On Saturday, after a full day's rest and a bit of administrative generosity, Ian got to visit with buddies from his Navy pilot days: Bluetails VAW-121 descended on a local restaurant to swap inappropriate stories and show their appreciation for "Rev." It was a MAGICAL night ... for Ian, 1. to be out of the hospital after two months straight, 2. to reconnect with brother-like-guys he hasn't seen in 10 years, 3. to exercise his brain with good memories and conversation. For me, it was like no time had passed ... it felt like a typical squadron function. My non-social self was completely at ease with the old crew, and it felt warm and fuzzy. No pity, just encouragement. It was like Normal Town for a few hours. (BTW, I had nothing to do with planning the event other than to get Ian dressed and to the restaurant. Thanks to all who coordinated this special night, and went out of their way to attend.)
|You DON'T wanna know what was so funny.|
Ian comes home Friday.
I'm taking a risk, putting it out there in print this soon -- as I've noted before, things change, we take steps backward, drama unfolds. But I feel pretty good about this impending jailbreak.
What this means: Ian will receive in-home therapy from several specialists, likely followed by out-patient rehab. He will sleep on the 1st floor until he is strong and confident on the stairs. He will, of course, be open to visitors, if they are cootie free and have checked with me.
I am the wizard. The gatekeeper. The troll. Dr. David Banner ("You won't like me when I'm angry"). Get your flu shot, keep your germies at home, and do not "stop by" or "pop in" unannounced (this goes for family and clergy and the President, if he is so inclined); remember, his bed will be feet from the door -- no chance of your arrival not waking him. A call, email, Facebook message or text will let me protect his rest, his family time, and my sanity.
Lots more hard work to do. New phase, new challenges. But there has been triumph.