So close, yet so far to go…

Last night, just like a night a year ago, Frank and I went on a date.  Last year, the date consisted of a trip to the gym (seriously), dinner, and a trip down to Treasure Island casino.  It was not an eventful night, other than it was memorable because we were out, without children, and spending time with one another.  We didn’t win big at the casino, and we were home by midnight, but it was our date, and we had a nice time together.

It was the last time we had a long, meaningful conversation for months.

That night, truly for me, was our last night, before life was blown up around us.

Last night, we went out on a date.  I bought Frank tickets to see Trans-Siberian Orchestra for Christmas.  Almost to the date of last years outing, we went out, alone, to the XCel Center in St. Paul, and spent the evening together. We joined 11,000 other people in our attendance to a concert that was amazing.

As we sat down in our new upgraded seats, and chatted about normal every day things, I was swept away by the realization that this was another regular moment, with no head injury interference, no memory issues, just normal.

That realization brought me to tears even before the concert started.

As the evening progressed, and the tale of Christmas was told in lights and music, I was breathless with the beauty of the moments.  The rendition of Oh Come, All Ye Faithful took me out completely.

The reason is the words resonated with me so clearly, as the lights and music blew all around me.

Faithful.  Have faith.  Just trust.

That is what has been so hard lately.  As I am sure it has been easy to see, I am struggling.  Frank is struggling.  We are all struggling, exhausted from the Christmas season, and this long, hard, recovery.  We all just want life to be easier, not such a challenge all of the time.

Faith.  Have some faith.

I have trusted this process for so long.  I have had to trust for both of us for such a long time.  And sometimes, you just waiver in the belief that it will be okay.

The definition of that okay does not need to be clear.  It does not need to be definite.  But we do need to trust that we are where we are supposed to be, doing what we are supposed to do, living the way we are to live.

It is the anniversary, now two short days away, that is bringing the stress and anxiety to the surface.

Today, one year ago, marked such sadness.  Officer Shawn Schneider died from his injuries following a shooting during a domestic call days earlier in Lake City, MN.  Also today, Jack Jablonski was checked from behind, and suffered a paralyzing spinal cord injury, from which he is still recovering today.  This date, with so much notable history, was the beginning of a long year, even before the accident.

The next two days will be hard.  For me.

Honestly, the hard part for Frank is knowing that in two days, he will have hit the year mark without working.  And for a LEO, that is not a reality that any of them want to have.  For a man, driven by his duty, to know that he has not been part of that life for so long, it is almost unbearable.

We have recently talked about the refocus of the year.  I think both of us have wrapped ourselves up a bit in the fear and distress lately.  Purposely reviewing the goals, and reaffirming the reasons for each step on the path, have at least created a sense of being able to move forward. Even if it is baby steps forward.

Hopefully soon, we will be able to look back at the year, and note the successes, and not dwell on the path in front of us.

Hopefully soon, we will be able to report the new plan, after a new set of doctors review the progress.

Hopefully soon, some of this fear and dread will be replaced by the feeling of focus and faith that we have had in the past.

So close, this anniversary that we never wanted.

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