Brother and Sister (Update for February 4, 2016)

Today, I didn't send Sam an "I love you" text first thing this morning. Knowing it is two hours earlier there, and that I wanted him to sleep, I waited until 11:24 a.m. It was a long morning.

When I didn't hear from him, I waited until exactly 11:36 a.m. before I sent Bridget a text.

Molly and Sam

Then, at 12:55 p.m., I received a text from Bridget. They had just woke up. Sam had an uncomfortable night, with night sweats. They didn't sleep well. That means I got to worry all day. As if I wasn't before, now I am really looking forward to Sam's PCP visit tomorrow, to get his salt levels and an update on his meds.

Later I got another text from Bridget, excited because their new mattress topper arrived today. It's the little things to make Sam comfortable that Bridget worries about.

After Sam's doctor's appointment tomorrow, he will be home resting for the weekend. His PT, OT and speech therapy starts Monday. His father is leaving this weekend, and then, starting next week the "Sam Sitters" will be on hand to help Bridget. It will be good for Sam and her to get into their routine. We've decided that Molly will wait to go to Portland with me when I return. We both want to be there for Sam's next surgery.

Sam and Molly, always laughing

I'm fortunate to have two beautiful and brilliant children, and even more fortunate they have been life-long best friends. They share a love of music, movies and good literature. They both have a way with words, and majored in English. I don't remember them arguing much when they were children, instead they were always looking out for each other. When Sam feels like talking on the phone these days, it's only his sister's voice he wants to hear. No two people ever laugh more when they are together. I'm looking forward to hearing the laughter and seeing them together in a few weeks.

A few weeks looks like forever from here. I'm feeling disconnected and anxious, wanting to see my son, hear his voice and give him a hug or two. It's a helpless feeling, and Oregon seems so far away. I just take deep breaths.

Sam has always been active, athletic, so I know sitting quietly, worrying about his balance and being dizzy must be somewhat frustrating. When Sam was about 4 years old, I bought him a little basketball goal for $10 from a yard sale up the street. After that, he played basketball, in the living room by himself, about three hours every day. He would dribble and dunk, over and over again. As he got older, that little goal moved to his bedroom, and then dribble and dunk, dribble and dunk. Eventually, he was much taller than the goal, but it continued to be one of his prize possessions. When I was turning his room into a guest room, after he moved to Oregon, he said that the only thing he wanted to make sure I always kept was that little basketball goal (I might have kept a few more things ...). The goal is here, at his childhood home, waiting for him to take a few shots. Best $10 I ever spent.

Sam and Molly

My long-time friends and co-workers, Joy and Mark, brought a delicious dinner and goodies to Dan and I for dinner tonight. Besides the fact that we've worked at the same company for many years, Sam babysat their sons one summer, many years ago. Sam is great with kids, and the "guys" all enjoyed hanging out together. It's one of the many things I love about Little Rock; we're all connected in many ways, and my friends are constant. We didn't just meet, we don't barely know each other —we have roots here. We know each other's children, families and history. It's a special feeling, and Joy and Mark reminded me of that tonight.

Thank you again for getting to know my son, and reading this blog about his journey home.

Sleep (Update for February 3, 2016)

Fifteen days.

Sam resting at his home today. 

Sam spent his first night home in 15 days. It has been just 15 days, but it seems like a lifetime. He's come so far since his life-changing injury, but he has a long way to go. I know he can do it. So how has he felt since his first night home? Happy and sleepy. He was very, very tired when he came home, and he has slept A LOT. No one can ever get a full night’s sleep in the hospital. That’s no one’s fault, it's just the way it is. His brain needs rest, and for the first time in 15 days, he got to sleep, not medically induced, but real sleep that his mind needs.

I feel about sleep the same way I feel about salt. It's important to my son's recovery, and I want him to have as much of it as possible. 

He's still dizzy. It's worrisome but expected. 

Bridget is now in the process of scheduling his therapies, appointments and taking care of whatever it is that Sam needs. Besides taking on the role of Sam's caregiver, she has taken on the responsibility of keeping this mom updated. That’s not an easy task, but because she and I have a “mind meld” and the same end-goal, Sam’s complete healing, she knows what I need. She has sent me pictures and texts each day, throughout the day. She’s made sure both Sam and I are comfortable. I anxiously await her every text and phone call, and she doesn’t disappoint. Today, she bought him a pill case, and she was excited because it was colorful and helpful. It made me sad, but it put Bridget at ease. Her attitude is everything. She said he has told her that he wants to work hard in therapy. Each day, my heart is hurting because it's all so unfair, but also healing because he is on the mend. I'm grateful for each day of progress.

