So, we move along. Life has new meaning. Nothing that was once important has the same glow. Things that didn't seem to have much thought are the most important things in the universe. I shame myself for all the petty and cruel ways that I looked at life. Let's talk about blessings. In June, just when we were getting used to the rehab life, we were told that "in a few days Jed would go home." Jed was happy. I was scared to death. I watched countless people make his life comfortable: The young gal who swept the floor daily, the nurse who changed his sheets, (clean ones were always there, the nurses and doctors that monitored his every breath and charted all bodily functions adjusting medications accordingly, the therapists that helped him dress and led him through getting him into a chair, into the bathroom, into some stage of cleanliness, the ones who prepared and brought his food and came after to remove it and fill the bedside table with fresh water. I panicked. All these things I would have to do. In rehab I could sit and read the paper with Jed. We could do a crossword puzzle or even take a nap together. At home, I would be all those people.The floor wouldn't be swept, the medication wouldn't be administered, the food wouldn't be served, Jed wouldn't be dressed or put in his chair, bodily functions wouldn't be monitored, sheets wouldn't be changed or washed unless I did it. My chest got tight and I drove home stopping at the shop. I walked into the shop feeling hopeless, at the door I met Ubaldo. Like a sunbeam direct from heaven, he stood there with his mother looking happy and God sent. "Ubaldo, are you still doing home health care?" "Yes, I'm looking for a job." "You're hired." I started to remember that God was in charge and would provide what we needed. Within a few minutes another customer agreed to build a ramp by Sat. and in a few short days I was the new owner of a wheelchair transport van that "dropped right out of heaven" for us too. I was almost floating. I could literally feel the hand of God taking care of our needs. But then, our little church moved in...literally. Judy put out the call for visitation and food, set up a sign up sheet, and the people came, the food came, the calm came, hope moved in, made a place in our home, and we couldn't breathe without breathing in a new sense of awe. We were humbled and honored by all that came our way. Panic no longer lived with me. Jed was home where we both wanted him and we were lifted up, our burden was shared. This is how we went through the Summer and Fall. Lifted, humble, grateful, blessed and hopeful. Therapists came to the house, nurses came to us and the church kept bringing their hearts and their casseroles. Ubaldo did everything else. While visiting Dr. Strum we got, "That's the body of Christ doing what it's supposed to do." We knew he was right, but felt undeserving.