Two months ago today, I was in the emergency room with my husband, uncertain of the extent of his brain damage. The number 27 will always stick out in my head as I remember the shock and fear of that day. It was so easy to take it for granted that my husband would always be by my side, but finding him unconscious in a pool of blood on the floor brought that delusion to a screeching halt.
I wish I could say that everything has returned to exactly the way it was before his injury, but I can’t. Double vision plagues him every waking hour. He wears out much more easily. He hasn’t returned to a regular exercise routine. I hesitate to ask him to do much physical labor, concerned that I will fatigue him. We schedule our lives around appointments with specialists. We’re driving three hours away to see a neuro ophthalmologist next week.
Yet, life is richer than ever. I will never take him for granted again. We rejoice in the tiniest bits of progress. We spend rich time together. We appreciate and cherish one another more. We depend on God and one another more than ever to get through each day. We’ve learned the value of rest and patience.
I don’t know how much longer the aftermath of Darren’s accident will endure, but I trust in a faithful God who will carry us through it every step of the way.
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