It has been an exhausting 182 hours. That doesn’t sound like terribly much, except that’s actually just over a week since I heard about the accident. Most of my family is doing well, all things considered, but my sister has a long road ahead of her, especially. 

My mother has been deemed stable, and downgraded to a local-to-her hospital. My brother has been discharged to finish recovery at home, and his wife was discharged the day of the accident. Unfortunately, my sister took the brunt of the impact, and is still in the middle of multiple surgeries.

I am proud to be there for her. I am reminded by all that I hold myself to much too high a standard for when I am unable. A person can only function on two hours of solid sleep a night for so long… I had slept hard on my night off Wed, for 12 hours, but by Friday I was half an hour late picking up my youngest from a half-day of school. My body had just had enough. Thankfully after a few hours I could see she was flagging also, and we slept the afternoon away together; my husband made the choice to leave me undisturbed when he came home from work himself.

I missed visiting hours, and was crushed. Everyone understands, but it’s hard not to be disappointed. It is well into Sunday morning now after another graveyard shift and before I went into work, my dad needs me to be there for her, because he needs rest himself, and chores at home he’s been neglecting.

And I will. I promised. I will leave work, and prepare my daughter’s hair for her ballet rehearsal. I shall likely rest my head against my sister’s calf, and eke the time until noon, when others shall be able to return. How much sleep shall I have today? I don’t know. The recital is tonight, so her hair must be perfect. I must remember to remind my husband to charge the camera.

Mother. Sister. Champion. Protector.

It is bloody hard, and I am bloody tired… and unravelling.