Hope Flickers, yet Fear Lingers

We are living in the days when hope flickers, yet fear lingers.

Hope that the seizures will not return. Hope that the meds are working properly this time. Hope that prayers are answered and it's over. Hope that my husband can drive again. Hope that life can continue uninterrupted by a major "event."

Yet fear is ever present in this time. Fear that hope will be crushed as it has been for the past 3 1/2 years. Each time we dared to hope that the months without my husband having a grand mal seizure meant that this crazy nightmare had ended, fear returned.

It has been almost six months since Daddy's last seizure. Many times he has gone this long without one, and we sincerely believed the drama was over. We hoped for that every time.

But, always without warning, he would fall and surprise, shock and frighten any around him. Sometimes at home. Other times at Starbucks, a car dealership and even the airport.

This hope was alive and well early this year when I was fairly adjusted to our new home in a pleasant Richmond, Va. suburb, and Ade was enjoying life. He was happier than I had seen him in years. Chesterfield proved to be a place he embraced more than anywhere else we've lived in our 8 moves over the last 10 years.

He had developed a great routine as a stay-at-home Dad, regularly working with Adria on learning to write letters and numbers, beginning potty training with Johanna, and even cooking dinner many nights.  We had not made many friends yet, but we lived in a lovely golf course community with great neighbors and were looking forward to meeting more at the community pool this summer.

Life was good. My job was not perfect, but I was selling well, had a great manager and saw opportunities on the horizon. Things felt on track, almost better than ever since my husband and I have been together.

So, why did it have to be taken away? I sometimes see reasons and answers, but it still hurts.

Hope was crushed on a beautiful March morning when the buried fear became reality once again. That's when Daddy had the worst seizure yet. Without any warning it happened. And there we were sitting in another Emergency Department crying and saying, why again, what now?

I have hesitated to share too much about the severity of his seizures, because the last thing I want to happen is for people to fear him and avoid him. They only happen a few times a year, but when they do, it can be debilitating.

This one was. It stripped away everything Ade had worked so hard to do. And he was left broken and empty. Mental and physical pain stayed with him for weeks and even months. We could not fight it alone any longer.

So we returned to our families in Delaware. It will take another blog for that amazing story, but we are here now. After this fall, we needed familiar faces and the support of loved ones to get back up again.

My husband is feeling well again and appreciating the opportunity to pursue his favorite sport - disc golf - with a few friends.

Last week, my sister and her family were in town, and we enjoyed outings to the beach, a Shorebirds baseball game, and a cook-out in our backyard. We had fun and Ade was there beside me every time.

Again, hope flickers. Yet fear lingers as we draw close to six months since the last seizure. For whatever reason, many have been about six months apart.

My husband recently said, "Waiting for a seizure is like holding your breath. The longer you do it, the harder it gets."

It would be great to just move on. But right now, we have to hold our breath. Our daughter's 5th birthday is coming up. Last year, Daddy had a seizure the morning of her birthday. I pray, pray, pray that does not happen again!

Hope, please become a flame.


Here we are, a happy couple on the beach and with my entire immediate family.