Home. Now.

Tomorrow we begin all over again.

Home. Finally.

It’s been another three weeks of hospital beds. Three weeks of trying to breathe and the constant feeling that I’m about to completely lose my mind.

But we had to stay solid for her. She’s in the fight of her life right now. She’s winning—she will win—but not because the hospital system “got” her. They didn’t (quite). She’s winning because we fought for her. Because we demanded the right diagnosis and some actual understanding. They kept her “physically safe,” sure, but she left a shell. Just a broken pot waiting for someone to finally sweep up the pieces and try to put her back together.

Home. Now.

The road ahead is still long. We still have to keep her safe, but we’re doing it differently now, in the light of who she actually is and what she actually needs. One day, what she’s going through is going to change someone else’s world.

She’s a warrior.

We’re a family of warriors. Broken, exhausted, and under attack, but still standing. Just... quietly standing. We’re right on the edge of fainting, but we haven’t dropped yet.

We have our family back. The tornadoes are still screaming around us, and they aren’t stopping, but we’re just holding on. Holding so tight, together.

Tonight we finally rest and breathe as a family reunited.