That morning began with waiting.
It wasn’t the familiar wait of an ordinary day, but a heavy, drawn-out wait, minute by minute, second by second, as time seemed to slow down in the cold corridors of the hospital.
That was the morning Hunter Alexander’s family wasn’t immediately allowed to visit him.
The first visiting hour in the ICU is scheduled for 11:00 AM.
And until then, everyone could only stand outside, silently, anxiously, and hopefully.
Hunter is in the intensive care unit.
A place whose very name is enough to make any parent’s heart ache.
The ICU is not a place where people want to hear their child’s name mentioned.
The ICU is a place where the lines are thin between stability and critical condition, between hope and fear.
That morning, family members only managed to catch a very brief glimpse of Hunter.
That moment was so brief that there wasn’t enough time to say everything that wanted to be said, not enough time to hold hands for long enough, not enough time to soothe the anxiety that was swirling in my chest.
Hunter was sitting upright in his wheelchair in the room.
He wasn’t lying motionless.
He didn’t close his eyes.
He is conscious.
That was a relief for the family.
Hunter’s right arm is being bandaged.
The white bandages wrapped around his hands served as a silent reminder of what he had been through.
No one needs to say it out loud that those were serious injuries.
Just looking at it is enough to understand.
But what moved people the most wasn’t the wounds.
It’s the spirit of Hunter.
He still maintains his optimism.
He remained calm.
He still tried to smile.
Katie, who stayed with him throughout the long hours of the night, said Hunter slept quite well.
He slept soundly until about 4 a.m.
After that, sleep was no longer restful.
The pain, the discomfort, the noise of the machines, the ICU lights – all of these made it difficult to rest.
But he tried.
And that, for the family, was more than enough to be grateful for.
Details about the previous night.
Treatment plans for the day.
The next steps.
Everything is still awaiting full updates.
The family knew they would soon have more information.
But at that moment, the most important thing was simply knowing Hunter was here.
He is still conscious.
He’s still fighting.
And he is not alone.
As parents, there is no pain like watching your child face horrors.
No matter how old a child is, in the eyes of their parents, they will always be a child who needs protection.
Feelings of helplessness are inevitable.
I cannot bear the pain for my child.
I can’t bear my child’s fear for them.
There was nothing more we could do than stand by and pray.
Each beep of the machine.
Every time the ICU door opens.
Every glance from the doctors and nurses.
All of this makes the hearts of parents ache.
The Hunter family has shared those feelings on numerous occasions.
They don’t hide their vulnerability.
They weren’t trying to appear strong in a fake way.
Because in moments like these, the truth is always laid bare.
And the pain is always there.
But amidst all of that, there was one thing that prevented them from feeling completely alone.
That’s concern.
Those are the messages.
Those were the phone calls.
Those were greetings from all over.
Hundreds, even thousands of messages were sent.
From long-time close friends.
From people I’ve only just met.
And even from complete strangers.
These people had never met Hunter.
Those who don’t know the full story.
But they still chose to stop, ask how I was doing, and offer words of encouragement.
That means a great deal.
Not just with Hunter.
And that applies to his whole family.
Because in the darkest times, human kindness becomes a light.
A quiet light.
But it was warm enough to keep people standing.
The family has expressed their gratitude many times.
But it seems like no amount of talking is enough.
How can one possibly express the gratitude for receiving such kindness from complete strangers?
How can one describe the feeling of seeing their child’s name mentioned with love on social media?
How can one describe the feeling of knowing that their child is not only loved by their family, but also watched over by the entire community?
Hunter Alexander was more than just a patient in the ICU.
He is a human being.
A son.
A friend.
Part of so many other lives.
The hashtag “hunteralexanderstrong” is more than just a line of text.
It is an affirmation.
A reminder that Hunter is still fighting.
And that he wasn’t fighting alone.
Currently, it is highly likely that Hunter will be moved out of the ICU today.
That’s a positive sign.
An important step in the recovery journey.
But changing rooms also means uncertainty about the specific address.
The family didn’t know exactly which room Hunter would be moved to.
They also didn’t know how the hospital’s mail delivery system worked.
Does the letter need to specify the room number, or is just the name and address of the hospital sufficient?
Those minor questions, under normal circumstances, might not be worth worrying about.
But at this moment, they have become important.
Because so many people want to send greeting cards.
I want to send a letter.
I want to send words of encouragement in writing.
The letters can be held in the hand.
These cards can be placed next to the hospital bed.
Things that carry the warmth of human presence.
The hospital address has been shared.
Hunter Alexander.
LSU-S.
1541 Kings Hwy.
Shreveport, LA 71103.
The family hopes that even without a specific room number, the letter will still reach him.
Because each letter is a reminder that he hasn’t been forgotten.
That beyond the white walls of the hospital, there are still many people thinking of him.
In the long corridors of the ICU, time always finds a way to test people.
But it is in places like these that the true value of life becomes apparent.
Every breath is precious.
Every small move is a victory.
Each day that passes holds special meaning.
Hunter is going through days like that.
Slowly.
Painful.
But resilient.
His family is walking alongside him.
The community is behind us.
And hope still lies ahead.
Hunter’s story is not over yet.
It is still being written.
With patience.
Medical degree.
Through love.
And with the belief that even in the darkest moments, people can still find light.
For those of you reading this, it’s important to know more than just where Hunter is.
Rather, it’s about understanding that a simple greeting, a message, or a positive thought can also become a source of strength.
Sometimes, what helps a person get through something isn’t just medicine.
It’s the feeling of being cared for.
To be remembered.
To be loved.
Hunter Alexander is fighting.
And many people are standing with him.
This story continues.
And every prayer, every act of kindness, is a part of that journey.
