Home

Sunday marked two weeks since the seizure and I haven't had the gumption to come home until today. I can hardly face our house, the bathroom, our bedroom. I've been diagnosed with PTSD and the boys are still having night terrors. Nonetheless, today was the day we needed to come home, especially now that we've all fully recovered from the stomach flu.

My mom came with me to help unpack and get all of us settled before Ryan got home from work. We had started on a large painting and popcorn ceiling removal project in our guestroom before Ryan's event happened. We left the room in pieces. A couple from our church completed our project and painted and re-textured the ceiling for us while we were gone. They also had straightened the whole house. Everything looked different than the way we left it, which was surprisingly exactly what I needed.

I started unloading food into our fridge and my eyes locked onto our "To do list" on the whiteboard. Ryan's list included tasks to finalize getting ready to go back to school in the spring. Ryan had been lying to me about supposedly being enrolled in school for 2.5 years. Part of the drastic personality change I was describing in earlier entries. Him returning to school to redeem himself and receive a degree gave me hope. Hope in our restoration, hope that he would succeed, hope that he could better provide for our family, hope that I could trust him again. I'm sure I looked ridiculous crying in front of our open refrigerator. All those plans, all those dreams of positive change and forward progress were suddenly gone. By gone I mean played out in a way I couldn't have imagined.

The Lord does, indeed, hold my heart in His hands, but I'm mourning the loss of the "normal" future I hoped for. A future where I grow old with Ryan, where he fully supports us, where we have more children, where he teaches the boys to fish, where he sees the boys accept Jesus into their hearts, where he sees the boys graduate high school.

I eventually faced the rest of the house. I had to. I opened every single door and turned on every single light inviting the Holy Spirit in to drown out the dark presence that was so stifling. I walked through each room and thanked God for different aspects of our past struggles, current struggles, and struggles that are to come. I can say that I never understood how to truly rejoice in such pain until now. Now He is revealing bits and pieces of His plan in perfect clarity and timing.

The boys were thrilled to be home. I'm pretty sure they kissed and hugged every single one of their stuffed animals before bolting out the back door to play in the sunshine. They needed to be home. Watching such innocence helped me to enjoy that moment.

It's beyond description seeing more and more how this circumstance has altered how we live each day. It has grown our ability to appreciate, recognize, and live in the beauty (or hell) of the moment. We'll always have a to do list on the fridge, but all those stored up dreams aren't mine anymore. That's a future that, I've learned the hard way, isn't in my control.

Transitioning back home without Ryan confirmed this feeling in me that's been there, even before the breaking point. That feeling is that we don't have much time left with Ryan as the way we know him. Each moment is more precious than I've ever been aware of before. I'm afraid that, someday, me and the boys will be inhabiting this house by ourselves.

Showing some brotherly love.

Copyright 2013 ->Renee Sunberg