Goodbye to Portland for Now (Update for January 29, 2016)

"It's weird that you are leaving tomorrow. I wish you didn't have to leave." 

Just guilt and despair. Just pain and tears. I don't want to leave him. 

I have to leave tomorrow. It was hard for me to focus on today because of that hard fact. Sam asked me last night, "Were you ever going to come to Portland again? If I hadn't been hurt, would you have come again?" I told him of course I was (we came last summer), and we were planning on a trip in the fall. I don't think he remembers that.

I've made many mistakes as a parent, so many, but the one thing (besides offering unconditional love) I've always tried to be is reliable. I wanted my children to know I'm not going to let them down; they can always count on me. One time, when Sam was a freshman at Central High School in Little Rock, I was picking him up early from school for a dentist appointment. I told him that I'd be waiting for him in the registrar's office after his second block class. When class was dismissed, he and several of his friends came up to the office door window and looked in at me, and then his friends all proceeded to give Sam a dollar. I asked Sam what that was all about, and he said, "I bet them $1 that you would be here waiting." I said, "How did you know for sure?" And he said, "I knew you would be here. You always are."

He thought that was no big deal; that's what moms do. I always remembered that he noticed. To a kid, a parent just being present and reliable is everything. If you want to give your child anything, give them a sense of security. When I think about that moment now, it makes me cry. I hope he knows I will always be here. That's why it hurts so much to leave; I don't want him to think I am not here for him. 

Sam and me

Today, Sam had a good day overall. He completed his tasks with occupational therapy, pushed through physical therapy (bad ankle and all), and killed it in speech therapy. His speech therapist told him she was going to call him the slayer because he killed it. Corny, I know. After his morning therapies, he was exhausted. He took a nap, then back to therapy where he did great. They have a team meeting every Tuesday - with all of his doctors, therapists, nurses, the discharge planner - where I will hear more about their thoughts and results. I won't be here physically, but I will conference in to those calls. 

I had my first breakdown of the day today when Sam went to therapy and told me he didn't want me to leave. But it was more than that. I was sitting in the therapy waiting room, with Sam, where all the patients wait as they hustle them to each therapy session according to their daily schedules, and I was looking around at all of the patients in their wheelchairs ... and it just hit me AGAIN that this is his life right now. Wheelchairs and pain and therapy and hospitals ... I hate it so much for him. I know he is doing so much better than is expected, I know that he will be himself in time, and I know that he is much loved ... but it doesn't make it right or fair. And it doesn't make me accept it. It just hurts. 

In speech therapy, he did math, memory games, recognition exercises and more. He did very well; how far he has come is a miracle. You can believe in miracles or not, but I am confident this is one. His issue right now is reading, which I have mentioned before. He gets tired and stressed with long paragraphs or stories, so that will be the focus of his continued therapy. 

Sam napping after therapy

Today was exhausting for him. He was quiet, and complained of being dizzy, tired and nauseated a few times. But he has a goal, he knows that working hard gets him closer to getting home and outpatient therapy. He wants to be go back to his life with Bridget, and we know he can do it. He thinks he is fine, and that he doesn't need more therapy or 24-hour supervision, but that is not true. With a brain injury, it takes time. If you think of it like a broken arm or broken leg, it works the same. It takes time to heal, it's just longer with a brain injury. 

I got a glimpse of Bridget's and Sam's life today. Dan and I took a break, kinda, and went to Sam and Bridget's apartment to walk their dog, Weezy, and take care of a few things. Dan installed curtains on their windows for them. I had never been to this apartment before (they just moved to this one), but it made me a little bit happy. Their life surrounded me, with their mountains of books and Bridget's keyboard, speakers and music. There was evidence of Sam's favorite sports team with Green Bay Packers "art" and a GO HOGS cutting board. His Breathe Right strips were on his nightstand, along with a stack of books. Their life is sweet and honest. I can't wait until he can return.

Dan hanging curtains

Today, the neuropsychologist visited with us, and it was my second time to cry. He said to expect him to be angry or emotional or repetitive. Expect him to forget words when he is tired or stressed (he called his blanket "Democrat" today ... so I will let someone else figure out the connection). But, he also said that Sam is doing so well that he has complete faith that he will be back to himself in time. I know he's right. I know it. But, when I look at my son, lying in a hospital, coughing, in pain, wanting to go home and saying," How is this my life?" I just want to scream. 

I don't want to leave him tomorrow. I know I will just be counting the days until I can come back to be near my son. I want to apologize ahead of time to my friends and family in Arkansas because I might cry the first time you see me. 

I'm scared to leave him tomorrow. Bridget feels strong and confident, and she knows she can take care of him. She's already getting her "Sam Sitters" together to be with him when she has to go to class or run an errand. I am glad she has a reliable network in Portland. I'm still worried about the stairs up to his apartment, his little head and helmet, his memory, his reading, his life. 

Thank you Maggie!

My next blog will be Sunday, as I will be traveling. I will be relying on Bridget, Sam's dad, and Molly to help with updates going forward ... until I return to Portland. I will try to be more positive. I know he is getting better, but I'm still furious at what got him here in the first place. 

Bear with me. 

P.S. Some good news, The Abbey Bar fundraiser for Sam raised $2,713.83!