
02/22/2025
Off Topic
From the moment I was born, Sisters of Charity Hospital felt like a second home. My aunt (Known as Mac), alongside my father, raised me—and she was the manager of the Premature NICU unit that once existed upstairs. Though the unit has since relocated, as a child, I would often visit her there. I can’t even recall all the reasons why, but I do remember what I saw—tiny, fragile babies, some barely able to fit in the palm of a hand, fighting for their lives. And I remember the care, the love, and the unwavering dedication that filled those halls.
Later in life, I found myself working at Sisters Hospital, pursuing my dream in the medical field. I loved my job. But some parts of it still haunt me. One of my most difficult tasks was transporting deceased babies to and from the morgue so that their grieving mothers—many struggling with addiction—could spend three days with their lost child. We wrapped them gently, shielding them from public eyes, trying to preserve their dignity in the most heartbreaking circumstances.
Now, as a father, that pain hits even harder. Hearing a child cry, seeing children suffer—it goes right through me. I have witnessed the devastating toll of accidents, abuse, and the unexplainable loss of young lives. I’ve asked the same question so many others have: Why?
But amidst the grief, I’ve found purpose. I can’t change the past, but I can fight for a better future. Even if it’s just through a prayer, if it saves one child, then it’s worth it.
Last night was a humbling reminder of the power of community. Over a thousand people came together for one little girl—most of us strangers to her, yet deeply moved by her story, bound to her through compassion and hope. It gives me faith that love, prayer, and unity can make a difference.
I pray for a world where no child has to suffer. Where every child is safe, happy, and free. Until that day comes, I will continue to be a light, no matter how dark the memories may be.
May God be with us all, in good times and bad.
—Shawn