All Clear

I can't believe that as I'm writing this, we're already a couple of hours into December 29th. Lately, I've been feeling particularly exhausted. Mentally, I just can't seem to rest thinking about how the last few months have changed our lives, worrying that Wil's back is going give out every time he sneezes, and how I would completely lose it altogether if he is to be admitted one more time this year. My mental state was held together by a paper clip and every tiny hiccup in our day caused the waterworks to flow. I constantly yelled at Wil because I was petrified that whatever he was doing, besides laying down on the couch, was surely going to put him back in the hospital. I couldn't even fathom that there might be light at the end of the tunnel, and everything became a bit more bleak with each passing day. To cope I gave myself milestones to which I could look forward. 2-week post-op appointment, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and 6-week post-op appointment. The first few came and went fairly quietly. Christmas was a big one. Presents were sent out, the house was decorated, and there were meals to prepare for the company we invited over. Two of Wil's single soldiers called at the last minutes asking if they could bring a couple of single friends over for the Christmas dinner. I had enough food to feed the whole battalion of soldiers and was actually thrilled to have a little less leftover to deal with. It struck me as I was studying the faces of these young men, who were all injured downrange and somehow found themselves joining our table on Christmas day, how lucky I was to be sitting there with my husband, who was making a great recovery progress, and a beautifully thriving little daughter, who was, and forever will be, the light of our lives. Things could have gone bad, but they didn't. Life went on, new friends were made, and I needed to rid myself of the traumatic memories of this year. The day after Christmas, I could feel the weight of angst being washed down the shower drain knowing that the time to prepare for worst case scenario was over. Today (or technically yesterday) Wil had his 6-week post-op appointment. The surgeon was very pleased with his recovery and said that everything was exactly where it should be. Wil can now ease back into lifting things that are heavier than 10 lbs. Our baby is about 24. He can change her diaper, get her out of her crib, and pick her up when she demands a big bear hug. Not that he hasn't done that once or twice these past three months, but now I don't have to grab the phone in a panic to dial the surgeon while swearing at him for DOING THAT to us AGAIN.

He's okay.

We're going to be fine.

It's okay for me to sleep again.

Next post will resume happier writing about the cutest baby in the world doing something astonishingly adorable. And so for now, good night.