This is one of those rare pieces of writing where grief, exhaustion, humor, and love all sit in the same breath, taking turns leading and following. It's raw and bright and absurdly beautiful, like a beam of sunlight cutting through a sterile hospital corridor. You capture the strange in-between where life is both a slow drip and a crash cart, where laughter lives right next to fear, and where a parent’s body becomes both a home and a battlefield. And through it all, there's that ache of enduring love, not the poetic kind, but the kind that bleeds and breaks and keeps choosing, over and over again, to stay, to hope, to hold.
What struck me most is how you speak from inside the absurd, without flinching. You make space for the horror and the hilarity, the sterile sameness and the surreal circus of hospital life. It’s not romanticized, but it is humanized, with so much heart. That image of Claudie spinning in circles with tubes trailing behind her while you dance beside her says more than entire books could. It's not just surviving; it’s throwing a party out of purgatory. It’s dark and funny and unflinchingly kind. Thank you for writing this. It matters.
Such heart breaking but glad that you were stoeng ❤️
love how u write omg🍓🍓🩷🩷this is genuinely so well written ahh i wanna be like this <33 wld love ur feedback on my recent post ⭐️⭐️
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Incredible. Thank you for your openness. I’m looking forward to reading more🫶
Thank you for reading 🙏
This is one of those rare pieces of writing where grief, exhaustion, humor, and love all sit in the same breath, taking turns leading and following. It's raw and bright and absurdly beautiful, like a beam of sunlight cutting through a sterile hospital corridor. You capture the strange in-between where life is both a slow drip and a crash cart, where laughter lives right next to fear, and where a parent’s body becomes both a home and a battlefield. And through it all, there's that ache of enduring love, not the poetic kind, but the kind that bleeds and breaks and keeps choosing, over and over again, to stay, to hope, to hold.
What struck me most is how you speak from inside the absurd, without flinching. You make space for the horror and the hilarity, the sterile sameness and the surreal circus of hospital life. It’s not romanticized, but it is humanized, with so much heart. That image of Claudie spinning in circles with tubes trailing behind her while you dance beside her says more than entire books could. It's not just surviving; it’s throwing a party out of purgatory. It’s dark and funny and unflinchingly kind. Thank you for writing this. It matters.