The place where memories are made. Where laughter echoes through the rooms. Where doors get slammed, because it happens in every hours. The place where you’re comfortable, where the kids are the wildest and where your own personal little routine of chaos brings you a sense of security.
But what if Home looks like this? 4 bare walls. A curtain. A metal crib. Where memories consist of watching your child suffer, and go through procedures that are hard but necessary. Where laughter comes from the bad jokes you crack with medical staff and other medical families, and it’s a coping mechanism that not many understand. Where “comfortable” consist of a pull out chair, or a wooden chair at 3am. Where the only doors you want to slam are those of the bathroom down the hall because you’re fed up and aching.
You adapt. You manage. You take it day by day, hour by hour. You celebrate small victories and conquer the lions one by one. You love harder, stronger and deeper than you ever have before and you find a strength within you you didn’t know what possible.
So yeah, we just do. Because we have to. We don’t want to, but we do it anyways. Because we love. So deeply. Even in the midst of this chaos, because how could we not? They’re ours. They’re so valued. They’re worth it all.