Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 149510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 748(@200wpm)___ 598(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 748(@200wpm)___ 598(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Dean Kandinsky.
Even Officer Walters from the Dickson Campus Police.
So many people and so much money and I don’t even know how to feel about it.
When Wren sees that I’m crying, she stops painting my nails and climbs into bed beside me.
“I love you, Scottie,” she whispers as she gently runs her fingers through my hair. “And I know this is all really hard for you. You’re used to being independent. You’re used to being the one who is helping other people, not the other way around.”
“I’m such a fucking burden now. On everyone.”
“But don’t you see?” she retorts and leans back to meet my eyes. “You’re not a burden, Scottie. You’re important. You’re special. You’re loved. And everyone who is trying to help you is doing it because they love you. Because they care about you.”
I shake my head. “But—”
“There are no buts.” She cuts me off. “These are facts. This is truth. This is love. And the sooner you learn to accept that, the sooner you’re going to be able to find closure with what you’ve lost and be able to move on to a future that, while it may not be what you pictured, can still be a future that is just as bright, just as beautiful, just as fulfilling. There are a ton of people here, right on this floor, you could help, you know? Other people struggling. Maybe helping them like you used to at the hospital at home will help you too. You have lots of gifts left to give. I promise.”
Her words slice through my chest and open up a dam of emotion I didn’t even realize was there. My entire being feels like it’s at war—my heart and my head—trying to understand how I should feel and what I should feel.
I cry into Wren’s arms until I’m numb from emotion.
I cry until I can’t cry anymore.
I cry until I fall asleep.
But for the first time since I got hurt, they’re not just tears of anguish—they’re tears of possibility.
Sunday May 11th
Scottie
“Your vitals look good, Scottie,” Kimmie, one of my nurses, updates as she removes the blood pressure cuff from my arm. “Do you need anything?”
I shake my head. “I’m good, Kimmie.”
“Promise me you’ll eat a little dinner?” she asks and promptly puts my dinner tray in front of where I’m currently sitting at the little table by the window. “I’m leaving my shift a little early this evening, so Amanda is going to be the one taking over for me. And you and I both know that girl is too nice to press you like I do.”
“Oh, trust me,” I say through a laugh. “I know.”
Kimmie grins and writes Amanda’s number on the whiteboard below my television. “Call her if anything comes up before she does her final check tonight, okay?”
“I will,” I say, good-naturedly exasperated. “I know the drill.”
“You know, when you leave this place, you’re going to miss me.” She winks, and I don’t argue. I know if there’s one nurse I’ll miss when I finally get discharged from here, it’s Kimmie.
She’s a ballbuster, to say the least, but she’s exactly what a girl like me needs. She doesn’t take any of my shit, doesn’t sugarcoat anything, doesn’t step in unless I specifically ask for help, and for that, I’m always thankful.
Kimmie knows how to make her patients feel independent, which is something I took for granted until I was faced with paraplegia.
It’s amazing how much your perspective changes when something like this happens to you. Things that seemed like big things—gossip on campus, backstabbing friends, boyfriends, dating—feel trivial when you’re faced with my reality.
Autonomy is at the core of everything.
“I’m off tomorrow, but I’ll see you Tuesday.” She grabs her clipboard and the little cart that has the blood pressure machine and other things to take my vitals. “Now, wish me luck. It’s Mother’s Day, and I best be walking home to flowers and gifts and dinner on the table. Otherwise, my husband is going to be in the doghouse.”
“Happy Mother’s Day, Kimmie.” I smile.
I had no idea it was Mother’s Day, but that shouldn’t be a surprise. For most of my life, it’s been a day I avoided. A day I tried to forget. I can remember being in elementary school and teachers having us make our moms little gifts. It was painful making a Happy Mother’s Day card knowing full well I’d never actually give it to my mom because, at that point, my dad had fought for full custody of Wren and me in order to keep our mother’s constant toxicity and reckless behavior out of our lives.
But seeing people like Kimmie and Georgia Brooks fill the role so well makes me think maybe I should pay more attention. Not for my mom, but for the real moms. The ones who mother everyone, not just their kids, with love and intention.