Tonight is one of those nights where time moves painfully slow.
Just a few hours ago, we were still at home. Everything felt normal… until it suddenly wasn’t. The car sped through the night in silence. No one spoke. The only sound was our own hearts beating louder than the engine.
Hospitals feel different at night.
The cold white lights.
The sharp smell of antiseptic.
The hurried footsteps of doctors and nurses.
And us — sitting there, holding each other’s hands, trying to stay calm while a storm raged inside.
Pooda lay there. So small. So fragile.
Thankfully… Pooda is okay. The doctors are running tests — carefully, patiently, one step at a time. Every time the door opened, our hearts tightened, then slowly learned how to breathe again.
As for me? I’m okay — at least physically.
But the truth is, I am exhausted in a way sleep can’t fix.
The kind of tired that comes from being afraid for too long, all at once.
What broke me the most tonight wasn’t the fear…
it was the love.
The messages checking in.
The whispered prayers.
Knowing our names were spoken in someone else’s prayers.
In a cold hospital room, we were not alone.
Tonight reminded us how fragile life truly is —
and how powerful faith and human kindness can be.
Thank you to everyone who prayed for us.
This family will never forget this night…
and we will never forget how you stood with us through it. ❤️🙏🏽
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