But you make do with what you've got.
You re-shift our focus and find a new daily routine. Work, hospital, home. Home, hospital, work. If you don't think about it too much, it seems almost natural. You find a new rhythm and adjust to it, but you never give up hope. You never lose sight of normalcy - it will return one day, and soon.
You remain thankful for what you have, and constantly remind yourself of the good stuff. Good friends, reliable family, and the fact that in the grand scheme of things, we could be doing much worse. You remind yourself that your loved one is where they're supposed to be, and while it sometimes seems like an endless stream of doctors/nurses/specialists float in and out of our lives with little interest in the problem, you know they're invested, and they're on your side.
You take comfort in small things. The familiarity of your neighbourhood. The smell of wet grass. A nice shower and a warm cat.
And music that helps you sleep at night.