Between Bruises & Blooms

For months, I measured time in phone calls,
in empty bedrooms,
in countdowns that never seemed to end.

I learned that hope can be quiet.
It doesn’t always shout.
Sometimes it simply folds another load of laundry,
keeps another light on,
and leaves a place at the table.

Now home has a date again.

Not because the road was easy,
or because every battle is over,
but because love kept showing up,
even when my arms were empty.

There will still be meetings.
There will still be weekends apart.
There will still be people watching to make sure we keep walking forward.

That’s okay.

Because home was never built in a single day.

It is built in bedtime stories,
shared breakfasts,
muddy shoes by the door,
brothers laughing down the hallway,
and a mother whispering,
“Welcome home.”

We’ve still got healing to do.

But this time…

We’ll do it together.