood and never enough. Sarah called in the PICC line team stat to help my mom. I worried about my mom's vitals, so Sara checked them again and again. Not for the hospital, not for her; she knew my ma's vitals were ok. She did it for me. The family member. And after a full day, another full day, of pain and ultrasounds and MRI's and labs and vitals and new meds and old meds and PT and more tests and more labs, and more pain, when mom just kind of…drifting off into a place of…hope-less-ness, Sara, on her own accord, as if in that moment, not another soul existed, and still while doing her job and changing a line and adding a drip, she knelt, and she is strikingly tall, yet, she knelt, low, to moms eye level, and spoke with honesty, and kindness, and said how she understands. And she knows, "oh, how frustrating it is to feel a loss of control, the loss of knowing, but…" Sarah whispered, "in these times, we must focus on those items on our list we CAN control. Your breathing exercise, listening to your body and giving your body grace. Our bodies are strong…" she said, while somehow still feeding a tube, kneeling and caressing my mom's frail and swollen arm, "our bodies are resilient, so we focus on what we can. Deep breath" I am paraphrasing a moment that was full of tenderness and caring, of beauty & love, from a nurse, with her patient. The DAISY Award stands for a very clear meaning. The Daisy itself, that little flower, stands for cheerfulness; it is bright, it is tenderness, it is innocent, it is RN Sara Wilson.