Page 112 of The Choices I've Made
I signed in, grabbed my visitor badge, and did my best to blend in. Today was not about catching up with the colleagues I’d met during my brief period here.
I only wanted to see Dean.
Taking the elevator up to his floor, I felt trepidation.
Had he meant everything he said to Molly and me? Did we really have his blessing, or was that just something he’d said to ease our conscience?
Stepping out, I navigated down the hall with ease. I always felt at home in a hospital. The twists and turns of the halls reminded me of late-night triumphs and hard lessons learned.
It was a place like this where I’d found myself, where I’d discovered exactly how much I was capable of. And where I’d found a new home.
A quick knock to the door, and I heard his voice say, “Come in.”
The room was quiet, except for the hum of the air conditioner and the occasional nurse or visitor passing by. The room was fairly spacious and exactly as I remembered it. A small bathroom to the left, creating an alcove before the rest of the room. It initially blocked my view of him, and I wasn’t sure what to expect at first.
Would he be happy to see me? Angry?
Would he send me away?
“Jake!” he greeted me the moment he saw my face.
The anxiety I had felt lessened slightly as I stepped up to the bed and met him with a friendly handshake.
With a book in his left hand, and a wide smile spread across his face, he seemed to be in good spirits. It was a far cry from the silent doom and gloom I’d seen the last time I was here.
“You’re looking good, man,” I said, taking a seat in the chair next to him.
“Each day gets a little easier,” he said. “It’s a process.”
“Mind if I look?” I asked, pointing to his arm.
He shrugged, and I took a short walk to the right side of the bed.
“It’s healing up nicely. What’s the plan of attack?” I asked, bending down to look at the wrapped wound.
He’d lost his left arm, just above the elbow.
The debris from the explosion had torn through so clean, I’d known the moment I saw the injury, he’d lose it…if he didn’t lose his life first.
Seeing him sitting here, alive, smiling up at me, was nothing short of a miracle.
“I’ve been in therapy, of course. They’ve got to make sure I’m not going crazy.”
“And are you?”
He laughed, a familiar sound I’d grown up hearing. “Nah. Maybe at first. But the doc said that was normal. He said I was allowed to have a full-blown pity party for myself as long as it didn’t last too long.”
“And now?”
“Now, I’m dealing. That whole one-day-at-a-time thing. It’s kind of a mantra around here. Can’t run before you learn to walk. Can’t walk before you learn to crawl and all that other poetic bullshit. So, for now, I’m healing and figuring out how hoist myself out of this bed and into a wheelchair without falling on my ass. Once I accomplish that, I’ll move on to something else. Maybe, someday, I’ll find myself back in a fishing boat casting a net next to my brothers.”
“You will. Guaranteed.”
He seemed to agree, slowly nodding his head. The deep cuts from the accident that had once marred his face were now a light pink.
Nothing but memories now.
“So, what are you doing all the way up here? Surely, you didn’t make the trip just for me? I mean, I know I’m good-looking and all, but come on, you need to move on.”
