Carson's Road Home... Has only just begun.

This is it… This is what I've been working towards. I've gone through two spinal surgeries, a week in the ICU, and two months of intense rehab to get to this point. The time to go home has come.

"You must be so excited… I bet you can't wait to get out of here", is the response that I usually get when I inform someone of my discharge date. I mean, anyone would assume that I would want to get out of here as fast as possible, right? Well, to be honest, I'm not so sure about how I feel about the "home" Carson's road has been leading to.

One of the hardest weeks I have had in the hospital was last week (hence the lack of blog posts). It was because for the first time, going home was not just an idea, but a reality. My stay at the hospital has provided a suspended reality for me, a state of limbo if you will. While I've been at the hospital, I've had to focus only on tasks, and tasks alone. There is no worry as to my future, or how I will live the rest of my life in general. I wake up, do bowel care, eat breakfast (sometimes), go to therapy, eat lunch, go to more therapy, eat dinner, and go to sleep (with a catheterization between each of those).

Going home means facing reality. If you would've asked me how I really felt about going home last week, I would've told you that it was one of the scariest things I have ever faced. It is safe to say that I have faced some difficult things in my life, but I don't know if there has been anything that has so tried my ability to solve a problem. For the first time I am unsure of my ability to make my way through something emotionally and psychologically. This has truly pushed me to my limits in every regard.

In a way, going home means returning to the environment where I lived as an active, able person. Going home means living in the shadows of my past life, being constantly aware of the difference between what I used to be, and what I am now. There is a relentless comparison, a never ending reminder of things as they were. Going from 6'5" to 4 foot something creates a bit of a contrast of experience along with a million other things. Every paralyzed, shortened breath I take seems to whisper mockingly, "you're not like you used to be". Rehab has been difficult, and I've worked myself hard. I've been in a lot of pain, cried bitter tears, and felt incredible frustration… but I believe that Carson's real road, or his true journey, is really just beginning.

Kind and compassionate people have told me that life can be just as fulfilling in a wheelchair, and that I shouldn't expect for things to be worse, but just different. There are aspects of this idea that I definitely agree with and appreciate, but there are also aspects of my loss that I cannot deny. Living with full mobility is like living in the brightness of the sun. It's warm for the most part and one's surroundings are easily observed and appreciated. You often need nothing but your eyes to see for miles on to the horizon. One hardly needs to think about watching his or her step, or worry about getting too cold. The simple but beautiful details of life almost go unnoticed since they are so readily available.

Living as a quadriplegic or paraplegic (or with any significant loss of mobility) is like living with the light of the moon. While life is still accessible or within reach, it is deceivingly difficult. It's hard to fully enjoy the beauty of your surroundings if you are living in the dark. You are limited simply by your ability to see. Adaptive equipment is nearly always necessary to make what is possible in the sunlight, possible in the light of the moon. Flashlights, lanterns, candles, lightbulbs, etc. are necessary parts of life, required simply for survival. Because of the darkness, every task is significantly harder to achieve, and takes much longer to finish. It's true though, life is so possible in the moonlight. We all know that after a time, our eyes can adjust to the darkness. A full life can be lived without the full brightness of a sun... but would anyone dare deny the monumental difference between the sun and the moon? And after having lived a full life in the sun, the darkness of the night is dreadfully deep... And appears very unappealing.

Going home forces me to except that the sun has gone out, and that the moon hovers depressingly in its place. I don't think I'll ever get over my love for the sun... But I also understand now, that I need to reconcile myself to the light of the moon since it's the only lights available. Here I am again, facing yet another challenge, another hurdle… it seems as though life almost says (again), "I dare you to try…" I cringe every time I realize I have to take the dare, but when will life learn that after a good cry, I'll stand up and take it face on? I hate it, but in a way, enjoy proving that I won't be beat. In doing so, I recognize that my strength is not only my own, but is coupled with that of the Savior's, and all the dares he faced. If he can do it, I can do it, because i've made him my ally, and my guide through life. The night will take some getting used to, and I don't expect the transition to be easy... There'll be days where I can hardly face getting back in my wheelchair. There will be days where the humiliation of having a family member help with personal hygiene will be too much… But little by little, I'll see through the darkness. Little by little, I'll find the beauties that can only dwell in the dark places. And one day... one day, I'll strap on a pair of nightvision goggles, and fly full-speed to the moon.