Positive Energy

As a carer, you don’t get the luxury of falling apart.

Everything depends on you, the routines, the kids, the animals, the hospital runs, the quiet things no one sees.

You keep it all moving, even when you’re tired beyond words.

And then something shifts.

A sentence. A test result.

“Abnormal cells.”

“See a specialist.”

Just like that, the ground underneath you doesn’t feel as solid.

Maybe it’s nothing.

Hopefully it’s nothing.

But your mind doesn’t stay in hopefully.

It goes straight to the children.

It goes to time.

I found myself thinking not in days or weeks, but in years.

Six years.

I need six more years.

Six years until he is eighteen.

Old enough to stand steady.

Old enough to look out for his sister.

Old enough to carry a piece of what I carry now.

That’s the thought that sits quietly, heavily.

Not fear for myself, not really.

But fear of leaving them before they’re ready.

Before I’ve done enough.

Before I’ve shown them everything they need to know to be okay in this world.

When you are the safety net, the idea of not being there feels unbearable.

So you keep going.

Work.

Kids.

Animals.

Hospital.

And somewhere in between it all, you carry this silent hope:

That this is nothing.

That there is more time.

That six years won’t be something you have to wish for…

but something you simply live.

One ordinary day at a time.