The Turning Point

Two years ago, to the very hour, I walked into an intensive care unit, and my life was changed forever. Life, as I knew it, died that day.. and wouldn't begin to bloom again for many months to come. On this, the second anniversary of Dave's accident, our new normal is starting to take shape, and is beginning to look pretty okay.

I haven't updated Dave's blog in a couple of months. Not for lack of something to say, but because we've just been so busy making huge changes in our lives to stop and write it all down. Dave and I bought our first house this month. We closed, and picked up our keys nearly four weeks ago. We've spent three of those four weeks painting almost every inch of it in order to make that house.. our home.

We moved into our beautiful new home almost a week ago. It's been surreal. We visited thirteen homes in our narrowed down search, and it was clear from the beginning which home was meant for us. I couldn't understand why this house wasn't immediately scooped up months before. It was beautiful. It was in our budget, and so reasonably priced. It just didn't make any sense. No one else was even remotely interested in this house, and to me, it seemed like such a steal. "Blessing" is the word I probably should have used. It was as if Sunset was sitting here just waiting for us to find it. You know, weeks later.. today, as a matter of fact, I find out that the man who used to own this house is a minister. When I add up all the little moments just like this one.. I have to believe that God really is looking out for Dave and I, through his accident, and beyond.

Something dreams are made of.

Such a Blessing in so, so many ways.

I hadn't realized how comfortable we had gotten in the home of my parents. I knew we'd gotten pretty attached to the family, and my fur-siblings, but I think it was a shock to me.. just how hard it was to rip myself away from them, and our comfort zone. It was time to leave, and I needed to pack, and I could literally feel myself stalling, and dragging my feet, and not wanting to leave. As much as I wanted to begin my new life in my new home with my new husband.. it was so hard to go. I had to force myself to just get the job done, or I knew it would never come. I knew it wouldn't be easy, no matter how long I waited, so I kicked the entire process into high gear and was packed, moved and home in just two days.

We went grocery shopping for our new place for the first time this week. I'd forgotten how much you need when you're just starting out again, but we're slowly and surely getting settled. The last few days have been terribly bitter-sweet for me, as we open boxes from a past life, that haven't been opened in two years. I put things into those boxes, and I remember crying, and wondering if I would ever need those things again. As I folded Dave's clothes, and carefully packed his shoes, and his pillow, and all his worldly belongings.. I feared he would never wear or use them again. I am overwhelmed with how amazed and grateful I am that he's using them today.

I'm trying very hard to force myself through a very complex and emotional time. I seem to want to repel anything and everything from that life, so dead and gone. I don't want to see it. I don't want to keep it. I don't want anything to do with it. It's as if I'm scared to even look at it. I don't know if I'm afraid to confront what it means, or to really look at what I've lost. I don't know. I didn't lose Dave that day, but I did lose more than I want to admit sometimes. Our lifestyle; A sense of normalcy I'll never know again; Dave's voice, which used to be the most comforting sound I'd ever heard. Now, his voice is a daily reminder of all the challenges he faces, even today. Life was so simple back then. Some days.. I miss that. Every item I pull out of every box takes my heart back there in an instant. Dave and I can never go back. My heart needs to stay in the here and now.

Dave opens boxes like it's Christmas and is so excited to see all our old things again that he's almost giddy about it. For two people who are so much alike.. we're definitely dealing with this transition in completely different ways. Maybe I need therapy, lol.

In six days, the final piece of the puzzle of my heart will be right again. My children will be coming home. Denise, (my angel on earth, and my baby's fairy Godmamma), will be packing up my sugar gliders, Aspen, Versai, Cypress, and Serenity, and my gecko, Persia too, and driving them all home to Dave and I. I've been as nervous as a first time mommy again, trying to get myself ready for their arrival. I've bought them new cages, a fully stocked emergency kit, new pouches, and new toys, and completely remodeled an entire space all for them in our new home. I bought Bourbon's Modified Ledbeaters ingredients today for the first time in longer than I can remember, and it was amazing. All this planning and preparing came at a bit of a price. I spent every bit of my SGGA, (Sugar Glider Get Away), stash to make sure that everything was just perfect for their big homecoming. It'll be so hard to sit home this year, while all my glider-crazy friends are in Kansas City having fun without us.. but I'll have my babies, and my babies will have their things, and I know it'll be worth it in the end. I'm so excited that they're coming home. Sunday!

When the kids get home.. we'll be ready.

Jose Castillo, the gentleman who struck Dave two years ago with his truck, is still in prison. He's appealed his sentence twice in the last year, because he believes it's "too harsh." Both times, both judges threw out the plea, without even hearing it. Thank God.