Me and Sam

The unfair, senselessness of it all continues to overwhelm me. If I think about it too much or too long, tears spill out. I try to focus on Sam's healing, and not what happened to him. But it's so hard. His life is changed forever; he has lost so much. What happened to Sam is not his fault. It’s never the victim’s fault. Never. If someone feels the need to hurt or bully someone because they are different, or believe differently, or because of the clothes they wear, then shame on them. 

I returned to my office today, and my co-workers were so sweet, and gentle. They are usually comical, and a maybe little loud, so the love and the solitude was all for me today. I appreciate their sensitivity. I have felt very broken, but I only cried once today at work … when my good friend Linda came by to see and comfort me. 

Goodies from Becky

My friends are the best. They have made me feel so loved. Tonight, my friend Becky, brought Dan and I dinner. It just tasted better, knowing she made it from the heart. 

Sam's grandpa (my stepdad) and Sam

I've been thoughtless. I have to mention, and thank, my parents for what they have done for Sam. My mom and stepdad have wanted to come to Portland SO BAD, but my stepfather is ill, so it’s not possible. They bought Sam a recliner to make him comfortable and have left me messages continuously. And, I want to thank my dad and stepmom, who have donated generously to the GoFundMe campaign, and who have also cried with me numerous times these past few weeks. 

And to you, thank you for reading and thinking of my son. 

Discharge (Update for February 2, 2016)

"Tare care of all your memories. For you cannot relive them."

That's a quote from Bob Dylan, both Sam and Molly's favorite poet and musician. I like this quote particularly because I've spent lots of time shifting through sweet or funny memories of my son these past few weeks. 

Sam, Jaxon and Jason (my brother, Jaxon's dad)

Jaxon, Sam and Scott (my brother)

In the summer of 2013, Molly, Dan, Sam and I went to Montana to visit my father, stepmom, brothers and their families. Sam's little cousin, Jaxon, was enamored with Sam, drawn to him. Sam wrestled with, played with him, teased him, and Jaxon loved it. Here are some photos to prove my point ... wherever Sam was, there was Jaxon. I love the memory of that wonderful trip to Montana. 

Now, all the good news. Prayers answered.

Molly, Sam, Celia, Emma and Jaxon. 

When I received Sam's therapy schedule for today, per Bridget, it said: 2:30 Discharge. DISCHARGE. I am beyond happy that Sam will continue his therapy as an OUTPATIENT! He's made miraculous progress as he continues his journey to complete recovery.

At the conference today, the doctors and therapists said he would continue some of his meds, most importantly the salt pills, and he still has the fluid restrictions. He will take Tylenol for pain, no aspirin. He also will have weekly visits with a primary care physician, therapists and, in a few weeks, his neurosurgeon to check his brain swelling and, hopefully, schedule his next surgery. He has to keep his helmet on, almost all the time, and be very careful. His dad just texted and said he had been dizzy today, and was sleeping at this time. 

I am thrilled he is going to be home to continue his therapy although he has so much more to face (another surgery and recovery, continuous therapy, ongoing medications, etc.), so me being a mom and all, I sent Bridget about 32 texts worth of instructions and things to think about. She is calm and confident, and texted me back "I know you're worried. It's all going to be OK. They're preparing us well."

She's right of course. I am trusting her with my son's life, and I do. Completely. But I am still a mom. and I'm doing what moms do, worrying myself sick. I worried myself right into a migraine this morning, so I spent all afternoon medicating and resting.

His being home brings a whole new set of worries mostly related to stairs and showers (he has a shower chair), sodium and swelling, and just basically his entire future. But, again, it's what I do as a mom. It's the job that never ends.

Jaxon, hanging on. 

I really appreciate everyone who is telling me I'm a good, loving mom. I hope I am. But the reality is I am not doing or being anything different than any mom would do or be. And, I'm not perfect. I've made my share of mistakes, and I always tell my kids that I'm not perfect, I am just an imperfect person trying to love them the most that I can, the best that I know how. I know lots of amazing moms (and dads and stepparents)), and I learn from them all the time. When my kids were little, and I was feeling overwhelmed, my cousin Robin said to me, "This is the easy part. You have some control now. It won't always be this way." She was right of course. It never gets easier. You never quit worrying. You never get another decent night's sleep in your life. Because ... you can't protect them from everything or watch them every single second. I'm a realist so I accept that. Because of that, my goal always was to raise independent thinkers, willing to live their own lives and find their own way. If your children are grown and happily living on their own, congratulations .... you just won at parenting. That's how I see it anyway. 

