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Into the Wilderness: Story 15

Salt Lake City became our second home. We didn’t know it would when we woke up the next morning after arriving after midnight. We slept late and missed the perfunctory hotel breakfast. We had a big day ahead. We had to buy Catina supplies for RTC and make the most of the 24 hours until dropping her off, once again, in the safekeeping of a therapy program.

Catina had worn an alternating pair of pants and shirts for more than 90 days. I had packed a suitcase for her with new leggings and jeans, a variety of T-shirts. In line with the RTC’s rules, nothing was ripped or torn or revealing. Catina sorted through her new wardrobe, determining what she would keep or send home. To my surprise, she decided to keep everything. But we needed a few more items- some sweaters for the Utah winter, a coat, sneakers and boots.

We went shopping.

As soon as we stepped into a store, the “I wants” began. At Ulta, she needed certain toiletries, all high end and expensive. At Target, she needed a specific white baggy sweater, surprisingly priced at almost $50. We couldn’t find the right kind of stylish shoes and searched 3 stores. I learned quickly that material expectations come back quickly after wilderness, at least for my kid.

The day wasn’t without conflict. We haggled over limitations. I paced while she tried on white sweater after white sweater. She grew impatient when I wouldn’t expand the budget. But we handled it differently. As my frustration over her requirements grew, I was able to articulate that and call for a reset. When she became impatient with my limitations, she was able to speak her frustration rather than retreat in silent defense.

These micro moments became the evidence of progress. Grand gestures? Life doesn’t accommodate. But micro moments: these are the precious indicators of a changed life. After all, most of our days are spent navigating the mundane. Managing the ordinary is the greatest test of our humanity.

As we exited Target into the still bright Utah sun, we held hands and laughed about the white sweater struggle. That we could laugh together was itself a triumph.

It was September 27, Chuck’s birthday. We decided to celebrate with dinner at Hoof and Vine, a local steakhouse. We ate our steak, toasted our glasses of water, shared a gooey chocolate lava cake. Our lives felt normal, almost.

But, really, we were at the precipice of a new wilderness, one that would last for a year and a half and many more dark days. For healing does not happen easily or quickly. Healing is a rewiring of the brain, forming new automatic reactions, learning to lean in and ride the pain, rather than shut it away.

The next day we arrived at La Europa, toured the school, met teachers, signed contracts. Catina was settled into her new room, beginning at phase 1 all over again. We would hug her, memorize every curve and shadow of her precious face, try to imprint her soft body into our arms and carry her invisible self with us. We had completed one journey and were beginning another. It would be no less arduous, no less heart wrenching than the first. In fact, we were beginning the long haul.