A quiet hope for the coming months.

As I sit here, gazing out of the window, it feels like everything has been given a sudden burst of energy. Watching the blossoms break from their buds, a soft explosion of colour, something shifts.

It gives my tired body, fighting a mystery illness a small push forward. It’s been a very long winter.

Almost eighteen months of a daily war that has tested me to my limits, and at times taken me to a very dark places void of any kind of contrast.

Not just for me, but for my husband and children. They live in hell with me. It’s been a struggle. Your brain becomes numb to horror if it’s too much to acknowledge as I watched my body disintegrate day by day.

Sitting 24 hours on bones from the trap of a wheelchair. Natural padding and muscle mass whittled down, the reality of accepting that you are dependent on everyone for everything and that my once strong and capable body is officially disabled is almost too much for me. The fact that it no longer responds in the way it once did of how Im living, in a quiet prison called dialysis.

And yet, sitting here now, watching those blossoms open, I can still find something.

Not certainty.

Not answers.

But a small sense of hope.

A little lightness in the middle of it all. Maybe that’s what spring really offers. Not a solution. Just a reminder that even after the longest winters.

Something begins again.