We thought it was a miracle

Two Years Ago Today If I could rewind our lives to this day two years ago, it would be a Saturday. A Saturday filled with something we hadn’t felt in a while — hope. They had found a liver for Sana. It was a match. I remember whispering a prayer that felt half disbelief, half gratitude. God, You have been kind. You gave us a problem, and now You have sent the solution. This is a miracle. In that moment, everything felt aligned. The fear didn’t disappear, but it softened around the edges. Eight hours. Eight long hours of tension, pacing, silent prayers, glancing at the clock, holding our breath in hospital corridors that felt both sacred and sterile. And then the words we were waiting for — the surgery was over. Relief washed over us. We thought, One less thing to worry about. We believed the hardest mountain had been climbed. As a family, we put on our armor. We became superheroes — brave faces, steady voices, determined hearts. We told ourselves we could handle whatever came next. Sometimes, though, relief is only a pause. And in our case, it was temporary. After that, life became a blur — hospital rooms, medical updates, hope rising and falling in quiet waves. When I look back now, the details feel hazy, as if my mind has softened the edges to protect me. But one thing stands clear. That transplant gave us time. It gave Sana time to come home. Time to be in her space. Time to be my baby again, not just a patient. It gave me time to care for her — to sit beside her, to hold her hand, to watch her rest, to memorize her face in ways only a mother understands. Perhaps the miracle was not what we thought it would be. Perhaps it wasn’t about fixing everything forever. Perhaps it was about grace in the middle of uncertainty. About borrowed time. About allowing us to gather moments we did not know would become sacred. We thought we were preparing for recovery. Instead, we were being given goodbye in the gentlest way possible. And though the pain of that realization still takes my breath away, I hold onto this truth: we were given the gift of being together. Of loving openly. Of caring fully. Two years ago today, we saw hope. And even now, through grief, I can still see it — not as the ending we prayed for, but as the time we were blessed to have.