Was it really 5 years ago that I sat with my husband on a tan, youth sized plastic bed with rounded corners? Attempting to share the crackers and grape juice that I was allowed to smuggle into his room, even though that too was against the rules? “No visitors allowed in the patient rooms.” So says one of the rules on the wall. Except everyone felt so bad for this young man with the wife who faithfully visited day in and day out. Why not make an exception? I seemed to be the only one that could convince my husband to take his daily meds, and they were willing to bend the rules to make sure that happened.
Two days in a row, he begrudgingly took the meds after I threatened to leave if he did not comply. Here’s hoping for a third day of compliance with a nice symbolic celebration of Resurrection Sunday. I made sure to look my best that day. This was going to be great, I just knew it. I was so full of hope after the success of the last two days. We were going on 3 weeks, and he was finally taking his meds by choice instead of by force. He was so excited to see me!
Except everything was off this day. They didn’t wait long enough before they brought in his meds. They interrupted us too soon. It threw off our normal schedule, and he wasn’t ready. It was all wrong, and he was not having it. He insisted they come back later, but they were so eager to have him take the meds, and they were so sure it would work again. They had way too much confidence in my abilities as a persuasive wife. I could tell he was not ready, but once you start the medication process, you don’t back down. That would be giving in to his demands, even though we caved to all the others.
Ten minutes in to what I had imagined would be our best, most significant visit yet-I had to prove that my words were not just empty threats. He refused to take the meds. So I packed up my portable communion, and said goodbye. To survive that moment, I once again clung to the righteous anger that I felt toward this illness that robbed me of the man that I so dearly loved. Clinging to the strength that could only come from my Heavenly Father, I walked out of the clinic with the sad echoes of, “I’m so sorry” to usher me into another disappointed evening alone.Today I spend the sweetest Resurrection Sunday of them all with the love of my life by my side and of sound mind. And that, my friends, is the redeeming love of a Savior who rose from the grave. He is alive, and so is my husband.
This is hope restored.
My sweet Misty, I remember all to well and I’m so proud of you and Jajuan for Never giving up even though sometimes it felt hopeless.
We love you both so much and so proud of You both for bringing your story of hope, restoration and Love.
Dad and Mom ❤️
We love you two dearly! Thank you for always being there for us! ❤️
Beautiful. Thanks for sharing
Thank you Radine! I miss you!
Thanks for sharing your story. Sharing our struggles and triumphs along the journey of recovery gives others hope.
I absolutely agree and I’m so inspired and in awe of how you and your family have been able to spread so much hope and education through your foundation! You are a world changer! Love you!
Misty, thank you for your strength, your faith and your voice. So much love to you and your little family.
Thank you so much Laura! I am grateful that that you came into my life through NAMI! You guys mean the world to us!
This is an awesome story, God is good!
Agreed! He is so good! 🙂