Page 63 of Firefly Embers

I was nowhere close to healed, as there is no true threshold of complete healing when it comes to trauma, but I knew where my limits were and how to handle situations that pushed me beyond my comfort zone.

Instead of feeling completely paralyzed by guilt and anxiety, I felt strong and capable in my ability to battle through the tough moments. My journey with PTSD would be one that I’d take for a lifetime, and I would have setbacks along the way, but I was confident in myself to know they wouldn’t end me.

I couldn’t wait to share this new, emotionally mature, capable version of myself with my family—and most importantly, with my girl. If she was still my girl after waiting around for four weeks while I got my shit together.

There were still a couple of hurdles I needed to jump to be cleared for release, but I could taste the sweet freedom on the horizon.

After my ride, I walked the horse back to the stables, hosed her down, and turned her out to pasture for the night. The ranch hands would take care of all the grunt work in the morning.

I watched for a minute as the mare trotted around the grass, reveling in the fading sunlight and cooler air. She loped over to the other horses, nuzzling up beside their pack and grazing.

Making my way slowly back to the treatment center, I took in the setting sun as it fell behind the ridge. The beauty of the sunset stopped me in my tracks as I leaned against the wooden side of the stables.

I watched as the sky turned from brilliant blue to different shades of red, orange, pink, and even a hint of purple, streaks of color creating a watercolor image of serenity.

I’d never taken the time to truly experience the sunset, as most of the time, once I’d come in from working, it had either already set or I was dead tired and went straight to bed.

Now, sunrises? I’d seen my fair share of those over the years. I always marveled at how they crested across the flat plains of the ranch, promising beauty in the new day.

Standing there, marveling at the swatches of colors as they streaked across the sky, I realized there wasn’t just something special about the sun rising, promising a new day. There was beauty in the sun setting, reminding us that endings can be beautiful, too.

As my time at Ember Ridge came to a close, I stood there, watching the sunset, and reveling in the beauty that this place has created for my new beginning. The sun might be setting on my time in treatment, but the sun was rising on my future, painting it in the warm promise of what was to come.

The next week seemingly flew by, and my excitement ramped up with each passing day. I couldn’t believe that I’d spent four weeks at a treatment center talking about my feelings.

Realistically, it was the first time in my adult life I’d been directly asked about how I felt.

This last week, we primarily focused on reintegration. Therapy consisted of talking about the things we were excited and nervous about as we headed back to our real lives, putting names to the important triggers we’d addressed.

Each one of us was armed to the teeth with tactics to deal with triggers in our everyday lives and resources should we need additional assistance. I had met with Dr. Langford about setting up a therapy appointment in Firefly Cove.

Unfortunately, the resources I needed weren’t readily accessible locally, so we settled on once-a-month, in-person visits at her office at the center and virtual visits three times a week for the time being.

After my brief time back in the saddle, I met with the orthopedic doctor once again for final imaging. The team of specialists wanted to make sure I hadn’t exacerbated any issues with my spine after getting back in the saddle.

After getting the all clear, he’d set me up with a physical therapist that I would see twice a week for a couple of months and then taper down as time went on.

Although it felt like I was going to be meeting with a specialist once a day for the remainder of my life, I knew it was temporary. After all, I didn’t want to undo all the hard work I’d pushed through at ERRC, especially with all the painful reliving I’d been asked to do.

If I could go the rest of my life without talking about my feelings, I would love nothing more, but I knew it was an important part of letting the people around me in to assist in my recovery.

“Well, it’s almost time to walk out of here,” Dr. Langford said from the chair across from me. It was my final therapy session, and I’d have been lying if I said I wasn’t nervous.

“Yep,” I said softly, popping the “p” exaggeratedly.

“What are you going to do when you get out of here?” she prodded.

“I’ve got a couple of errands to run on my way home, but I think I’m most excited to get back to my family. I miss them, and I hope they’re happy with all the work I’ve put in toward healing.”

“Are you happy with all the work you’ve put in and where you’re at mentally?”

I took a moment to ponder her question. I wouldn’t say happy was the term I would use. I wished more than anything that I hadn’t been in this position to begin with, but I was proud of the strength I’d shown in getting the help I so desperately needed.

“Truthfully, yes. I’m happy with where I am mentally and what I’ve done to get to this point. Most importantly, though, I’m proud. It might sound conceited to say that about myself, but I’ve done the damn thing, and I’m walking out of here a stronger man.”

The therapist nodded with a wide smile. “I hope you know that I am proud of you, and I’m sure your family is as well. It’s been a pleasure getting to know you in every form, Wade Daniels.”

“That sounds like you’re not going to see me again, Doc.”