By the time you’re reading this, my daughter will be wisdom-tooth free, recovering from surgery and feeling worlds better. But as I sit here writing, I’m still coming down from the whirlwind of events—including a day I won’t forget anytime soon.

We’d just scheduled her wisdom tooth extraction after one particularly troublesome tooth started causing problems. Less than 24 hours later, she spiked a fever that wouldn’t come down, no matter what I threw at it.

By five o’clock, things had escalated. She couldn’t open her mouth. Couldn’t swallow. Her neck had stiffened. Her head was pounding. And her fever climbed to 103.

As a mom, you know the difference between let’s give it another hour and grab your shoes, we’re going to the ER.

This was the latter.

We spent about two hours waiting in the lobby, which felt like an eternity. But in the middle of all that anxiety, something unexpected happened. Strangers—people who had no idea who we were—offered us their place in line. They checked on her. Wished her well. Worried right alongside me.

And honestly, that touched me more than I can say. In a world that can feel so divided and impatient, there we were, complete strangers looking out for each other in a fluorescent-lit waiting room.

Once we were finally seen, everything moved fast: bloodwork, cultures, IV fluids, heavy-duty meds, a CT scan with contrast. Her white blood cell count was through the roof. Her fever hovered stubbornly at 103 for hours. Her heart rate stayed high, and there was talk of transferring her if things didn’t turn around—or depending on what the scan revealed.

The biggest fear was a deep tissue abscess. But by some grace, the scan came back clear. No abscess. No emergency surgery. Just a nasty infection from that problematic tooth.

It wasn’t until her fever finally broke—hours later, as she laid there drenched in sweat and complaining about how gross she felt—that I let myself exhale. I’ve never been so happy to hear her grumble.

And in the middle of all that chaos, I felt something I hadn’t in years: I felt like young mom me again. Back when my days were measured in nap schedules and fever checks, and my entire purpose was to keep my little minions safe.

Turns out, that feeling never really goes away. They may grow up, get jobs, and start stalking you on Life 360 instead of the other way around, but the moment they’re hurting? You’re right back in it. Wiping their brow. Whispering it’s going to be okay. Wishing with everything in you that you could take the pain instead.

Motherhood doesn’t clock out. It doesn’t retire. You’re in it for life.

And honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

So, hug your people. Hold them close. And don’t forget—tomorrow is never promised.

Kim Van Meter is a former full-time reporter for The Oakdale Leader, The Escalon Times and The Riverbank News; she continues to provide a monthly column. She can be reached at kvanmeter@oakdaleleader.com.