I continue to get questions from friends, family and GoFundMe donors, and I will answer a few of those below. I am amazed at how much everyone cares about me and my family. I guess I just never knew. I'm humbled. 

Jaxon, Sam, Dan and Molly

Have the Portland Police Department identified the persons of interest in the photo? Yes. I do not know anything else about them, and the police investigation is ongoing.

Will you be returning to Portland? Yes. When my son's next surgery is scheduled, I will go to Portland a few days in advance and stay while he recovers and is in the hospital again.

Will you be attending any of the upcoming fundraisers? Unfortunately, probably not. Bridget will be attending as she can to represent our families.

Does Bridget have a support system in Portland to help her when she returns to class and fulfills other obligations? Yes, she has a group of their friends and her family she's calling the "Sam Sitters" to help her.

Does Sam seem like himself? Yes, more and more every day.

What about Sam's motor skills? They are excellent, although he is dizzy occasionally and has to worry about balance.

How is Molly? So many people have asked about my sweet daughter. She is strong, and very independent. She has her own health issue, but she never complains and continues to live her life as she chooses. I'm proud of her. 

Will Sam participate in any media interviews? No, he's not ready to have any visitors at all except close friends and family. We are asking that the media respect his privacy as he recovers.

I want to thank my co-workers and friends Trey, Matthew and Damona for coming to our home tonight, listening to me, and bringing me and Dan dinner. I appreciate that they are encouraging me to ease back into my normal routine and covering me every day at work. 

Thank you for all your prayers and good thoughts. Prayers were answered today, as I wanted Sam desperately to leave the hospital. As much as I am grateful for the love and care he has been shown by the wonderful nurses, therapists and doctors ... hospitals can be depressing.

I can say today, that I am feeling some sense of peace, and I can see the light at the end of this miserable tunnel. 

Sodium, Staples and Swelling (Update for February 1, 2016)

Sodium at 139!!!

That's the text I received from Bridget this morning. That damn salt. What I had always thought I had understood — based on food marketing selling low-sodium foods and from media reports touting low-sodium diets — as well as my own ignorance, is that salt was bad. I never realized the importance of salt to your overall health. I guess I never cared. Now, we all hold our breath each morning waiting for the report on his sodium levels. And, today it was good news. We believe it is because he is now eating, and doesn't have to rely on all of his salt to come from salt tablets.

Monday's scheduled therapies.

Sam had a great day in therapy yesterday. The more he can do, the more they expect him to do. Tomorrow, we will have their weekly team meeting between all of Sam's doctors, therapists, the hospital discharge planner, and nurses ... and I will be able to conference into that call, and participate in the planning for his therapy going forward. I except to hear very good news tomorrow.

Weezy, Sam and Bridget's dog, got to make a visit to the hospital (outdoor area) yesterday so Sam could see her. Weezy was happy, but Sam might have been happier. Bridget sent me a few pictures, and Sam is smiling, sitting in a wheelchair with his helmet on, smiling.

But about today, he had a busy day in therapy today, and it went EXCEPTIONALLY well. He did 15 minutes pedaling on an exercise bicycle. He even made eggs and toast. And, according to his dad Danny Whitehorn, his attitude is excellent; he wants to go home. Then tonight, they removed the 55 staples from his head. Bridget said she held his hand, and the nurse was quick, so not much pain compared to what he has been through.

I sent Sam a text first thing this morning, telling him I missed him and I loved him (I think I might have sent him about four similar texts yesterday). He responded with, "OK woman," which is how he always responds to me when he is irritated or annoyed with me. He would never be mean, or get mad at me, he just resorts to jokingly calling me "woman" instead of "mom." It's so good to know his personality is coming back.

Sam has an appointment scheduled for his next CT scan, to see how the brain swelling is receding. We are anxious for the results, so his next surgery can be scheduled. Bridget will be taking him to all of his appointments and therapies as long as they are needed.

Sam and Bridget. One of my favorite pictures.

Bridget is putting aside her job and music aspirations to care for Sam. It's the greatest gift I have ever been given. She will be his caregiver, his transportation, his pharmacist, his spokesperson, his trainer, his friend and his future. I know Sam would do the same for her if the situation were reversed. He asked me before, "Do you love Bridget? Do you?" I said, of course I did, she was so sweet and easy-going. And he said, "I hope so. We really love each other, and we are going to be together forever." I told him I believed it, and I was happy for him. I don't doubt it at all today. There are not many relationships that can survive tragedy, or unexpected stress. I think this one can.

Sam, Molly and their dad at Crystal Bridges Museum. 

