What positive events have taken place in your life over the past year?
When my mom called her three-week hospital stay “the worst resort ever,” we laughed—a little nervously, but genuinely. That’s just who she is: tough as nails with humor for armor. The “resort” came with a 24-hour staff, questionable cuisine, and, as she joked, “the world’s least relaxing accommodations.” Her wit kept us sane when fear started to creep in.
Those three weeks stretched into months. Days blurred—in and out of the hospital, school drop-offs, late-night worry, and the exhausting act of pretending I was fine. My son picked up on my tension, his small frustrations echoing emotions he couldn’t yet name. My daughter, just learning to walk, toddled through the chaos—a daily reminder that life moves forward whether you’re ready or not.
In the thick of it, my husband was my anchor. He absorbed my anxiety without complaint, reminding me to breathe when my thoughts tangled into knots. Sometimes he listened. Sometimes he made me laugh. Always, he was there—steady, patient, grounding me when everything else felt like quicksand.
My dad carried his own quiet strength. Despite long days, he drove the hour to see Mom four or five times a week with a gallon of 2% milk riding shotgun. He’d take a swig now and then—old farmer habits die hard. One of my sisters often joined him, their conversations stretching across miles of highway. I joined when I could, and those drives became our therapy sessions. We talked about everything and nothing. Some days, silence said enough. His constancy humbled me—proof that love doesn’t always speak; sometimes it just keeps showing up.
Ma, on her liquid diet—when she could eat—still managed to make everyone laugh. She rated her hospital broth like a food critic. Even from a hospital bed, she made humor feel like an act of defiance.
Somewhere in the middle of all this, I found my way back to writing. What began as venting turned into something more—a way to turn chaos into meaning. When I started sharing my words, nervous but hopeful, people responded. Strangers became friends. Writing became a bridge back to others and a lifeline to myself.
Then came my sisters—the surprise support team I didn’t know I needed. What started as a group chat for Ma updates turned into our daily outlet of laughter and love. We share memes, encouragement, and family gossip, keeping each other afloat. That digital thread has become our shared heartbeat, buzzing with life even on the hardest days.
When the storm finally eased, light crept back into our days. Mom’s health steadied. My son learned patience for his big feelings. My daughter’s baby steps turned into joyful runs. My husband and I rediscovered laughter, and the house felt warm again.
The fearful year ended in gratitude—messy, exhausting, transformative gratitude. I learned that strength isn’t silence; it’s presence. Sometimes it’s cracking a joke when you want to cry or reaching for someone’s hand when you can’t stand on your own. The “worst resort ever” ended up teaching us the best lessons on love, resilience, and the healing power of laughter.
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