JUST Us, Still Pt.2

Besides my country, the only thing I had more love and would die for in this insane world for was my lovely crazy wife Karen and our beautiful teenage daughter Dianne. We had named Dianne after my sister Diana, who had committed suicide as a teenager herself. Before leaving for Iraq, we never spoke about mental health issues and their seeming hold on the immediate family. Life was life, and that was that. I and my Dad Had both been proud American soldiers. Military men trained. Bred to be Brave and Born to defend the Honor of the Great U.S.A., by all means. Pops had even been decorated and commended for his 27 plus years of dedication. He was a retired Master of Arms. When Diana suddenly took her life alcohol and depression quickly claimed their immunity.

Dianne was my heart and soul. She meant everything. The driving reason I agreed to live in St. Louis. Even though Dianna was young, she was very mature. Physically and mentally. Only a 10th grader, she'd already committed to pursuing a career in medicine. I and Karen were even more excited about D's scholarship to S.L.U. then our kid was. Karen was a surprisingly strong woman. At 5/2 she could rumble with the best of them, I knew personally because we had our wrestling matches over the years. When I was away, I didn't worry any she couldn't hold it together in my absence. Us having Dianne only a few years older than she is now, the only class lessons we needed were in parenthood. We were pretty responsible in our concerns to provide and have a family. We ended up in a nice house, a great city and the future was bright for the Granderly Clan. As my dad got drunker, I got more and more into my obsessions. One of my passions was in Artillery. Guns, Assault rifles, you name it, I had it! Or was planning to get it. I had been A proud and participating member of the N.R.A.A. for some time. So, I had all safety requirements and concerns in my back pocket, So I thought.

I was always overly concerned by my husband's interest in having so many guns. Really, who needs all these weapons? What was going on in this man's head? With all the guns and ammunition, he owned you would think he was expecting WW4 on the front lawn. I'd knew he was an Army brat, but this was getting ridiculous. Our neighbors showed sincere respect and appreciation for his military service. All except one family of Afro-American Nationality who had recently moved in the neighborhood. It was rumored my husband was expected to be a racist, because of his strong traditional U.S.A. pride. The fact he was a Trump supporter and always represented his political stance I'm sure had a play in the misjudgment. As the block unit committee chairwoman, it was my job to welcome the new members of our mostly white community of Clayton. My only concern this afternoon was letting the Johnsons know them being a part of the community was delightful, and to assure that Dan nor I have a racist bone in our bodies. I thought a nice batch of fresh-baked chocolate chip Oreo cookies would be a tasty icebreaker, so I prepared the kitchen, placed out all the ingredients I'd need, and turned on the oven.

It was 7 AM, Dan was collecting the morning paper, and I was plotting out my events for today. I could hear Dianne's normal racket in the bathroom. Her rituals before school reminded me of my teenage school days. I'd frantically get ready for school looking for the perfect outfit to impress that perfect boy. I imagine my daughter is a feather of the same flock. I should probably have a moment with her. She's WAY too mature and pretty to not have the TEAM football captain wanting to run a play on her. She had grown UP so beautifully fast. The time for that talk had to come. Just not today. Not now, I had to prepare myself for that one.

Through the kitchen window, I could see Dan talking to himself while he smacked the morning's delivery in and out of hand. As Dianne raced down the stairs, a later Ma, love you, running late! was all of the verbal jibbers I could manage to decipher as she flew by with half a donut stick in her mouth.

Not another step Lil girl! We have a problem to discuss! Not on my watch. HOODRAT, SLUT! I could barely conclude what was going on. My husband and daughter were in a heated discussion. I knew A level head was needed in this midst of confrontation. So, I calmly left my comfort zone and proceeded to try and be a peacemaker. When I interrupted the father and daughter feud, the next verbal outburst was a wrenching, I Hate You! before our child ran back upstairs and slammed what I expected to be her bedroom door. Dan was usually meticulous and calm when chastising Dianne. But whatever this had been about put him on Ten. I didn't appreciate things I heard so, I gathered Dan and tried to defuse the situation.

When I was a little girl, I would always express my wishes and dreams to my dad. I had an odd request as a little girl for a pet bird. But not just any bird. I specifically had a desire for a magical all-white Barn Owl. The idea was born from a childhood story dad would read to me at night. Of course, I never got my pet Owl, but I always held the memory of dad and the stories of the magical Owl I loved.

We had no idea our baby girl was feeling in Love and proclaiming to be dating. Before I could get my next approach to this conflict in order, Dan heard a noise coming from his Den. Immediately concern came across his face because he knew that door was locked, all his guns were partly kept in his man cave. As Dan and I climbed the stairs, we were met by Dianne gripping the loaded.45 pistol left unattended and irresponsibly on the bookshelf. Both frozen in disbelief and fear I couldn't understand what was occurring. Suddenly Dan reached for the gun in his baby girl's grasp. Violently she squirmed and resisted his attempt to disarm her. The next sound of reaction was a loud POW! Everything went dark and a peaceful silence was all I could hold on to.

When I opened my eyes, I was confused but for some reason thankful for the bright lights about the room. I could see Dan sitting in a chair comfortably next to me, and doctors and nurses walking in and out of the room I was propped up in. "Good evening, Karen, how are you feeling?" My response was groggy, "I don't know."

Come to find out I'd gracefully clung to life from a gruesome, accidental gunshot, by the hands of my flesh and blood.

Nothing could describe the pain and hurt I was feeling while being handcuffed and detained. All I could think of now was my mom. What was I thinking? I wasn't going to do it. I was so stupid to take my dad's gun from the shelf. I only wanted to let him know how much I cared for Jazz. Now I really can't go on living having done this unforgivable act. I wonder what my dad and mother think of me now. This whole situation was too much for Dianne to consume. All Dianne could do as she rode down Park ave. to what she presumed her last stop, was thinking of the last words to her mother, and the last vision she would have of true love...