Once she goes in, she won’t come out the same. Everyone who loves her knows it.
Right now, 11-year-old Adali waits in a quiet hospital room, surrounded by the soft beeping of monitors and the steady routines of medical care. From the outside, the room looks like so many others—white walls, bright lights, a bed too big for a small body. But inside that room, time feels suspended. Adali’s life is balanced on something as fragile and powerful as hope. She is waiting for a heart—one that could save her life.
Doctors have moved her as high as possible on the transplant list. There is urgency in every conversation, every test, every careful adjustment of medication. One side of Adali’s heart is failing. The other is working beyond what it was ever meant to do, pushing itself to exhaustion just to keep her here another day. Each beat is a small victory. Each day is a gift.
But there is no donor yet. Only waiting. And waiting carries a weight no family is ever prepared to hold.
Waiting means waking each morning unsure of what the day will bring. It means watching the phone, listening for footsteps in the hallway, bracing for news that could change everything in an instant. It means holding hope and fear in the same breath. For Adali’s family, waiting has become a way of life—one filled with quiet prayers, whispered encouragement, and moments of strength drawn from love alone.
When Adali is finally called into surgery, she will step into a moment shaped by both unimaginable hope and profound grief. Her second chance at life will come only through another family’s loss. That truth is never far from her parents’ hearts. They carry it with deep humility and respect, fully aware that while their world may be saved, another family’s will be forever changed.
So they pray not only for a donor heart, but for the family who, in the middle of their own heartbreak, may be asked to make the most selfless decision imaginable. They pray for strength for people they may never meet, and for peace in a moment no one should ever have to face.
Adali’s journey to this moment did not begin with her heart. Her young life has already been marked by battles few children should ever have to endure. She has survived leukemia, faced the long and grueling road of a bone marrow transplant, endured seizures, and spent years within hospital walls. While other children her age were learning routines of school and play, Adali was learning the rhythms of treatment schedules, recovery days, and medical uncertainty.
Those years have left their mark. Her body is tired now, worn down by years of fighting. There are moments when the exhaustion shows, when the weight of it all feels heavy. But her spirit—her spirit is not tired.
Despite everything, Adali holds on. She smiles when she can. She listens. She hopes. Her family holds on with her, surrounding her with love, belief, and quiet determination. They believe the right heart will come at the right time. They believe that this waiting, as painful as it is, will lead to another chapter—one filled with healing, growth, and life beyond hospital walls.
In the meantime, they take things one day at a time. Sometimes one hour at a time. They celebrate small victories and lean on each other during the hardest moments. They speak Adali’s name with tenderness and fierce devotion, knowing that every prayer, every shared story, every moment of awareness matters.
Please keep this family in your thoughts. Pray for a donor heart. Pray for the family who may soon say goodbye, so Adali can say hello to a new life. And if you feel moved, share her story—because no child, and no family, should have to wait like this in silence.
