The life "after" the head injury is filled with many amazing moments.
Amazing because you cannot imagine the changes that occur, how you will live through some moments, and the wonder of watching the brain heal itself. These days I try not to focus on the head injury in our world - some days that is very easy to do, on others, not so much. There are more and more moments of life returing to familiar chaos, instead of the unpredictable worry; I actually have moments that I forget.
And I never would have thought that was possible.
I found today, when my entire universe became quiet, and peaceful, that I still hear the voice of fear and worry - even if I do get moments of relief. It takes everything turning to silence to hear that voice. Because I have had to hold myself so tight for so long, I do not listen to that voice very often. Also, I am rarely alone and breathing the quiet around me unless I am asleep.
I have been told that it is time to listen to the voice, and acknowledge that part that has been quiet for so long. Those feelings of worry, fear, and scary sadness have always been part of the recovery process for me, as Frank recovers from his injury. But when you feel as if you have to hold the universe together, it is easy to not give yourself permission to even look at that part that is hidden away so carefully.
It is in the world of silence that you hear those feelings. The silence allows that voice to whisper about the sadness; that sadness is allowed to be present, and is not a sign of weakness, but permission to grieve for the loss of so much - the loss of the person who Frank was, the loss of a year of our lives, the loss of the feeling of safety, and security and certainty.
One things is certain - I am certain that looking at that part of this process, even now, a year later, is important. Not just to me, but to our family. Frank's brain is not the only thing that needs to heal.
And sometimes you have to actually give yourself permission to make that happen.
I give myself that permission.