The Only Thing That Feels Normal

The moment I was brought back from the waiting room in the ER to see Darin for the first time since we'd arrived, I lacked confidence that there was anything I could do to comfort or help him.  I was afraid to touch him, as if I would cause more damage in doing so.  He was conscious and answered my questions, but the intensity of his pain and then the strength of his pain meds kept us from really conversing.  Pastor Scott encouraged me to pray for him out loud when I was at a loss of what to do for him, and I did, but I struggled to see my efforts as amounting to anything of value.

Later that night, Darin was transferred to the ICU and I only felt more reluctant and lacking in confidence to offer anything.  I wanted to support him, but IVs, monitors, beeping machines and the hustle and bustle of medical staff all seemed beckon me into the background.

I spent the first night in the hospital, but soon realized that I would need to stay at home for the overnights thereafter,  We had family members and willing friends to stay with him during the long nights ahead (more on that later) but our children needed the presence of their mother at night and I needed to try to be somewhat rested for spending my days at the hospital.  I slept in our guestroom at home.  I just couldn't handle being in OUR bed without him.  Sleep was hard to come by and was often interrupted by anxiety attacks. I missed him terribly. I wished he could hold me.

I was put in touch early on with another woman whose husband experienced a spinal cord injury a few years back and is now living with paraplegia.  We started to connect through phone calls and texts.  An early message from her read:

 "Keep your chin up.  He's still with you and that's what is important. He still has arms to hold you and the kids."

Her words were so reassuring.  Getting to a place where he could hold me again seemed pretty far off but eventually, after he'd been on the rehab floor for awhile I was able to climb onto his hospital bed and squeeze in next to him every so often.  One of those times he said to me:

"Holding you is the only thing that feels normal to me right now."

Even though I had gained more confidence to support him, encourage him and advocate for him long before that moment, I realized something very important right then. It was not what I did for him that made the biggest difference.  I wasn't going to let him down or mess things up if I didn't always know the "right way" to react in moments of crisis.  I was giving him a gift simply by letting him hold me. I was the only thing that "felt normal" when everything else had changed.

We, like every couple, have had our struggles in marriage. We have had times where we felt like we just kept dealing with the same "issues" over and over and over again.  Every so often it has seemed like a losing battle.  Forgive the cliche but the fiery trials we have been facing during the past couple months have truly burned away the petty things and revealed just how much victory God has actually given us.  Victory might not have always "felt" like what we wanted it to through the years.  But now I believe that victory is "holding on" even when it is hard.  And now, it is literally the best gift we can give to each other.

xoxo,