W's Recovery
W. visited me at work several times after he got back from the Hospital. That was always awkward. We always drew too much attention for my comfort. My canteen would fill with people and it never stopped him from pleading for me to come back. Then one day he asked me to go to counseling with him. I agreed to that. I thought if I told the counselor my side, he would be able to make W. see that it was really over and give W. the help he needed. W. sat there and listened to everything I told his counselor and he couldn't argue with any of it. But, he still thought I would change my mind if I just listened long enough to him. The counselor listened to us for awhile and then he told me I could leave. I don't know what he said to W. after that, but W. never came back to my workplace again.
When W. was first released from the hospital, it was B.G. and G.G. who took him in. They still weren't speaking to me and took his side. B.G. was having her own medical problems and facing surgery. But, they offered their home to him till he was out of the cast. It meant their boys had to share a room so W. could have a bedroom. (They walked a mile in my moccasins.) He was demanding and selfish and the worst kind of houseguest. Even though B.G. was pretty sick herself, he expected her to wait on him hand and foot. He ordered their sons around and kept the house in turmoil. He insisted they buy the foods and brand of foods he liked and fix them the way I (and his Mother) always had. And he never offered a dime to help pay for any of it. As soon as they could, they put him out. And B.G. phoned me to apologise for not giving me a chance to explain myself. She told me, she and G.G. were amazed I'd stayed with him so long. It was almost funny. The things that drove them crazy weren't even the reasons I'd left him. I had long accepted that his Mother had spoiled him and grown used to his ways. He always had to have certain things his way, and when I was in love, I wanted to do it. We did agree on one of his habits that we both hated. He smoked Swisher Sweets. They have a plastic tip. If he missed the trash with the wrapper, I picked it up off the floor. Ashes were the same, he didn't always hit the ashtray. Our carpet had scorch marks and I was always cleaning up ashes. That was more then B.G. could deal with. We talked a long time when she phoned me and when she hung up, we were friends again.
But when they sent W. out on his own, he turned his mind games on TK. By the time our son had turned 12, W. had convinced him that he had a responsibility to his Father. What if Dad fell in the shower, or anywhere else. He was all alone. He could die before anyone found him. So I lost TK too. He went back to his Father and the young boy took over the care of the parent.
And once again my heart was broken. Yet, it wasn't as bad this time. JT had moved 80 miles away. TK wasn't even half way across our small town. I saw him often. We even set up a regular meeting each week when I took him out to eat. Just the two of us. Well, except when he wanted a friend to join us. That was ok too, I met his friends and kept up with what they were doing. (At least what a boy wants Mom to know.) I was so proud of my son. Worried and so very upset about the situation, but I was proud of him for the maturity he showed in caring for his crippled Father.
I don't know how long W. was off work. I do know the factory sent him to school while he couldn't work. Tool and Die. By the time he was able to work again, he was able to work for a lot more money. (Karma?) His arm was terribly scarred and weakened, but he was a very lucky man. He had also convinced himself it had all been an accident. (What do you think?) I discovered just how much he believed it almost a year later, when a co-worker talked to me. She didn't know the story, just that she thought we were already divorced. (Not. I still had his last name.) This co-worker told me that W. had given a speech on gun safety and showed his arm as evidence of what a careless moment could cause. This was done at a safety session for deer hunters applying for their first hunting license. I sat there with my mouth hanging open while she went on and on about what a "hero" W. was to share such a terrible accident with them in the name of gun safety.
(OK, something good came of it. That's all I'm going to say.)
Please Read TK's comment below.
