By Heart

 There are valleys in life you never expect to walk through—places you never imagined your feet would go, paths you never thought would become part of your story. When Tim’s seizures began, when the diagnosis came, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis, I remember thinking that everything familiar suddenly felt foreign. The rhythms of our days changed, the ease of our laughter was replaced with worry, and even the simplest moments were rewritten by something we couldn’t control.

And yet… here we are. Still walking. Still holding on. Still finding light in the cracks of the dark places. Still believing that love—real, unwavering, soul-deep love—can make even the hardest roads sacred.

When I think of us now, I think of those words: “’Til the stars fall from the sky, ’til I find a reason why.” Because that’s how it feels to love someone through suffering—endless, relentless, infinite. It’s not about understanding why things happen; it’s about loving in spite of not knowing. There are no answers that make this easier, no explanations that erase the fear or the pain. But there is this steady, quiet truth: I’m not going anywhere.

We’ve stood in the shadow of uncertainty for so long that sometimes it feels like the valley has no end. But even here, in this place that has tested our strength, there’s beauty. There’s a softness that has grown between us—a kind of grace that only pain can teach. Because love doesn’t grow in the easy seasons. It grows here, in the tears and the late nights, in the gentle holding on when it would be easier to let go.

I’ve learned that love is not just a feeling—it’s a choice we make again and again. It’s the choice to stay when everything in you aches to run. It’s the decision to hope when the world gives you every reason not to. It’s the act of believing that even when the stars fall, even when the skies go dark, something greater still holds the universe—and us—together.

There are nights when I lie awake listening for his breathing, praying for calm, praying for strength, praying that tomorrow might be gentler than today. There are moments when the weight of it all feels impossible. But then he smiles. Or he whispers something that makes me laugh through the exhaustion. And suddenly, I remember. This—we—are still here. And that’s a miracle all its own.

The words say, “And darling, as the years go by, ’til there’s no tears left to cry.” That’s my prayer for us. That one day, the tears will dry. That healing will find its way, maybe not in the way we expect, but in a way that brings peace. I pray that every tear we’ve shed has watered something unseen—a deeper faith, a gentler heart, a stronger love. Because if pain has to be part of our story, then let it be the part that teaches us compassion. Let it be the part that reminds us what grace really means.

There are people who think strength looks like never breaking. But I’ve learned it’s the opposite. Strength is breaking and still choosing to believe. It’s being afraid but still showing up. It’s admitting that you’re tired, and yet you keep loving anyway. That’s the kind of strength that lives in this valley—the kind that doesn’t always roar, but whispers, “I’m still here.”

“’Til the angels close my eyes.” Those words pierce something tender in me. Because I know that as long as there’s breath in me, I will walk beside him. I will fight beside him. I will love him through every seizure, every setback, every silent night when fear tries to creep in. And when I can’t fight, when I’m too tired or too afraid, I will rest in knowing that God fights for us. That the same hands that hold the stars hold us too.

Even if this valley lasts longer than we hoped, even if some prayers go unanswered, I will keep believing that love will lead us home. Because love—true love—never loses its way.

“Even if we’re worlds apart, I’ll find my way back to you by heart.” That’s what love does. It finds its way. Through distance. Through illness. Through fear. Through the long nights and the hard days. It finds its way in the quiet faith that whispers, we’re not done yet. It finds its way in the laughter that breaks through the heaviness, in the prayers that rise from broken hearts, in the hands that still reach for one another in the dark.

Our story isn’t easy, but it’s ours. It’s stitched together with threads of hope, fear, faith, and love. It’s filled with tears and tenderness, with moments of breaking and moments of beauty. And through it all, we keep walking—sometimes stumbling, sometimes crawling—but always together.

Because even when the valley feels endless, I know this: love doesn’t stop at the shadows. It keeps going. It carries us. It reminds us that this world—no matter how fragile, how hard—is not the end of our story.

One day, when the stars fall from the sky, when the tears have all been cried, when the angels close our eyes, I believe there will be peace. I believe we’ll look back and see how love carried us the whole way through. We’ll see how every prayer, every act of grace, every moment of courage was part of something far bigger than we understood.

Until then, we keep going—one breath, one prayer, one heartbeat at a time. Because that’s what love does.

And when words fall short, when the road feels long, and the night feels heavy, I will hold on to the promise that has carried us this far: no matter how far apart the world may pull us, I’ll always find my way back to you—by heart.