It's taken me too long to find the courage and words to write this as I'm still grieving. To two of the most wonderful nurses I could have ever met, Jennifer and Amanda, you have no idea how much you both mean to me or how you will always have a place in my heart. The adoration, appreciation, and admiration that I have for you two can compete with no one. You cared for a piece of my heart and you loved him as if he was your own.

The NICU was a foreign place for me. I didn't know how to change his diaper with all of the wires and lines connected to him, or how to clean his face while he had a breathing tube. I didn't know how to take his temperature or how to pick him up to change his bedding. I tried my best, but he was so little and I was so scared. I was thrust into the NICU hours after a C-section and saying goodbye our first little boy. The first time I saw my baby, he was in an isolette and hooked up to so many machines. You made a sign for him with his name on it and taught me how I could touch him without overstimulating him. You had a tissue box ready because you knew that I would cry and you lent an ear when I needed to talk. When he was stable you let me give him a bath and when he opened his eyes you helped me get a picture of them. Oh, how I miss seeing his eyes. You answered every phone call I made at all hours of the day and told me how you lovingly changed his bedding, cleaned his face, and gave him a breast milk popsicle. I loved how he puckered his lips when he tasted my milk. My heart melted every time I saw you both interact with him. The way you smiled when you talked about him and the way both of you were in tears the night he got worse. The night where we thought we were going to lose him. I remember you sending a very kind-hearted nurse to sit with me while I sobbed and cursed God from the family room floor. I was so scared my whole body was shaking as I was led to his bedside. He looked terrible. I remember desperately searching for hope in your faces during that time but there was none. I still dream about that night; the way we snuggled and how it was almost ripped away from me.

You both gave him and us every ounce of your strength, day in and day out, for weeks. You did everything in your power to keep him alive, and then he died. And you gave me another gift that day. You guided me through his death in a way so full of grace I couldn't explain it if I tried. We all cried as you placed him in my arms for the very last time. I held him for a while before we decided it was time. I remember you telling him how sorry we were for putting him through it all and how tough he was. I told him it was ok that he was done because now he wouldn't be in pain anymore. He would be reunited with his brother in heaven. I never knew one could feel this much emotional pain. I will never be the same person again. We never got the chance to hold him swaddled with no wires and cradle him in our arms like a baby should be when he was alive. It was our final request before we left the NICU. You dressed him in an outfit and swaddled him in a blanket that I had made with his name on it. I kissed him, patted his bum, and whispered that I loved him. We sang Jesus loves me to him and wept for our angel. Then you took him when we made the impossible choice to leave that day. Picking that moment is life-shattering. It takes away your strength and confidence as a human being, leaving you exposed to the reality that life is fragile. As I sat in my car on the way home, wondering how I was going to survive, you made molds of his hands and feet for me. And just when I thought you couldn't give us any more, you paid your respects as we celebrated his life. It meant so much to see you at his funeral, as you knew him best.

Your love and devotion are what sets you two apart from anyone I've ever met. "Thank you" isn't enough, but it's all we have to give. Every day of my son's life was stolen from death, and you stole them for me. You're brave and incredible; you go in to work not knowing what you are walking into. You do a job that not many can. So from the bottom of our hearts, thank you. Love, a grieving mom