One of the reasons Sam is so loved by Bridget, and many others, is because of his quick wit and perfect comedic timing. On Sam's first day of kindergarten, I got laid off of my job at a local hospital. That meant I got to be stay-at-home mom for a few months. I picked Sam up from school every day with the other moms, and that is where I met my dear friend Tricia. We both had children the exact same ages. She came by to see me today (much love to her), and reminded me of a story that illustrates Sam's sense of humor. When he was in 10th grade, and at a honors assembly at his high school, each of the students being recognized had to step up to the microphone and say their name. He went to a huge high school, there were several hundred students being recognized AND his last name starts with a W. You can imagine how tiring it was for those watching and participating. When it was Sam's turn, he said, "I'm Sam I Am." The school administrators may not have liked it, but it sent laughter through the crowd. It woke everyone up.

My brother, Kirk, and his wife, Tonya, came by tonight to visit with me and Dan. Kirk and I are the emotional kids in the family, and we don't miss a chance to cry together. It's soothing for me to be with my brother and Tonya, to laugh and cry a little, and to provide support to each other that everything is going to be OK. We are a strong family.

My sweet babies. 

I am fortunate to have an understanding employer and boss (thanks Eric). Although I know I need to ease back into my new normal and my job, I'm afraid. I'm not even sure what I'm afraid of anymore ... just so much fear for my children's health. I feel like I'm in a high state of anxiety all the time. Both of my children now suffer with brain issues, my daughter with epilepsy of unknown cause and my son with this traumatic brain injury. My daughter was hospitalized three times in the last few years. I have to remember to take one day at a time, and as each day passes with good news and good health, it's just another win.

My friend Tricia suggested I tell everyone our good thoughts and prayer needs:
For Sam: Sodium levels UP and brain swelling DOWN.
For Bridget: Strength
For me, Molly, Dan and our entire family: Peace and understanding

Thank you again for everything, especially if you are reading this blog and thinking of my sweet son.

Bridget's Life With Sam V. 2

Sam and I started our life together in Arkansas, where I was a part of his family and spent time with his lifelong friends. When we moved to Oregon, I was excited for Sam to meet my family and my friends. When they all met him, they loved him, just as I do.

When we left Arkansas, we headed first to my birthplace, New Orleans. We spent time with friends and family. Sam attended college for one year at LSU, and New Orleans is one of his favorite places. Here he is at Cafe du Monde.

Sam and I having dinner with friends in New Orleans.

Sam reading, as usual, in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Sam and our Oregon family ... me, my mom Maggie, Richard, Weezy and Hazel.

Sam on a rock in Tolovana, Oregon. He loves the Oregon coast.

We went to a wedding, and Sam had a "dance off" with a young boy. It was hilarious. That is Sam.

Sam.

Thank you for getting to know Sam.


Bridget Kitson

Home Again (Update for January 31, 2016)

Sam and my mom, his grandmother. 

I left Portland yesterday. I had a complete breakdown as I said goodbye to my son, and he asked me, "Why are you crying?" He probably doesn't realize I cry every day, so yesterday was no different. It was so hard to return home, and I worried about him all day. Then, late last night, I got a text from my son, "Thank you for everything." There's a Chinese proverb that says "One joy can shatter one hundred griefs" and that's how I felt at that moment.

Sam has had his phone in hand, and he looks at messages, but he hasn't been responding. I'm not sure if he is too tired or if he is not able to fully understand what he reads. But, because last night he sent me and his sister, Molly, a text ... I know he'll be doing that again soon as he starts responding to all of the messages of love and support from his friends and family.

Many people have asked me, "How do you feel about Portland now?" And, I have nothing but love for Portland. There are bad people everywhere, and this just proves that crime can happen anywhere. I live in Little Rock, which consistently ranks as one of the most dangerous cities to live in. My daughter went to college in Memphis, a city the FBI previously named as No. 1 in Violent Crime. We have never experienced any crime of any sort in Little Rock or Memphis. I love both of those cities. My point is that crime can happen anywhere, I do not blame the city or the people. There are criminals and bullies everywhere, and Portland has its share.

Sam and my dad, his grandfather.

I don't even mind the weather in Portland. It seems like it is always wet in Portland, but I never saw it rain. It may be because for the first week and a half I was there, I arrived at the hospital (via Uber) before it was light outside. I walked approximately 378 steps through the hospital every day. I actually counted the steps I took to my son's hospital bed. Then, I walked back the 378 steps to the Emergency Entrance of the hospital each day (the main entrance was always closed when I left) and took an Uber back the 1.3 miles to the hotel. The rain, the weather, nothing about Portland bothered me except that my son was hurt in this city. The sun peeked out one day, and I felt like the characters on the TV show Portlandia, wanting to stand in the sunshine for just a minute. And, the sun was out the day he took an ambulance to rehab ... a good sign.

