Grant had been rushed to the emergency room from his graveyard shift with breathing/heart issues and I in a moment of desperation had pleaded with Facebook-land for prayers on his behalf.
Oh how I remember the panic and fear of that moment...
My heart somehow knew what my mind would take years to accept, as I sat beside my Superman's gurney that night... I knew my Superman's bipolar disorder had relapsed.
It's a good thing I didn't know then, the journey these last five years would be. That time and time again we would be brought to the brink of hopelessness and fear as an illness raged. That nearly every thing I knew in that moment would change, that prayers would go unanswered and people wouldn't always understand.
I remember praying over and over that night and in the days and months that followed that He would just take it all away, that my Superman would be healed and we could have our lives back....
That never came...
Now there is an acceptance that it won't. Slowly those terrifying feelings of panic and fear have been replaced with education and support.
I jokingly said recently "you know he is bipolar on Sundays too, right?" When somebody at church asked why he wasn't there.
Today we are so much better at accepting limits and adjusting our sails. Today, Grant is still as bipolar as ever, but life feels normal again (normal as in my husband is bipolar, normal as in we love our psychiatrist, normal as in mental illness is what it is). Kramer-normal.
Five years, wow. What a ride. Thank heavens for faith, friends and Seroquel.
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