What a beautiful Christmas holiday. The snow started to fall Christmas Eve and stayed long enough to allow us to wake up to our first White Christmas in several years. This year, there were presents piled under the tree. And despite getting everything I wanted (Purple Converses, a new bag, hot curlers, a foot pod for my Garmin Forerunner, and some new clothes), my best Christmas gift was not a present under the tree; it was a big bear hug from my best friend.
On Friday, after a long two weeks of waiting for a visitation list to be approved, I got to visit Victor at SCI Camp Hill. For the first time, we were no longer divided by a piece of glass at DCP. We were not struggling to carry out a conversation over a crappy phone while plugging our other ear to drown out the echoes of everyone else's voices as they bounced off the institutionally-painted cream-colored brick walls. For the first time in 30 months, we hugged. For the first time in 30 months, we were able to sit side-by-side, he played with my hair, we laughed at the goofy things we each said, and for the last five minutes of the visit, he took my hand, and we just sat quietly. It was known that we were both thinking about the same thing: the long journey we have ahead of us.
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