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I never wanted an autopsy, but Jamie’s parents pleaded with me to the point I couldn’t stand it on top of everything else my mind was going through, that I finally gave in and signed the consent. Just before the funeral, Dan approached me, black eye and all. Though I was in my zoned out state, only half listening and trying to be as numb as possible with the help of Jack Daniels, I remember my brain grabbing onto the wordscerebral hemorrhage. A burst blood vessel had caused sudden and severe bleeding in her brain, and it was the cause of Jamie losing control and crashing her car.
“I just felt so useless, helpless, all of that, watching what was happening…” I trail off as I try to explain my reaction that day.
“It was horrific Ben, I know,” he assures, setting his glass down and clasping his hands together. “But imagine if you had worked on her, tried every measure in your arsenal, and still having your wife die with your hands on her.”
Fuck.
Even though I’ve known, all these years, that there was no chance for Jamie, every one of the million times I’ve thought of that scenario, it always ended up with her surviving. But the reality is there was no way she was going to, no matter what. Dan saved me from the agony of doing CPR on my own wife, breaking her ribs and pumping her full of every drug in my arsenal only to have her still die beneath my hands. He took that one piece of the pain away from me, and yet I still ran from the rest of it. I remind myself that that’s why I’m here; to face it. To prove to Kasey and myself that I can face painful things the way she does - without fucking running.
Kasey
“Are you sure about this?” Tori asks, as she timidly follows me into the salon.
“Yes,” I tell her, as I lead her over to my station. “Definitely.”
“It just doesn’t feel right,” she sighs, gripping the strap of her shoulder bag with both hands. “You’ve already gave me so many of your pretty maternity clothes,”
“Which I haven’t worn in ten years,” I dismiss her protest as I slip my apron on.
“And now you want to do my hair for free. It just feels so wrong to take so much when I can’t give anything back,” she finishes, and I nod, letting out a heavy sigh. I step closer to her and look her in the eye.
“I know that feeling. And until recently, I always felt the same way. I will never be rid of this disease, I’ll always have to work on it, and I’m going to have hard days sometimes. But I’m a long ways from where I once was, and it’s because I had help. The gym I go to? The owner offers the first year’s membership free to anyone who’s in recovery. My brother and mother have helped me with money and with my daughter, and I’ve had a tremendous amount of support from my friends,” I tilt my head in the directions of Lizzie and Katy as they work on their respective clients hair, yammering between themselves. “I always felt how you do about it, and have wanted nothing more than to help someone myself. It would make me happy to do something for you. Would you please let me do your hair in a way that will make you feel so good about yourself that you’ll feel empowered?”
Tori gives me a weak but genuine smile, and finally nods.
“Okay,” she shyly agrees, and I smile back and gesture to my chair where she finally sits. I get lost in the calming effect playing with hair gives me, and by the minute, I see Tori gradually relax and a glow take place of the grey hue around her. She’s feeling better, even if it’s just a little. And I’m helping.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Ben
“I oughtto cut you off for all you’ve put me and your mother through,” my dad grumbles out loud. “If you hadn’t already done that yourself,” he adds sourly.
“I know,” I agree. “I was a coward, and because of it, I caused so much more pain to everyone else I care about. I wasn’t thinking - at all.”
“Damn right you weren’t,” he grunts as he sits at the table, “except maybe about yourself.”
“Don,” my mother interjects.
“Am I wrong, Marline?” he abruptly turns to her.
“He didn’t just lose his wife, Don, there was trauma attached to it. No one knows how they’re going to react to that. The mind is a complex thing that resorts to certain defense mechanisms to protect us from our own feelings. What Ben went through was horrific, and his flight response took over,” my mother, the psych major, tries to reason with him.
“I’m not arguing with what he did,” he defends, as he gestures wildly with his hands. Her eyes on his, she makes a subtle nod in my direction and my father quickly corrects his etiquette and turns to face me. “I’m not arguing what you did. You were in pain and life had given you one hell of a mental beating. You needed time and space to heal and I get that part. But staying gone? For five years? Letting us wonder if you’re ever coming home, and no contact except an occasional lousy email?”
I hang my head. In theory, I may be a grown ass man with a medical degree, but what I did to my family was extremely juvenile, so I’m resigning myself to the fact that I deserve to be talked to like one right now.
“I was scared,” I say weakly.
“Of what?” My father sighs, resting his hands on the table and tilting his head in confusion. Clearly his emotions are all over the place, confusion, frustration and relief being just a few things he’s obviously feeling.
“Living again,” I murmur, and my mother’s face softens with even more compassion. “Living again meant feeling again, and grief was one hell of a monster I was terrified of facing. And no matter how much time went by, I never felt ready.”
“And now?” My mother gently prods.
“I’m still not ready, but I’m going to anyway,” my tone is heavily solemn. Going to see Dan was hard, my parents, even harder. Checking off the rest of these boxes I have on my list of getting to the other side are things I’m not looking forward to, but as the saying goes, the only way out is through.
“And what pulled your head out of your ass?” the bitterness is back in my dad’s tone.