I was unable to see most of Sam's therapy in person yesterday, as I was traveling home to Arkansas, but Bridget will now be my eyes and ears. She's up to the task. I was there in the morning for his speech therapy, and the focus was on his medications. He is taking 10, yes 10, medications every day. Obviously, we don't want that, and he doesn't want that, to continue forever. His therapist discussed each with him, and which meds he can quit taking soon.

After that, he had a full day of PT and OT. He did perfectly, but still favored his injured ankle. He even got to shoot a basketball, one of his all-time favorite activities. Bridget said they played Jenga and started making lists. One of Sam's all-tome favorite games, which he and Molly and I played ALL THE TIME, and he and Bridget play together ... is LIST MAKING. It sounds silly, but we take turns making lists of our Top 5 favorite movies, books, TV shows, or whatever. Bridget said yesterday they played that game, kinda, in therapy. For example, name 3 mammals living in the sea (not sure I could do that one). He did great.

Sam and his uncles, Jon and Kirk, and cousin Jake.

He ate all three of his meals yesterday, including all of his breakfast. That's a triumph. It's been hard to get him to eat much, and he keeps losing weight, so we want him to EAT. He is finally getting his appetite back.

Cousins Lona, Molly, Celia, Josi, Emma, Sam and Jaxon.

I left my home in Arkansas for Portland exactly two weeks ago today, unsure of what exactly happened and knowing my son was in ICU after having emergency brain surgery. It was a difficult trip there. I had no idea the extent of his injuries, how long he would be in the hospital, what his future would look like, nothing. That trip seems like a lifetime ago. I bought a one-way ticket there; I didn't know how long I would stay. Although I have more information, my son is out of immediate danger and I'm positive he will have his life back ... it's scary how your life can change on a dime. Sam's life will never be the same. He will never be able to ride a bike again, go snow skiing, ride a jet ski, maybe never again play pick-up basketball games or softball ... he won't be able to do anything where he might have a head injury. He has to be careful every single day. Can you imagine how overwhelming that might be? I don't want him to live a life of worry and fear, so I'm struggling with how he can be careful without it interfering in his daily activities. It's going to be a never-ending journey.

Sam and Molly. 

I look at things differently now. When we were at his apartment, Dan counted the steps to his second-story apartment ... 20 steps, handrail on the right. There's an overhang. Three steps to the door to his apartment. A rug I deemed slippery on their hardwood floors, so I moved it. Wood floors mean non-slip shoes. Does he have those? I took Weezy for a walk, and there's a busy intersection with cars and cyclists before you can cross the street to the park. The grass was damp and slippery, so I don't want him walking there. Everything looks and seems different to me. Until Sam has his skull re-inserted into his head, he's like a baby with a soft spot (to me), and everything is terrifying. I want to protect him.

I talked to Bridget this morning, and she has sent me some more photos of their life together, specifically their month-long trip across the United States prior to their settling in Portland. They had the best time, cementing their relationship for the long haul. I've said it before, and I will say it a million times more, Bridget is an angel. Whatever good thing you think about her, it's true. She is as dedicated and committed as they come. She and Sam have a true love. She and I have spent lots of time together this week until we joked that "we are one." We have sent each other the same exact texts at the exact same time, over and over. Not sure what that means, but I'm grateful that we are thinking alike.

I feel like I sound negative and that is probably true, because this is a negative experience. I am pissed off that Sam has been put in this situation. However, he is getting better and stronger every day. He's laughing and talking about his sister, his friends, his favorite movies. My only salvation is that I can see my son returning to his funny, brilliant self. For now, I can show you who he is, and let everyone learn to love him as his family and friends do.

Today, there is a fundraiser for Sam, Suds for Sam, at Saraveza in Portland from 11 a.m. until 11:59 p.m. I am, again, humbled and grateful.

Today's blog features photos of Sam and his family. There will be a second blog today with photos of Sam and his life with Bridget. The photos she is sharing just make me cry.

Thank you Heather.

I want to send a special thank you to my dear friend, Heather and her husband, Jason. She was my first visitor upon my return. She made Dan and I an amazing frittata and ciabatta bread (all homemade), and she listened to me pour my heart out. Forever grateful.

I also want to send a thank you to my long-time friend Neal Moore, who is writing an article today for the Maumelle Monitor (Moore on Maumelle) about Sam and the power of GoFundMe. I'll post the link when I have it.

Much love to all. Thank you for your prayers, your thoughts and messages, and your generous donations.

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!