Learning to Live Again

Amy took a moment, and allowed herself the luxury of a sob in the shower.

Her body shook, writhing with pain. She sat on the wet tiles, warm water cascading over her head. Her arms hugged her knees. She rocked - back and forth, back and forth - until a sense of calm permeated the indescribable anguish that coursed through her soul.

She raised her face to the waterfall, washing away tears. She sat. For a moment.

‘Ok, I’m done here, back at it!’ she mustered her fragile body and her frayed wits. ‘Something will happen, something will. Something will happen…’

Distracted being her usual state now, she threw clothes onto her half dry body and hurried out of the bathroom, again forgetting to moisturise, and regretting the oversight as soon as she felt the skin tighten and burn on her cheeks. Go back for face cream….?

“Mommmyyyyyy!”

No, guess not. Tears pricked her eyelids again. What a nightmare. Nausea ripped through her gut, the hopelessness and desperateness and shock leaving her legs like jelly. But she was getting used to this now, knowing how to push through, focus on what needed to be done, doing that, no thought, just keep hands and feet moving, no stopping…

She called out, “Hey hon, I’m coming, I needed a shower so bad! Feels good to be all clean, are you guys ready to take a bath? Bubble bath tonight?”

Three children all presented different opinions from various locations of their cosy open plan home. Little Mags exclaimed in excitement from the kitchen, mid-teen Mana remained curled on the couch with her chemistry notes, and Toby unfolded his long 8 year old limbs from Dad’s lap reluctantly.

Amy gasped, “Oh my God Toby, WHY are you sitting with your Daddy? You know what the doctor said! No weight on his legs! Honey, please!”

Fury was good. Fury was a mask. Fury Amy liked. Fury allowed the flying of hair and tantrums and venting. The absence of fury gave way to compassion and pain, and that was simply too much to be dealt with.

Mags stood on a chair watching the rice boil. She wore an apron and wielded a wooden spoon and an imposing authoritarian air. Five years old and Mom’s right-hand cook, Maggie’s eyes had become hooded and troubled with a shadow of sadness over the past weeks. Amy felt a stab through her heart as she noticed it again.

“Toby, for your Dad’s sake, please do NOT sit in his lap.”

“I’m sorry Love, it was my fault… I needed a cuddle,” said Tyler from his new-and-shiny wheelchair.

“Mom,” piped up Mana from the sofa, “the lawyer’s secretary called while you were in the shower. He will call back tomorrow and he asked if you and Dad could check the incident statement that he emailed to you.”

“Thanks Baby. Now, please go and run the bath for you all. I will call you for dinner.” Amy squeezed Mana’s arm and lifted her daughter’s hand to her lips for a moment.

Six weeks ago we were a normal family. How did this happen. Why. Amy did not have the energy to muster a question, but the refrain of ‘WHY’ screamed through her head without stopping.

Somehow she had managed to stay away from eye contact with her husband, but since his discharge from hospital and the necessity of a private nurse living in, she was finding it more and more difficult to avoid facing the facts.

Six weeks of blurred nightmare since their entire existence had spun upside down; six weeks of mad rushing to hospital for visits, specialist consultations, police reports, school functions, homework and uniforms, reporters and lawyers, concerned family and friends. His work, her work; housework and laundry. Car wreckers and sales calls pitching compensation, drama chasers and unhelpful friends, pizza take-out on speed dial. Bills, bills and more bills. Skip and Duster hadn't been walked for days: without Tyler, both dogs mourned.

Keep moving keep moving…. Distraction disguised distress.

Amy checked Tyler’s water bottle, tucking a refil next to him. She herded Mana, Toby and Mags off to bath, popped a roast in the oven - quick, simple, perfect - and flipped open her phone to play the voice messages. These she put on speaker while loading the washing machine, setting the table and taking notes. Tyler had been up too long. Night duty started in twenty minutes - his medicines could wait for the nurse to administer. Maybe she should get him back in bed now…?

“Come Love, time to lie down,” she said as she passed the kitchen island into the cosy lounge.

Amy unlocked the brakes and gently wheeled him into his old ground floor office-now-bedroom. Between them and the helpful equipment supplied by a hospice Tyler settled, used to the routine. He tired quickly, and the medications made him drowsy.

Six weeks ago he was a tall, strong, handsome, vibrant man.

Amy bustled the wheelchair aside and left quickly. Her face spasmed with anxiety, pain, stress, grief.

The nurse knocked - she was new, being only Tyler’s second day home. She introduced herself as Tamithah and put herself to work immediately. Amy issued instructions, directions and orientation with arms pointing like windmills while she checked dinner, hung up washing and then flew to the bathroom to check on the kids.

Keep moving…

Dinner. Small-talk. Banter. Catch up with class and social gossip. Amy knew she would remember not a word of anything that was said, but she made a hero’s effort to be present, to make each of her precious children feel seen and heard during this time.

Homework done. Kitchen tidy. Bags packed for tomorrow. Kids in bed with cuddles that this creeping numbness did not allow her to feel, kisses on foreheads, duvets tucked under chins. Work administration completed, the dining table littered with documents from both Amy’s and Tyler’s businesses, doctors’ reports, the email print-outs from the lawyer’s secretary, permission slips from the school, the post from the last few days that Amy had not got around to addressing yet. And bills. A mountain.

Keep moving….

Amy must have dosed. She jerked awake, her face smooshed against a pile of papers, three post-it notes stuck to her neck and chest. Heart pounding, she whipped around to face whatever had awoken her.

The house was quiet, dark. The lights were all off except for the warm glow of a lamp. Tamithah walked up to her quietly, and wrapped a blanket around Amy’s shoulders.

“Come,” Tamithah said, smiling.

Groggy with exhaustion, Amy automatically offered her hand to take Tamithah’s and was led outside to the porch.

Tyler was sitting by the table in his wheelchair. A candle lit, flowers in a coffee tin and a fresh table cloth set a beautiful scene. Serene. Tyler was gazing out over the garden and pool, and turned towards Amy as she approached.

He gestured to the chair and Tamithah pulled it out for her.

“A glass of Merlot?” asked Tyler. Was that a giggle in his voice?

“I would love that,” Amy replied, and she poured him a small glass, and herself a very big glass. “Can you hold yours ok?”

“I will in a moment. I have something to say first.”

They both paused, Amy sipped, and then they caught each other’s eyes. And held.

Tyler spoke, slowly. “I would like a date with this incredible woman who has been keeping us all together while we all fell apart. So I would like to introduce myself….” He breathed deep, paused.

“I am Tyler Mason, a recently paralysed paraplegic with a brain injury. You see, a bridge collapsed on my car, and it’s a miracle I’m alive. I don't know if I will ever walk again. But I am resolved to heal and I will not stop working at getting better. This is my life now. This is the new me.”

He leaned forward and took her hand, holding it tenderly. “But this life doesn't need to be yours too. Will you take some time to think about yourself, and what you want, and whatever you decide I will support you 1000%. The woman you are is pure dynamite, and I want the very best for you. Do you understand?”

She took his hand in both of hers, gazed up at the dark sky, nodded slowly.

“You’re right. This is who WE are now. You were our rock. But now - we make a new plan….”

“A…. co-rock-ship?” Tyler began to giggle.

And then they were laughing. Amy and Tyler, collapsed on the table, tears pouring down their cheeks crying with laughter. Like old times.

They drank Merlot (Amy took care of the lion’s share) under the velvet blanket of the night. And on this first date for the rest of their lives, they dreamed different dreams and painted a different future than the one they had planned before.

And the new plans were no less sweeter, because they were still in it together.