Thankful in the middle of the mess

There’s been a lot of heaviness in these updates lately. ICU nights, hard conversations, weird hospital food, and the constant question of “how much more of this do we have?”  

But tonight, sitting in our bedroom with Traci home and asleep beside me, I keep circling back to one simple word: thankful.

First, I’m thankful that Traci is home. After ICU alarms, vitals monitors, and watching her sleep surrounded by machines, the sound of her breathing in our own space feels like a miracle disguised as “normal life.” We’re still very much in the grind—the feeding pump and IV, meds, pain management, appointments—but the fact that she made it through this round and back to our couch is not something I’m taking for granted.  

I’m also deeply thankful for the people who got her here. Nurses like Izzy and Hannah who didn’t just check boxes, but actually listened to her when words were hard to find. Doctors and PTs who treated her like a person, not just a chart. They carried some of the weight for a while so I could step out of pure survival mode and just be her husband sitting by the bed. That gift is bigger than I can say.

I’m thankful for my father-in-law Phil, who somehow managed to be everywhere at once with me over the last week. He showed up for the wedding, showed up at the hospital, and then kept showing up long after visiting hours through late-night conversations about life, faith, and all the questions that don’t have easy answers.  

Our talks have wandered from philosophy to fear to the weird humor you find sometime after midnight. when you’re both tired and still wide awake. He’s let me process out loud what it means to live on “borrowed time,” to love someone whose body keeps taking hits, and to still believe in hope in the middle of it. I’m thankful for a friend who doesn’t try to fix it, just sits in it with me.

I’m thankful for Abby and Andrew for inviting us into such a beautiful wedding. It was more than just a ceremony on a calendar—it was this bright, stubborn pocket of joy planted right in the middle of a hard chapter.  

Watching them say their vows, seeing the way they looked at each other, hearing promises spoken out loud—there was something healing about that. It reminded me why we keep doing all of this: because love is still worth it, even when life gets brutal. Being included in their day felt like being pulled into a bigger story than just hospital rooms and scan results.

I’m also thankful for you—the people who keep reading these posts, sending messages, and whispering prayers for a couple you may or may not have ever met in person. Every comment, every text, every “thinking of you today” has landed right when I needed to know we weren’t carrying this alone.  

You’ve given us courage on days when there wasn’t any left in the tank. You’ve reminded me that telling the truth about this journey matters, because on the other side of the screen are real humans cheering us on, praying, and feeling this with us. That’s wild to me, and I don’t take it lightly.

Tonight, I’m especially thankful for my mother-in-law Vicki and my daughter Kelli. They stepped in today to care for Traci so I could go to work and actually focus, knowing Traci was with people who love her and know what they’re doing. That freedom—to leave the apartment and not have my brain constantly split between “business Paul” and “caregiver Paul”—is huge.  

It’s not glamorous. It looks like doctor appointments, meds, feedings, watching pain levels, helping her move from one spot to another, and a hundred tiny unseen things. But because they were willing to shoulder some of that today, I could do my job and then come home to a happy and well taken care of wife, a mother-in-law who shared a meal with me, and a quiet apartment that felt…steady. For that, I’m incredibly grateful.

We still don’t know what’s next. There are more scans ahead, more meds, more uncertainty. I’m not writing this because everything is wrapped up in a bow—it’s not.  

I’m writing this because in the middle of all of that, tonight I’m choosing to notice what’s good: Traci home in our little apartment just choosing to revel in a blanket of happiness. 

So that’s where we are tonight. Not “all better.” Not “back to normal.” Just here, in this strange in‑between place where hospital bracelets are still on the counter and home health supplies share space with our regular life.  

And in the middle of that, I’m thankful. Thankful for one more night with Traci in our little mission HQ. Thankful for the people who held us up when we were running on fumes. Thankful for the friends who turned a brutal stretch of days into a story threaded through with kindness.  

We’re still on borrowed time. But if this is the time we’ve been given, then I want to spend it noticing the good, naming the helpers, and celebrating the grace that keeps showing up in the middle of the hard.  

If you’ve prayed, texted, visited, worked a shift, cracked a joke, or just quietly carried us in your thoughts: thank you. You’re part of this story too