Daniel's post last night...preparing to bring Robin home today. Love and thanks for the grace given to rise up and walk...and it continues!

 

A 5 hour drive.

It was 11 weeks ago, today, that Robin and I took a 5 hour drive on our way to celebrate our wedding anniversary with a long weekend along the Mississippi River. It didn't need to take 5 hours. We made it take 5 hours. For the first time in months, we weren't in a hurry. I drove, so Robin let me choose the tunes. I sang along to #codyjinks and Robin graciously pretended my enthusiasm for the music was an adequate substitute for actual talent. Fortunately, she didn't have to pretend all that much. Poor Mr. Jinks struggled to get a word in, edgewise, because Robin and I talked. A lot. We talked about our home. We talked about the farm. We talked about our jobs. We talked and talked and talked about our kids. And, the prism through which we talked about every topic was the future. We talked with optimism and hope and "freshness."

It was 5 perfect hours together.

It was also 5 hours of ignorance. We didn't know how life was about to change. We didn't know Robin would be hoisted in and out of bed in a body sling for weeks. We didn't know we'd anticipate the evening delivery of tomorrow's therapy schedule like kids waiting up for Santa on Christmas Eve. We didn't know the number of times I'd punch "21" on the Shirley Ryan AbilityLab elevators would be rivaled only by people who work on the 21st floor of the Shirley Ryan AbilityLab.

We also didn't know how amazing the staff at Gundersen Health System and all "Robin's people" at Shirley Ryan AbilityLab would be, caring about and believing in Robin's progress. We didn't know how awesome our family, friends, acquaintances, and a whole bunch people we don't even know would choose to be in helping us in so many ways. We didn't know a flood of prayer and well wishes was about to wash over us. We didn't know a lot. We especially didn't know what was possible for Robin. We still don't.

But, here's what I know now. Robin is the strongest person I've ever known. When I found her at the bottom of sixteen stairs (even in traumatic situations, I'm a nerd, so I counted them a day later and nearly lost my lunch), Robin was unconscious. When she woke up, she couldn't move anything below her neck. She's spent 11 weeks fighting. She's spent 11 weeks overcoming. She's been humbled in ways most of us will never experience. She's worked and withstood and prayed and, ultimately, commanded her body to respond to her mind. And, her body has obeyed. Incrementally. It hasn't responded to her satisfaction. Yet. But, today I watched her walk 50 feet, unassisted. Today, I watched her walk up and down 32 stairs, unassisted. Today, I watched her get out of bed and move from the bed to the bathroom and from the bathroom to the couch, unassisted. I've said it before and everything Robin has done over the past 11 weeks has proven it. Robin. Is. A. Badass.

The hoist hasn't been used for weeks. I speculate the number of times I'll punch "21" on the elevator panel from now on can be counted on one hand. And, tomorrow's therapy schedule has only a single item - a 5 hour drive.

Tomorrow, Robin is coming home. It's a 5 hour drive. Life has changed in ways we had never imagined since our last 5 hour drive. I think I know what hasn't changed. We'll talk most of the way home. And, we'll do it through the prism of the future, with optimism and hope and "freshness."