When W. was first released from the hospital, it was B.G. and G.G. who took him in. They still weren't speaking to me and took his side. B.G. was having her own medical problems and facing surgery. But, they offered their home to him till he was out of the cast. It meant their boys had to share a room so W. could have a bedroom. (They walked a mile in my moccasins.) He was demanding and selfish and the worst kind of houseguest. Even though B.G. was pretty sick herself, he expected her to wait on him hand and foot. He ordered their sons around and kept the house in turmoil. He insisted they buy the foods and brand of foods he liked and fix them the way I (and his Mother) always had. And he never offered a dime to help pay for any of it. As soon as they could, they put him out. And B.G. phoned me to apologise for not giving me a chance to explain myself. She told me, she and G.G. were amazed I'd stayed with him so long. It was almost funny. The things that drove them crazy weren't even the reasons I'd left him. I had long accepted that his Mother had spoiled him and grown used to his ways. He always had to have certain things his way, and when I was in love, I wanted to do it. We did agree on one of his habits that we both hated. He smoked Swisher Sweets. They have a plastic tip. If he missed the trash with the wrapper, I picked it up off the floor. Ashes were the same, he didn't always hit the ashtray. Our carpet had scorch marks and I was always cleaning up ashes. That was more then B.G. could deal with. We talked a long time when she phoned me and when she hung up, we were friends again.
But when they sent W. out on his own, he turned his mind games on TK. By the time our son had turned 12, W. had convinced him that he had a responsibility to his Father. What if Dad fell in the shower, or anywhere else. He was all alone. He could die before anyone found him. So I lost TK too. He went back to his Father and the young boy took over the care of the parent.
And once again my heart was broken. Yet, it wasn't as bad this time. JT had moved 80 miles away. TK wasn't even half way across our small town. I saw him often. We even set up a regular meeting each week when I took him out to eat. Just the two of us. Well, except when he wanted a friend to join us. That was ok too, I met his friends and kept up with what they were doing. (At least what a boy wants Mom to know.) I was so proud of my son. Worried and so very upset about the situation, but I was proud of him for the maturity he showed in caring for his crippled Father.
I don't know how long W. was off work. I do know the factory sent him to school while he couldn't work. Tool and Die. By the time he was able to work again, he was able to work for a lot more money. (Karma?) His arm was terribly scarred and weakened, but he was a very lucky man. He had also convinced himself it had all been an accident. (What do you think?) I discovered just how much he believed it almost a year later, when a co-worker talked to me. She didn't know the story, just that she thought we were already divorced. (Not. I still had his last name.) This co-worker told me that W. had given a speech on gun safety and showed his arm as evidence of what a careless moment could cause. This was done at a safety session for deer hunters applying for their first hunting license. I sat there with my mouth hanging open while she went on and on about what a "hero" W. was to share such a terrible accident with them in the name of gun safety.
(OK, something good came of it. That's all I'm going to say.)
Please Read TK's comment below.
posted by LeeAnn | 3:25 PM
2 Comments:
Extent of Damage (physical):
Most of the damage wasn't actually done by the bullet, though it did it's fair share. The majority of the damage was done by the powder at point blank range.
The bullet itself shattered the bone in his upper arm.
The powder blast took out his bicep (yes removed the whole muscle), Which was later replaced with one of the muscles that help you cough, from his back (they left the nerves attached to it, so whenever he coughs, his left arm jumps around).
The main nerve that controls the hand was snapped, and needed to be replaced with one from his leg.
A spot on his ribs a little larger than his hand was stripped from his ribs, exposing part of his left pectoral muscle, ribs, and surrounding tissues.
They took four skin graphs from each of his legs.
If I remember correctly, he went through two years of physical therapy after he was released from the hospital, and he only has 35% use of his left arm as a result.
Emotional damage to those of us who had to go through this with him: Indescribable.
His physical abuse stopped for about a year or after I moved in with him, but it eventually started up again. When I was fourteen, I fought back, and ended the physical abuse with a kick to the groin and a death threat, which he used to increase the mental and emotional abuse. For a long time, I believed I was worthless, and dumb.
I'm not sure how much Mom knew about this, so I'm writing this to fill in any blanks for her as well as anyone else reading this.
I know that if it wasn't for her support, encouragement, and .... logic, I wouldn't be half the man I am today, because I'd never have been able to believe in myself if it weren't for her.
Thank you mom.
I love you more than I can explain,
and owe more to you than I can ever repay.
TK
My reply to TK is private. Needless to say, I'm so proud of him.
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