Prov. 7:19 "For the goodman is not at home, he is gone a long journey:"
“My faith is made stronger through trials, my strength more powerful through prayer.” ~ Joni
My journey continues: I'm home...
Friday, October 5th, we pulled up to the house. Being wheeled into the house, everything looked different, everything felt different, and to me, everything WAS different. My eyes kept darting to the left then to the right, I looked at things I had not seen for twenty-one days. The rooms either grew bigger because I wasn’t squished in a corner or shrunk smaller, ornaments were misplaced or moved, furniture rearranged or still the same, my dog Sassy was missing, as well as my son and I anxiously wasn’t sure what to make of my homecoming.
I’m home. I repeated those words in an eerie fashion, not much unlike Dorothy clicking her heels and repeating, ‘there’s no place like home’, mine was shortened but meant the same thing, I was HOME! In the safety of my husband's care. In the comfort of all I knew. In surroundings that were familiar. Home, the place where my heart was most secure.
Home to me took on new meaning. It meant no more trappings, no more nurses, no more poking and prodding, home meant to rest, for me anyway. To my husband, home for me meant he was strained with unfathomable responsibilities, new routines, new duties, more pressure, new to him caregiving. We both had major adjustments to get used to. Our wedding vow of ‘in sickness’ was now slapping us upside the head forcing us to embrace this segment.
He asked if I was ready to go into the bedroom but right at that moment, I just wanted to be placed in front of the window and stare out, repeating ever so lightly, I’m home, over and over again. No squirrels or birds to greet me, just an open cornfield that by the time I returned home was already harvested. I missed harvesting season, my highlight of country living. I call the squirrels and birds my animals and as I looked out the window, I could see my animals had not been tended to while I was away. This would soon change, just add another thing to the honey-do list mounting. This list would grow over the weeks as I was being cared for and lessen in the months, as I would heal with time and I could fend for myself. That day was still too far away to grasp.
My husband had asked if I wanted my computer but my mind was blank, still struggling with the fact that I was in new surroundings. While I missed my friends immensely and knew that they awaited word from ME, not my son saying I’m okay. They would have to wait three more days for me to make an appearance on Facebook to announce, “You can count me down but never count me out!”
Everything in its time. It took time to adjust to home living again. It took time to acquaint myself with what it felt like being alone. It took time to understand that I was dependent on other people for my well being. Yes, God handled the majority of my spiritual care and for that, I’m grateful beyond measure but getting used to being home was a task for my family and me in and of itself.
By the time nightfall came, fear was creeping in like a fog looming over me and holding me entombed in its presence. I held tightly to the blankets as I pulled them closer to my chin, tears were rolling down my cheek, and I began praying for a peaceful night sleep and for God to watch over me because this was a mind-numbing scary first night home.
Steven would sit quietly at his computer tapping ever so lightly on the keys knowing I was safely in his care. I would listen to the new sounds surrounding me and map out the next days' task. As my eyes scanned the shadows on the wall, my mantra seeped from my lips, again and again, I’m home, I’m home. Now the journey of healing would begin to take hold.
Mark 5:19 "Howbeit Jesus suffered him not, but saith unto him, Go home to thy friends, and tell them how great things the Lord hath done for thee, and hath had compassion on thee."
