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Until now.
There, in the hospital, I made a promise to myself that I would become the man I needed to be. The one I’d shoved away for years. I’d focus on my own growth, behind the scenes, with an emphasis to recognize, receive, study, and understand my emotions as well as theirs.
I began that day with a request for coffee with the on-call psychologist while Nate was undergoing one of his many examinations. What was supposed to be a simple request for information turned into three separate hour-long visits.
Dr. Daniels—that was her name—spoke in depth about PTSD, a condition I’d once rolled my eyes at and considered a bullshit medical term designed for no other reason than to drain more money from veterans’ pockets. Now, I listened with open ears and an open heart.
From our conversation, I learned that Nate would likely experience several confusing emotions, such as survivor’s guilt, maybe even feelings of empathy toward Black Cell, and ongoing anxiety while his body adjusted to no longer being in constant fight or flight.
Then we spoke of Sophia and all the ways her trauma could manifest. During that conversation, it felt like someone ripped my heart from my body and shredded it into a million pieces.
I vowed to be her safe place, her anchor, her shoulder to cry on, until death do us part.
Just like that, I had a purpose. I was ready.
I could do this.
Iwoulddo this.
I would be what they needed.
“How are you doing?” I asked Nate, still not believing I was staring down at my brother. The kid brother I’d grown up next to, laughed with, cried with, fought with, stood behind, took punches for. The one I trusted and loved with my whole heart.
“Ready for these IVs to be out,” he grumbled.
The old me would have removed them for him, right then and there.
Instead, I said, “I know. Give it some more time. Your body needs the vitamins and electrolytes. We’ll be out of here soon.”
“Mom’s dead, isn’t she?”
I blinked at the abrupt change in subject. He’d asked for Mom on the flight to New York. I’d pretended I didn’t hear him and quickly changed the subject.
Steeling myself, I took a quick inhale. “Yes.”
“How?”
“Heart failure.”
“Were you there?”
“No.”
He looked away.
Tears welled in my eyes, completely uncontrollable. I looked away, quickly wiping them away with the back of my hand.
When I turned back, Nate was watching me.
“I failed her,” I said. “Just like I failed you. Ah,screw it.” I clutched his hand in mine, giving in to the inner turmoil. “I’m sorry, brother. I’m so sorry. I’m so—”
“Justin, stop. You literally saved my life. It’s the opposite of failure.”
I couldn’t look him in the eyes.
Squeezing my hand, he continued. His hand felt so damn good in mine. “You know, there were people, in and out, held captive with me. There was a woman once. Older. She’d been taken in retaliation for her son’s disobedience—he was killed. When she died, I remember feeling such relief that she’d been released from it all. Do you know what I mean?”
Understanding, I nodded. While it didn’t fix things or make it right, it lessened the sting to know that my mother was no longer suffering.
