If you saw the last post, you’ll already have a good idea of how Vernon’s holiday outing went. I’ve been trying to process it all ever since he left yesterday afternoon, and I’m still not sure how I felt about the day. For me, it was A LOT.

However, I think it was a success. Nobody was hurt, let alone dropped, nobody choked. Everyone survived. And most of all we overcame a looming milestone the best we were able. It was a success.

Today, I feel more removed and relaxed and can look back fondly, but I must be honest, I also feel quite sad. Bittersweet is maybe a better word, because there was so much love in the air yesterday that I can’t help but feel positive about it in the midst of the ‘reality check’ that this special day’s activity brought on.

Before I tell the whole story, I must say that my parents were incredible. They visit Vernon when I need help but we rarely are around him all at the same time, so it was so wonderful to see the bond that they maintained with him, even though it was a brand new situation for all of us. My dad met me early in the day to pick up the van, but not without having a trial lesson. I was already pretty overwhelmed, just thinking ahead about the upcoming field trip, so I was beyond grateful that my dad stepped in to do all the handiwork. He also drove the van. (AND re-filled it with gas.)

He would have stopped to buy us all our favorite coffee treats once we left the facility, but Vernon didn’t want to stop. He was a man on a mission. In fact, when we first went to pick the guys up, he was notably excited (ie agitated.) When we moved Joe out first, Vernon tried to crawl out of the bed and off the protective mat below his bed, hoping to catch up with us. His eyes were wild and he was rocking back and forth, demanding as ever, obviously worried that we weren’t moving quickly enough (and I expect, worried that we might change our minds and leave him.) Vernon has been looking forward to this day for about a month, though I’m never sure how much he retains as far as the passage of time.  His memory is still very vague, but this time, it was obvious he was chomping at the bit. (His jaw was nearly-literally chomping in his wild tension of keeping upright in his chair while moving fast.)

The ride home took forever, even though we opted for the lighter-traffic of PCH. We’d hoped they’d enjoy the view, but Joe was too tall to see out the van windows comfortably, and Vernon looked like he would be sick the whole way home, constantly grabbing for the wet-wipes I’d found in his bag, and dousing his brow. I could see he was overstimulated within ten minutes of the drive. (Remember, when he travels, he usually lies down on a gurney and doesn’t have side window to look out of. Also when he travels, its part of a routine—back and forth to the same place (dialysis) every day.

Since my dad was driving, I was free to sit in the jump-seat next to Vernon. He let me hold his hand some of the way. He kept calling out directions, almost frantic that my dad didn’t know the way to his own house (it was to theirs that we were going.)

I was already concerned that we’d taken on more than we could chew, but when we reached the house, my mom (and the kids) were waiting for us. If I ever forget how amazing my parents are (which I won’t) I just need to look at the following photos.

He seemed thrilled to arrive and said he recognized the place, but he also yelled at the staircase to get out the way. So there was that…

We transferred him onto a more comfortable chair, but he demanded that he wanted to go to bed—”the one in the first room down the hallway,” he remembered.

Justine was hiding around the corner on her pre-committed “best behavior,” ready with little plastic cups of water should her daddy ask for one.

Soon, Vernon’s closest friends began to arrive, and he opted to move back into a chair to visit with them.

They talked and joked around about soccer and music. He was of course, especially interested in connecting with Maki, who lately is comfortable playing guitar around us. Lucky us! 🙂

(Coffee cup, not his—don’t worry. He’s not growing up that fast!)

The odd-couple.

When it was time to eat, Joe of course was a perfect gentleman, but Vernon wanted to dig in. His eyes widened with each dish placed on the table. (Thank you, Mom, for your generous, delicious work in the kitchen.) But of course he couldn’t actually have much. I offered him mashed potatoes with gravy, but  he was really interested in the turkey—and the sausage, which wasn’t there.

He did say grace over the meal and told everyone that he was grateful for me,who was “not only good-looking and pretty (his words) but had an open heart toward him.” I do love the way he expresses his love for me, even if he isn’t exactly the same as before. I appreciate every way he tells me he loves me, and it makes me love him more.

Vernon was very demanding and frustrated throughout the dinner. It broke my heart as I knew he was desperate to be there and he was trying his best. But I twas a lot of work to get him through the meal. He requires so much help…and he had been overstimulated for quite some time now. Afterward, Vernon complained about his stomach tube, trying to pull it out, asking for scissors or a knife to cut it off as it was so painful. I figured that was a cue for “time to leave.” Poor Joe never got his desert, but he said Vernon lasted longer than he’d expected. Later that night, I got a call from the care home that Vernon’s tube was indeed clogged and also that he’d lost 2.5 pounds this week a lone (which was more than an alarming 2% of his body weight.) I wondered if he hadn’t been stressed about the big day ahead…in a good, but nervous way. The doctor disagrees.

As I said before, I think it was a success but I don’t think we’ll be rushing to do this regularly. It was a lot of work. But now we have overcome the challenge of the first-time, maybe we can try shorter outings just to get him used to more of life outside the care home. I’m not sure what that means yet. I know it will get easier with practice for all of us.

I think the heartbreak of it all for me is that I clearly realize how un-ready we are to bring Vernon home, and how un-ready he is. But I also see how much he wants to be here. So yes, bittersweet. But a great day was had…and overcome.

PS. Here is the post-it-note wisdom on the dashboard of the rented van. Words to live by? I think yes.