Eliana’s Coming Home
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Eliana Rivera
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Eliana Rivera
Eliana is coming home.
Tomorrow, Thursday, September 10th, after almost five weeks in the hospital, our daughter is being discharged.
She is coming home.
So first, the most important logistical piece for anyone who wants to see her:
Tomorrow from 5:00–7:00 p.m., we are going to have a drive-by at our house for Eliana.
Our address is:
7212 East 133rd Circle
Thornton, Colorado 80602
Thornton, Colorado 80602
We would absolutely love for anyone who wants to come by to drive past, wave, say hi, tell her you love her, make a sign, whatever you want. We will probably just have Eliana sitting with us in a lawn chair in the driveway, taking it all in.
Unfortunately, as much as we would love to let everyone get out of their cars, run up to her, hug her and kiss her, we just can’t do that yet.
Eliana is coming home, but she is not coming home completely healed.
For at least the next several weeks, and potentially up to 12 weeks, we have to be extremely protective of her while her body continues to recover. Something as ordinary as the flu or a stomach bug is simply not something her body can afford to fight right now. So for the foreseeable future, our home is going to have to function a little bit like a glass house. That will affect visitors, school, activities, and a lot of normal life.
The drive-by felt like the best way we could think of for Eliana to see so many of the people who have loved her, prayed for her, and followed her through this without unnecessarily exposing her.
Beyond that, we honestly haven’t figured much out yet.
Shar spent much of today meeting with the different medical teams and preparing for what comes next. And there is a lot.
Neurology. Nephrology. Endocrinology. ENT. Physical therapy. Occupational therapy. Speech therapy. Neuropsychology. Another swallow study in October. Follow-up appointments. Continued monitoring. Continued rehabilitation.
Today was also another reminder that discharge does not mean we suddenly know how this story ends.
Neurologically, for example, the team is incredibly encouraged by the progress Eliana is making. At the same time, some of the areas where she continues to struggle are indicative of the neurological injury she sustained. We simply don’t know yet what will prove short term, what may take longer to recover, or what could potentially remain long term—physically, cognitively, or emotionally.
There is tremendous reason for hope. Her progress already gives us reason for hope. There is neuroplasticity. There is therapy. There is a seven-year-old brain and body that have already demonstrated an extraordinary capacity to heal.
But there are also things we simply do not know yet.
Tomorrow does not mean the journey is over. It means we get to continue the journey somewhere we have desperately wanted to be for almost five weeks:
Home.
And there is another part of tomorrow that I’ve been thinking about.
If you remember COVID, one of the strangest things was how suddenly all of our normal rhythms disappeared. You didn’t even realize how many rhythms you had until something came along and disrupted every one of them.
In some ways, that is what these last five weeks have been like for our family.
Shar hasn’t been home since this started. She hasn’t slept in our house in over a month. And I’ve developed these strange little rhythms with the boys depending on whether I’m sleeping at the hospital, spending most of the day there, or trying to be home. Sometimes that has meant stopping by their schools just so I can see Ezekiel or Emilio for a few minutes because I may not see them that morning or that night. Sometimes it has meant trying to be present for one of their activities. Sometimes it’s just finding whatever small window exists to remind them that Dad is still here.
It’s crazy. It’s wild. At times it has honestly felt a little like living in the Twilight Zone.
And none of this would have been possible without the unbelievable number of people who have stepped into the gaps for us.
There are honestly too many people to name.
People have taken care of our boys, driven them to school and activities, visited us at the hospital, sat with us, prayed with us, brought meals, sent gift cards, given financially to help us prepare for everything we’re going to need, and done countless things we probably don’t even know about.
My mom has been here helping throughout all of this, and tomorrow she flies home with my niece. Shar’s aunt has spent countless hours helping at the hospital. Family, friends, our church, and people from all different parts of our lives have surrounded us in ways I don’t think we will ever fully be able to repay.
But most importantly, so many of you have prayed.
You have interceded for our daughter when we couldn’t find the words ourselves. You prayed when she was crashing. You prayed for her kidneys. You prayed for her brain. You prayed for her lungs. You prayed for her to wake up, to recognize us, to speak, to swallow, to walk, to eat, to heal.
And tomorrow she is coming home.
It is overwhelming to even think about.
Our prayer is that God would bless each of you for the ways you have interceded for us, served us, carried us, and loved our family through this.
And now, tomorrow, all of these strange rhythms change again.
Shar comes home. Eliana comes home. The boys get their mom and their sister back. The people who have so graciously filled the gaps begin returning to their own rhythms. And Shar and I begin figuring out how to lead this family in whatever this next season looks like.
I’m very aware that I don’t know exactly what that looks like.
Maybe that’s a known unknown.
We know change is coming. We just don’t know yet what living inside that change will require of us.
So while tomorrow is overwhelmingly a day of praise, there are still plenty of things we would love for you to pray for.
Pray for Shar and me as we learn how to lead our family into this new normal. Pray for our boys as all of us adjust again. Pray for wisdom, patience, endurance, sleep, and grace for one another.
And most of all, please keep praying for Eliana.
Pray that every therapy bears fruit. Pray for her brain, her kidneys, her pancreas, her voice, her swallowing, her strength, her memory, her emotions, and every part of her body that is still healing.
Pray that she continues to heal fully and continues to surpass expectations and limitations.
We don’t feel limited by today’s prognosis. We don’t feel limited by what physically or physiologically should happen from here. We have watched our God overcome too much already to suddenly decide that because Eliana is leaving the hospital, He stops—or that He is somehow operating according to our timetable.
So we’re going to keep asking.
We’re going to keep asking Him for complete healing.
We’re going to keep asking Him to restore what was injured, strengthen what is weak, and continue doing in our daughter what only He can do.
There is so much healing that still needs to happen.
But my God, look at how much healing has already happened.
We know the days ahead aren’t necessarily going to be easy.
But tomorrow, we get to begin them together.
This is a miracle.
She’s a miracle.
She’s amazing.
And most importantly, Jesus is amazing.
So tomorrow, if you want to come by between 5:00 and 7:00 p.m., come love on our girl from your car. Wave at her. Make her laugh. Let her see some of the faces of the people who have carried her and our family in prayer for almost five weeks.
We can’t give you the hugs yet.
Believe me, we wish we could.
But tomorrow you can watch her sitting in her own driveway.
At her own house.
Home.
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