Her driving four hours through the dark to arrive before sunrise with her sweatshirt on backwards was not a grand gesture to her.

It was simply what you do.

You show up for your sister.

You hold the baby.

You ask what she needs.

And sitting in that hospital bed watching her move around the room making it safe, I understood how starved I had been, for how long, for exactly that — for one person in my life whose care did not come with a review process attached.

I named my daughter that night, with Brigid beside me.