Today began in motion.
My husband, quiet and dependable, brought the car to the clinic early—
interrupting his routine,
filling the tank,
handing over the day with no fuss.
He stayed with our little one,
worked from home,
held the ground
so I could step into something else.
My daughter and I walked through the forest.
She held a chocolate croissant,
I carried coffee.
We didn’t speak much.
Just moved,
step by step,
toward my father’s hospital bed.
Planned to visit.
Now to bring him home.
A car ride with electric massage.
And tender conversations and reflections.
It had been a long time since I stood in my parents’ house.
But today, it welcomed us.
Not with grand emotion—
but with something much better:
Spargel for lunch.
Cooked by my mother.
Tender, real, nourishing.
Family was still a verb.
Inside, I thanked her.
For the meal.
For holding so much.
For still cooking through the storm.
And then, later—
I walked to the rehab clinic.
In person.
Not begging.
Just asking, clearly and kindly.
I believed it would work.
Not because I deserved it.
But because sometimes presence speaks louder than policy.
And somehow—
they said yes.
An exception.
A place nearby.
The best case for both of my parents.
No long commutes.
No more forms or endless coordination.
Just: rest.
Close.
Real.
It was the kind of miracle that wears ordinary clothes.
The kind you almost miss,
until you feel your shoulders drop.
My parents were super thankful.
I was thankful being able to give back.
And I thought:
This is what healing looks like—
not loud.
But held.
Some days don’t need fixing.
They just need someone to show up
and ask.
And today, I did.
I am driving home
leaving my daughter near the beach
enjoying the next couple of days
with her beloved cousin
jumping the trampolin
and supporting the healing
my parents deserve.
A lovely chat with my husband
and an other deep dive in what happened.
I finished my life line for therapy
bravely brought my complex life to paper
to prepare for therapy.
What my energy level will be tomorrow?
No clue.
But the universe favors the bold
so no need to worry.
At least not now.
Stepping out of miracle day with Vikings.
Close to my love.
Today feels like double life.
Today feels like double home.