Not all memories from the hardest times are heavy.
That may sound strange coming from someone who’s spent years in and out of hospitals, navigating crises, and talking openly about mortality. But the truth is, some of the most beautiful, light-filled moments of my life happened during the darkest chapters.
I’ve been thinking about those moments lately, the ones I’ve tucked away in what I call my memory bank. The kind of memories that show up out of nowhere and make you smile with your soul.
If you’ve ever loved someone so deeply that you could have an entire conversation with just a look, you know what I mean. My sister and I built our own language; one made of inside jokes, shared glances, and eye-rolls that could translate into entire paragraphs.
There was a rhythm we fell into, even when everything around us was uncertain. Whether we were navigating test results or tangled IV lines, we still found ways to laugh. To tease. To connect. We joked about bad hospital coffee and turned medical jargon into sitcom scripts. At one point, she named her new liver “Walter” and gave him a full personality.
It didn’t matter if she was swollen, in pain or scared – we still found connection. And honestly, that connection felt sharper. Clearer. It was the kind you don’t take for granted.
There were these moments – quiet, unexpected ones – where we’d lock eyes, and I swear we saw each other’s soul. Not the tired body. Not the diagnosis. Not the fear. Just each other.
Those moments didn’t need words. They were enough. A held hand. A laugh in the middle of a crying fit. A whisper of, “You’re doing great,” when one of us needed it most. Those were the moments that told me, no matter what happened, we had already won something.
We had closed the gap.
Not all victories are loud. Some are sneaky little miracles: a full night of sleep, spontaneously laughing so hard we cried, her smile when the nurse found a vein on the first try, how our mom always knew how to deescalate a tense room, watching the same episode of a show for the 10th time and enjoying it for its familiarity.
Those are the snapshots I keep in my memory bank. They’re the ones I visit when things feel heavy. And they always lift the weight.
There’s a kind of smile you share with your eyes when you’ve been through some real stuff together. When you’ve seen the worst and still choose to find the best. When the stakes are high, but the love is higher.
That’s what this journey gave us.
Whether she was going to live or die, we decided to focus on the good things; to make our sistership valuable, to make memories we could carry, no matter where the road led next.
And I’m so grateful we did!
You don’t always get to control the circumstances, but you can control the connection. We made a choice to laugh as often as we could. To cry when we needed to. To hold hands through it all.
We closed the gap – between fear and hope, between then and now, between her heart and mine.
And honestly, that’s what I’ll remember the most.
Not the diagnoses.
Not the beeping monitors.
But the look in her eyes when I made her laugh.
The way we built something sacred inside the chaos.
And how – no matter what – we never let each other go.
So, if you’re in it right now – deep in the caretaking, the loving, the worrying – pause and take a snapshot.
Look for the light.
Collect the smiles.
Build your memory bank.
And tuck those moments away.
One day, you’ll need them.
And they’ll be there, waiting for you and shining.
TL;DR – Key Takeaways
- Mindful observation is key
- Even in crisis, connection matters.
- Collect small wins and inside jokes.
- Eye contact and laughter go a long way.
- Beauty can be fleeting—notice it anyway.
- You don’t have to wait to feel okay.
- That secret language? It’s everything.
- Meaningful moments are the victory.
- Snapshot the good. You’ll need it later.