After twenty years as a pediatric nurse, I’d met many brave children, but seven-year-old Lily left an indelible mark. After her third brain surgery, the tumor was gone, yet she couldn’t face the scar running along her head. She hid beneath her hoodie, convinced no one would ever accept her. Her mother’s reassurances failed; Lily withdrew, refusing food and care.
Then I thought of Gabriel, a hospital volunteer and veteran with a similar scar. When he entered her room, he spoke gently, then removed his bandana, revealing his own mark of survival. Lily stared, then lifted her hood, her fear softening. Gabriel told her scars meant strength, not shame.
For the first time in days, Lily smiled—and I realized healing isn’t only medical; it’s also found in empathy and connection.
