Even the winter won't last forever

 I'm typing this while looking out at my finches eating at their feeder, with a freshly mowed yard and all the bare trees in full bud or flowering or leafing out in the woods on our property. Spring is here. In the joy of new life, I feel like creation itself is joining in with our celebration of having her home. It's as if the daffodils had to burst up through the ground to see her with their own eyes. Like the birds who have huddled around the feeder all winter have a new song to sing with her here. Or maybe the grey scales have fallen from my eyes and with her home I have a new appreciation for the show God brings forth every spring. 

Her first week back was a whirlwind of activities (meeting with probation, securing enrollment in school, meeting with her new therapist, scheduling an appointment with the optometrist and buying clothes that actually fit her). For those wondering, the probation officer seems very easy to work with, her therapist is really nice and seems like a good fit and she will be doing online homeschooling through Indiana Connections Academy for the foreseeable future. We have a follow-up court date with the judge on June 2nd which should give us an idea of how long supervised probation will last. 

That weekend was "Bunny Christmas" complete with both sets of grandparents and the 5 of us sitting around a Christmas tree, opening presents and singing along to Christmas carols, while eating feast after feast of all our favorite foods. Now, two weeks after the hurricane of activity, I have a better sense of what it is to have her home.

First, she is exactly the same. Her love of fuzzies, her funny voices, her jokes and singing and dolphin-pitched squealing at her favorite things remains completely the same. She still loves to read, cook, binge watch Netflix with me (we are restarting Gilmore Girls!) and play with our dog Charlie. She has quickly learned the kitchen and cooks on the nights David works late to help me with the house. With the help of Beth Wilson, we outfitted her room and decorated so it truly feels like her space. Gretchen will be helping her paint later this month. She's already learned the amazing comfort of reading outside in the hammock swing and has tried the french toast at 4 different breakfast locations to determine her new favorite breakfast restaurant. 

She is also different than before. Not only has she aged a year (and grown super tall) - she has matured in ways I am still discovering. She is more confident in herself. She tells me more about what she actually feels or wants, rather than acting like everything is ok even if it isn't. She intentionally leaves her phone at home any time we go out together, to better engage with me when we are running errands. She says "I love you" to me multiple times a day - and often to her brothers as well. She comes out of her room to check what else is happening in the house, including going downstairs to visit with her grandparents. She's always willing to drop what she is doing if anyone else asks her to join in with a different activity. She compliments her brothers often. She asks me deep questions about my thoughts of fate and love and life perspective.

She doesn't ever want to talk about the past year, although she will have to do some of that with her therapist no matter what. She talks some about the future - but her focus is on the present. Like us, she is acutely aware of the year that she lost and doesn't want to take for granted anything we have now. 

The therapist asked me how things were at home - I said it was like a honeymoon stage, where we are all just so happy to be together, nothing bothers us. Now three weeks in, the intense feelings of hugging her every time she walks into a room are fading - but the joy is not. There are times it can feel like she never left - because everything finally feels whole again. And yet, she is not the child who left us January 8, 2020. 

Like David's deployments to Iraq, homecoming feels nearly like an escape from the past with no need to look behind us ever again. I expect that stories of her time away will slowly leak out, when it relates to something else happening or perhaps therapy draws out something she wants to talk about. Starting with the birth of the boys, half of our 17 years as a family have seen at least one member of the household gone for at least part the year. 2004 - 2008 David was in and out of South Korea and Iraq (twice). In 2019 Nathan and I moved to Evansville. January 2020 - March 2021 Bunny was gone. In our generation and in our country - for a family whose parents have been married the entire time, it's a lot of separation. I hope this marks the end of that trend. 

All 5 of us recognize that we have the gift of perspective - despite their teenage tendencies to sequester themselves in their rooms or be totally caught up in their own spheres of life -  all three kids are willing and eager to spend time together. I'm thankful for that everyday. I'm thankful for a lot of things. 

I will probably continue to write this blog, but I will only post to GroupMe if there is a significant update about Bunny. I've appreciated this platform as a way to help me process the thoughts that swirl in my head between the hours of 3:30 and 5:00am. I'm also so appreciative of every one who has prayed for and thought of and supported our family through this experience. Some of you were nearly daily encouragers and some prayed silently from afar. All of you were the glue to held us together after being shattered apart. Thank you. 

Audrey Assad - "Even the Winter"

What it we find ourselves beneath the snow? 

Our warmest words all frozen in our throats and all we feel is left out in the cold, you and I?

What it the days grow short and lose their light? What it the coals grow black and the embers die?

And we can't find each other in the night, you and I.

Even the winter won't last forever, we'll see the morning, we'll feel the sun.

We'll wake up in April, ready and able, holding the seeds in the soil of our love.