Our lawyer is hard at work compiling a case of consortium and loss for me. His argument is that I as much as witnessed the accident, having heard the entire thing on the phone, and therefore was traumatically damaged forever. It almost sounds silly, but I can't even tell you how true that is. It's a much smaller, secondary case to Dave's, almost insignificant in monetary value, but it still matters, on principle, if nothing else. Our judge passed it on, and decided there was definitely a case there. I still have a least one nightmare a week where Dave is hurt and I can't get to him. I still can't talk about the actual details of the night of his accident without tearing up. I've started to let Dave run small, close-by errands by himself the last month, and whether he's gone ten minutes.. or a half an hour, I tear myself up sitting here [censored] out about something happening to him while I'm not there to protect him. I pace the floor, a nervous wreck, and can't rest until he's home. Every instinct in me wants to never allow him out of my sight again, but I know I can't do that to him, or to me, and expect to be normal and healthy again. It's not coming easily, but I'm trying. We're waiting to hear if my case will just be awarded out-right, or if it'll need to go to trial. I don't even want to think about how nervous a trial would make me, but I try not to worry about things until they're here to worry about now, so I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.

It was ironic tonight, on this very anniversary, to watch the news and see a report on musician, Jason Crigler, five years recovered from a brain injury. He's written a book, and made a film documentary, and developed a complete multi-media aid and support kit for TBI patients. It definitely made me second guess and re-think ever trying to put together something similar about the journey Dave and I have taken the last two years. I can't help but think it would be a waste of time if everything I have to say to a reader out there.. has already been said a hundred other times, and probably said better than I could ever manage. Maybe I'm wrong. I'm sure that's just my own self-doubting tendencies talking, but it's definitely a strong deterrent.

One of the things that made such an impact on me from the news coverage was from Jason's wife. As she teared up and tried to speak, she was trying to tell the reporter how moved and grateful she was that through Jason's recovery she had so many people, friends, and family, and unknown angels on earth to help her through it. I almost mistakenly wrote Dave's name there instead of Jason's because I feel the exact same way. So many people marvel at how strong and brave I've been through this ordeal, (even through the darkest days), and in some ways, I can see bits and pieces of that myself. Deep down, I know that I was nothing more than the strength of all the hands holding me up and pushing me onward. I'll never in this lifetime be able to thank all the individuals that held out a hand for me along this road, but from here until the day I die, I'll thank God for you. I look forward to having a lifetime of opportunities to pay it forward, and give back when I'm able. I'll never forget how bleak my future looked sitting in Dave's room day, after day after day, waiting for a change. I was dumbfounded by the staggering amount of cards, and support that poured in for me, just as much as for Dave. As I clung to a dear gift from a dear friend I clung to hope. "...if you have faith as a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will move; and nothing will be impossible for you." — Matthew 17:20.

What I'm left with today.. is the feeling that there really isn't any more story left to tell. Dave has graduated from all his therapy. We're in our new place now. Our family is coming home. From here on out.. it's just.. life, and who wants to read about that? His speech has plateaued and it is what it is. Dave and I argue about this one every day. He says it'll magically be back to normal one day, and while I try to remain hopeful, and supportive.. I know it's best to just make peace with the way things are. We spent months getting a prosthesis for his speech that he refuses to wear now, just as I predicted would happen. (We both believe he talks just as well with or without it anyway, but some days I definitely regret the months of wasted effort to get it). His balance is still dangerous. He still falls all the time. He can't multi-task at ALL, and can genuinely and truthfully only seriously devote his mind and focus to one task at a time. He still chokes on his food and drink at least once a day, and has at least one seriously scary choking bout every week. He still needs a lot of help in a day to keep himself safe. He forgets things, and can't find things when they're right where he left them. He still makes bad choices that puts his safety at risk. He relies pretty heavily on me to do what has to be done. He won't talk to anyone on the phone but family and friends who are tolerant enough to listen to what he's trying to say. Once upon a time he did everything for the two of us, and now it's my turn. Dave's favorite pastime is still sleeping, and he still does quite a lot of it. It's like pulling teeth to get him out of bed every day. At least he's got a new and massive yard to take care of bi-weekly to give him a reason to get out of bed. I've never seen grass grow so fast, lol.

Dave's shiny new play-thing that spells w.o.r.k.
Soon we want to get a puppy. That outta keep him pretty busy too! -lol-

For everything that Dave can't do as well as he used to, or can't do at all, I remind myself, and at times, him too.. that we are so very blessed that he's able to do at all. Life isn't perfect, but it so seldom ever is. While our life might be a little bit more complicated than the average human life.. it's still life, and we still thank God each and every day that we have this time together. Dave still is, and will always be.. my best friend, and soul-mate, and we're so lucky to have this new start to a brand new adventure. Two years might seem like a long time for injury recovery. It might seem like things are as good as they're ever gonna be, but in the back of my mind prickles the voice of Charlie, one of the pillars of strength at our Brain Injury Support Group Meetings, when he says that Dave is still a baby in the eyes of the traumatic brain injury community, and that healing and recovery is life-long. Charlie says he didn't even start feeling normal again, until five years after his injury had passed. Even Jason Crigler said he fumbled through playing his guitar for two years before things just clicked back into place, and became right again. I don't know what may come for Dave and I over the next few years.. but good, same or otherwise.. I'm really looking forward to seeing who Dave is three years from now. Only Faith and time will tell.

Until next time, My Friends... Much Love, Many Hugs, and Good Night to You All.