Today, we got a miracle.

After a really rough night and being on a high dose of blood pressure meds, I had already braced myself for Friday. I had waved the white flag, emotionally tapped out, thinking there was no way they’d close his chest today. But the team decided to take him back to the OR and reassess—and a few hours later, he was closed.

I’m still trying to process it. His chest is closed. His skin is pink. His nail beds have color again. The veins that once screamed for help are finally fading. And though his eyes are open, they’re not awake just yet—but he’s here. He made it through.

There are some minor skin tears from the closure, but nothing major. The PLEX machine worked beautifully, and his blood pressure held steady through it all. Tomorrow, the plan is to try to remove the tube and possibly put him on high-flow oxygen. Still a journey ahead, but that ventilator might soon be behind us.

Music therapy came and sang to him today. A Chaplain came before the procedure and prayed over him. I held his hand the whole time, and when she said “Amen,” he gripped my hand so tightly—as if to say, don’t go. That moment broke me. I cried.

But tonight, we’re holding onto joy. Because he’s here. He’s healing. And we are still standing.