the angels you did not ask for (a poem by Nurse Tori)

As a NICU nurse for more than 10 years, I can honestly say that about 95% of the time, I absolutely love what I do. It’s an incredible privilege to care for the tiniest patients and to witness the amazing things modern medicine can do to help them survive and grow. I never take that for granted.

But this is about the other 5%.

The 5% that comes with heartbreak.

The 5% that stays with you long after your shift ends.

The 5% that reminds you just how fragile life can be.

Recently, I was part of the team caring for a baby and their family during one of those moments. It was one of the cases that really settled deep into my heart. The kind that follows you home, that sits with you in the quiet, that makes you pause and reflect on everything we see and experience in this work.

When I need to process things, sometimes I write. And this time, the words just poured out.

I don’t know if the family this was written for will ever see it. But I hope that maybe another NICU family will. Or another NICU nurse, respiratory therapist, doctor, or provider who might need it.

Because that 5% is real.And no one should have to carry it alone.

the angels you did not ask for

You’re not supposed to know me.

You’re not supposed to need my name.

I step in quietly, gloved and steady,

Then leave before the daylight comes again.

Some say we play God,

In a world of black and white.

But here, in the NICU,

We live our lives in grey, especially at night.

Most nights blur into muscle memory:

Deliveries, admissions, care times, charting, and scars.

But some patients carve their names into us,

Constellations we’ll carry long after they’re gone.

The hardest truth of what we do

Is knowing we can’t fix it all.

We can’t make every ending gentler

Or silence every loved one’s call.

We are trained to mend and soften blows,

To make it better, to restore.

We are healers by design —

But feelers, always asking for more.

This job asks us to pocket tears,

To translate chaos, stand upright in fear,

To armor up when the room collapses,

Smile steady, then disappear.

Most days the shield fits just fine

We tuck sadness neatly away.

But some nights crack the surface,

And grief refuses to stay contained.

This was one that etched my mind

Lines and tubes, a careful design.

Ventilator humming lullabies,

Pumps in rhythm, all care plans aligned.

Everything where it should have been,

Every protocol in sight.

But what do you do when fixing it

Is no longer an option tonight?

They saw you frozen in the corner,

Disbelief written across your face.

Your whole life shattered in a second,

Time stopping in that sacred space.

Words left you. Movement failed.

Your breath caught somewhere deep inside

A silence louder than alarms,

A scream you swallowed just to survive.

The adrenaline drained from our veins,

The room exhaled, the chaos stilled.

We watched a tiny fighter rest,

Praying hope would bend to will.

Sometimes the world is set ablaze,

And there’s nothing left to do.

No medication, no miracle—

Just sitting in the ache with you.

Facing life without your person

Is more than any heart should bear.

Gaining angels wasn’t the bargain

It’s cruel, uneven, devastatingly unfair.

They say there’s God.

They say there’s reason.

I don’t know if I believe that’s true.

Some losses feel senseless, brutal —

And you lost not one, but two.

“They’re angels now,” the whispers say.

But you never asked for this.

Know we hold your grief with reverence—

Because this one shattered all of us.

Walking out of the unit felt heavier,

Like gravity had learned my name.

Nothing makes life feel more fragile,

More sacred, more unbearably plain.

The suddenness of one moment

A before-and-after split in two.

I wish I could stitch your heart back whole,

And undo what that night put you through.

But maybe all I can offer

Is this small, honest truth:

This broke us too.

We wanted to heal.

We wanted the impossible for you.

Some say we play God

In a world of black and white.

But here, in the NICU,

We survive in shades of messy grey light.

Moments like this make me wish

We had the power to rewrite

To take the pain, erase the loss,

And give you back your light.

Most days this job feels light and meaningful,

Purpose stitched into every breath.

And other nights I numb the edges,

Trying not to carry death.

To my NICU nurses,

Who give your whole heart to the work:

Please tend to your grief with tenderness,

And let healing find you first.

To the parents who lost an angel,

Or maybe even two.

Know you live on in our quiet moments,

Our hearts still heavy, holding you.

dedicated to the patient and loved ones of this hardship. and to NICU parents who have endured the same as well as the NICU teams caring for them.

xo

Tori

Victoria (Tori) Meskin, MSN, RNC-NIC, has been a NICU nurse since 2012, caring for critically ill newborns in acute and high-acuity neonatal settings throughout Southern California. Board-certified in neonatal intensive care and experienced as a travel NICU nurse, she is also the co-founder and CEO of NICUity, a modern resource hub supporting NICU professionals and families through practical education, tools, and community. Outside of the bedside, Tori is a mom, wife, content creator and concierge wellness nurse who shares the honest, relatable side of motherhood, nurse life, and entrepreneurship, offering practical tips and encouragement for healthcare providers and modern moms alike. Discover her latest resources and recommendations at www.tipsfromtori.com or reach out at tipsfromtorimanagement@gmail.com .