It 3:48 am and I’m writing this in a race between my mind and the Percocet I just popped. I’m frustrated with my life at the moment. I’m not frustrated at my loved ones or my circumstances, but I’m frustrated that I can’t do the very thing I want to do. My body is inconsistent and unforgiving. I’m a flaky friend, but my girls continue to rally around me with nothing but love and forgiveness.

I want to be further in my career. I want to be consistent in all areas of my life, but my health makes it impossible. I am 95% sure my endometriosis is back. There is a 15% chance that it can come back after a hysterectomy, and it took a singular moment last week for me to realize what it was.

Living with severe chronic pain is like you’re one of those frogs being boiled alive. You are in consistent pain throughout your life, as it slowly ramps up, you hardly notice it until it’s too far gone. I just wish that I could be well enough to live my life longer than a week or two at a time. I wish I was a better daughter, sister, granddaughter, and friend.

These are my thoughts at 3:54am. So, what do I do? I distract myself with digital collages, and focusing on the good in my life.

This week, my foster brother told us a story about when we came and picked him up. He had lived alone with his brother in a trailer so decrepit that you wouldn’t let a rat stay in it. Roaches crawled the walls and there was no heat. It was the winter when we picked them up. His dad was deported 9 months prior, and they were left to fend for themselves.

“Do you remember the piece of paper on my wall?” Not really, but I pretend that I did. “When I was sick, I would put a mark on the piece of paper for every day I was sick.”

“How long were you sick when we came and got you?”

“Thirteen days.” He was eight years old.

A few hours ago, that same brother came in to my room and crawled under the covers of my bed. He wanted to cheer me up, so we picked out an iPad screensaver that we could both agree on. It was a combination of emojis in a swirled pattern.

When, I told him it was time to pray, he snuggled close and wrapped his small arms around me. I thanked Jesus for my brothers, and how much joy they have brought me in times of desperation. He knew from the beginning that they would be mine one day. I genuinely cannot imagine how my life would be without them, nor do I ever want to live without them again. Tears streamed quietly down my face. In the dark, a little hand from the mountains of Guatemala reached up and wiped the tear away.

“I’m so happy,” I said.