Right now, my heart feels heavy, because he is in surgery. Waiting is the hardest part — sitting in that quiet space, knowing the doctors and nurses are doing everything they can, while I can do nothing but hope and pray. Every minute feels stretched into an hour, and every sound in the room makes me look up, wishing for good news.
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Right now, my heart feels heavy, because he is in surgery. Waiting is the hardest part — sitting in that quiet space, knowing the doctors and nurses are doing everything they can, while I can do nothing but hope and pray. Every minute feels stretched into an hour, and every sound in the room makes me look up, wishing for good news.
It’s in these moments that you realize how fragile life is, how much love you carry for someone, and how deeply you want them to be okay. I think of his smile, his laughter, his strength, and all the times he’s been there for me. I hold onto those memories tightly, because they remind me why I’m here — waiting, believing, trusting.
Surgery may be scary, but it’s also a step toward healing. And though the uncertainty is overwhelming, I remind myself that he’s strong, that he’s not alone, and that love surrounds him even in that sterile, cold room.
So I wait. I pray. And I believe that when those doors finally open, I’ll see him again — safe, breathing, and ready to keep fighting. Because he’s not just in surgery — he’s in God’s hands. ❤️🙏
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