Good evening, everyone.
Many of you have been writing and asking how we are.
Today was one of those quiet, emotional days that I will remember for a long time.
Milena spent most of the day outside, near the sea, sitting in her wheelchair and breathing in the fresh coastal air. The sea breeze seems to calm her body in a way I cannot fully explain. Thank God, she is handling the treatments better than I expected. These days, I have not had to put her on oxygen even once.
She looked peaceful today. Tired, yes… but calmer. Her spasms seem a little lighter, and even her eyes looked more relaxed while she watched the waves.
Luka was beside her almost the whole time.
He held her water bottle, talked to her softly, and kept checking if she was comfortable. Here, he has already become everyone’s favorite. The other patients smile when they see him. They tell me he is such a polite, kind, and wonderful boy. And honestly, when I see how gently he stands beside his sister, I feel so proud that my heart aches.
Today I also managed to spend about 20 minutes in the sea. The water is still too cold for Milena, so for now we are waiting until it becomes warmer. I hope soon she will also be able to enjoy it, even just for a little while.
Starting tomorrow, I will begin my own therapy too. I have arthritis, and the fingers on my hands have been hurting a lot lately. Some simple things have become difficult for me, like opening water bottles or lowering the sides of the bed.
But thankfully, Luka is always there.
When my hands cannot do something, his little hands help me. He opens the bottles, helps with the bed, brings things closer, and does it all with such love that I sometimes have to turn my face away so he does not see my tears.
We are tired, but we are grateful.
Grateful for the sea air.
Grateful for calmer days.
Grateful for every small improvement.
And grateful for all of you who keep asking about us and sending us your warm words.
Warm greetings from all of us.
Have a peaceful evening, everyone.
Full story in comments 👇👇
The next morning, I woke up before the sun.
For a few minutes, I just lay there and listened to the sound of the sea coming through the open window. Milena was still sleeping. Luka was curled up on the small bed beside her, one hand under his cheek, exhausted from another long day of trying to be stronger than his age.
I looked at them and felt that quiet pain only a mother understands.
You are grateful your child is here.
Grateful she is breathing.
Grateful she is calm.
But still, somewhere deep inside, you wish life had been softer with her.
When Milena opened her eyes, the first thing she did was look toward the window.
“Sea?” she whispered.
It was only one small word.
But for us, it meant everything.
Luka immediately sat up, still half asleep.
“We’ll go after breakfast,” he said, as if he were the adult in the room.
After breakfast, we took her outside again. The air was warmer than the day before, and the sunlight was soft on her face. I wrapped the blanket around her legs, fixed her hair gently, and Luka carried the water bottle like it was his most important responsibility in the world.
When we reached the seaside path, Milena became very quiet.
She watched the waves for a long time.
Then she lifted her hand slightly and pointed toward the water.
At first, I thought she only wanted to look closer. But then she tried to say something.
“Touch.”
I froze.
The sea was still cold. Too cold for her to go in. But I understood. She did not want to swim. She did not want anything big.
She just wanted to touch the sea.
Luka looked at me with those serious eyes of his.
“Mom, we can bring it to her.”
Before I could answer, he carefully filled a small cup with seawater and came back holding it with both hands so he would not spill a drop.
He stood in front of Milena like he was offering her a treasure.
I dipped my fingers into the water and gently touched her hand.
Milena blinked.
Then slowly, almost invisibly, she smiled.
It was not a big smile. Not the kind other people would even notice.
But I saw it.
Luka saw it too.
And for a moment, none of the pain mattered. Not the therapy. Not the sleepless nights. Not my aching fingers. Not the fear I carry quietly inside me every day.
For that one moment, my daughter had the sea in her hand.
Later, when we returned to the rehabilitation center, one of the older patients stopped Luka in the hallway.
“You take good care of your sister,” he told him.
Luka lowered his head shyly.
“She takes care of me too,” he said.
I looked at him, surprised.
He shrugged and added, “When I’m sad, she looks at me… and I know I’m not alone.”
I had to turn away.
Because sometimes children say the truth in the simplest way.
People often tell me I am strong.
But the truth is, I am not strong every day.
Some days I am tired. Some days I cry in the bathroom where no one can hear me. Some days I wonder how much one heart can carry.
And then I see Milena watching the waves with peaceful eyes.
I see Luka opening a bottle of water with both hands because mine hurt too much.
I see strangers smiling at my children like they already know their story.
And I understand again…
Strength is not always loud.
Sometimes strength is a little girl breathing calmly by the sea.
Sometimes it is a boy holding a water bottle for his sister.
And sometimes it is a mother wiping her tears quickly, smiling again, and saying:
“We are okay.”
That evening, before sleep, Milena held Luka’s hand. He was almost asleep, but he still whispered:
“Tomorrow we’ll see the sea again.”
Milena did not answer with words.
She only squeezed his fingers softly.
And that was enough.
Because healing is not always a miracle that happens all at once.
Sometimes healing is one calm breath.
One warmer day.
One small smile.
One brother who never leaves.
One mother who keeps going, even when her hands hurt and her heart is tired.
Tonight, our room is quiet.
Milena is sleeping peacefully.
Luka is sleeping beside her.
And I am sitting here with tears in my eyes, but this time they are not only tears of pain.
They are tears of gratitude.
We still have difficult days ahead. We still have therapy, tired mornings, and moments when everything feels heavy.
But today gave us something precious.
It gave us hope.
And hope, even when it is small, can carry a family through the hardest road.
Thank you for being with us, for asking, for caring, and for sending us your warmth.
From our little family by the sea…
Good night, everyone. ❤️
