“His divine power”

487 days. 487 days ago, our family changed forever.

We were told Ricky wouldn't ever be able to breathe without a ventilator. He'd never speak. He'd never have any “meaningful” movement again. He'd never know who we are. He'd never follow commands.

We were told he'd be nothing but a shell of the stubborn, butthole, hilarious big brother we'd had our entire lives.

487 days later…

Ricky breathes without a ventilator. Without a trach. With no assistance at all.

He's gotten out a few “small” words—yeah, no, aut.

He has meaningful movement every single day. He follows commands. He pulls my hair. He kicks at me. He raises his leg up and down when I tell him to.

And he definitely knows who we are.

Miss more than 24 hours visiting him, and walk in and watch his reaction because he's mad about it.

He's still the same stubborn, butthole, eye-rolling big brother we've always had.

He's just more of a miracle now than he was before the strokes.

Some days, I find myself “forgetting” where we came from, where we are going, and what this road has looked like for the last 487 days.

And when I remember, I can do nothing but cry and praise God for allowing us to be just a small part of these miracles.

When we began this journey with Ricky, I promised myself that I wouldn't cry around him.

Even when he was being a butthole, if I cried, he was done. He couldn't stand it.

I kept that promise for close to a year.

But since stepping away from this blog, I've broken that promise.

There are days, late nights, and sometimes early mornings when I miss my brother more than I can stand. Times when I have no choice but to go to him, pray over him, hold him when I miss his hugs, and cry.

Recently, I went to spend some time with him, and missing his hugs hit me like a brick.

The tears started flowing, and I couldn't stop them.

I apologized to him and tried to pull myself together. I looked down at the floor and then back up at him.

And there were tears flowing from his eyes.

I don't know how else to explain that moment except as an affirmation from God.

Almost as if He was saying:

“I'm not finished. He's still in there.”

There are people who have never visited Ricky. There are people who have stopped visiting Ricky. And then there are some of us who continue to see the miracles happening in Ricky.

Even though, at one point, the road looked impossible.

God's grace and His power have gotten us this far, and they will continue to get us through whatever comes next.

We continue to be blessed with some of the best caregivers, some of the strongest prayer warriors, and some of the best friends throughout this journey. People who continue to show up, continue to pray, continue to love Ricky, and continue to believe.

I don't know how God decides who gets their miracle here on Earth and who gets theirs in Heaven.

I don't understand why some stories unfold the way they do.

But I am so incredibly grateful that we've been given the chance to see His miracle unfold in our brother.

487 days.

487 days of heartache.
487 days of prayers.
487 days of tears.
487 days of tiny victories that don't feel tiny to us.
487 days of watching God work in ways we never could have imagined.

And after everything we've been told…

Ricky is still here.

Still stubborn.
Still a butthole.
Still hilarious.
Still our big brother.

And God isn't finished yet. ❤️

“Grace and peace be yours in abundance through the knowledge of God and of Jesus our Lord. His divine power has given us everything we need…” — 2 Peter 1:2–3