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I look up at him and his eyes drift closed. My voice is weak when I whisper, “I’m sorry.”
A soft sigh escaping his parted lips. “Someday it won’t hurt so much.”
He’s right. Someday it won’t. That’s what working through your shitty shit gets you. Someday you’re going to be okay. Someday wounds will slowly heal and the sting isn’t quite as harsh.
67
GRAYSON
9 MONTHS LATER
We all make stupid mistakes from time to time. I’m the king of them so don’t you dare think you can take my title. It’s mine.
But I’m learning. Slowly.
Most therapists will tell you that the power to change your situation is all on you. They’re right. It is. It’s not up to a girlfriend, a wife, a mom, dad… it’s on you. And most of the time spent in therapy is getting to the point you understand that and don’t fear change.
But how do you forget?
It isn’t easy.
I see a therapist once a week. He’s fucking crazy if you ask me, but he’s a war veteran and through his talks, I have less anxiety than I did before.
When tragedy happens, most people ask the same question.
Why me?
Who am I after this?
Very different people, that’s for sure.
And then some questions linger longer. What is the meaning of this? Why is there so much pain? Why am I afraid? Why can’t I let go?
It’s similar to the stages of grief. Because really, you are grieving. Your life will never be what it was.
When the relief doesn’t happen right away, you turn to other distractions. Drinking, drugs, sex, you name it. The problem is, it’s a distraction. Nothing more. A fraction in time where you feel better and you can escape.
I didn’t want our life to turn into a distraction. I wanted to move on, and so I did.
And then I broke. I fucking broke into a million tiny pieces right before her eyes that night of my sister’s wedding and that was our turning point. We didn’t get there until we had nothing left but to heal. You can only fight the stages for so long before you have to just let them go and move with it.
I changed for me, but also Evie. She deserved better than the way I had been treating her those first few months after I was released from the hospital.
And then I think about Matt and what he went through. I couldn’t save him, but as I soon discovered, maybe it wasn’t my place to save him. Maybe him dying saved me, so I could, in turn, find my way back to Evie.
All I know is miracles, life, all of it works in mysterious ways and I don’t think we’re meant to know why. Just that it happens.
I will say this, we’re stronger now than we’ve ever been. We’ve been through hell and back and came out the other side.
Today is the one-year mark from that day. Exactly. As I wake up that morning, I remain in bed longer than I usually do. I think about Shane. It’s not the first time he’s crossed my mind, but I make a conscious effort not to think about him.
The other five guys who were there had been charged with attempted murder and assault. Shane, adding rape to his sentence, is set to serve twenty years in prison. The others, ten.
It’s nowhere near enough in my eyes, but at least they are held accountable for what they did. Twenty years is a fucking slap in the face for what they did to us. If I ever see any of themagain, I can’t guarantee I won’t kill them, just saying. It’d be worth jail. Probably.
Dragging myself from inflatable mattress on the floor, I head downstairs to the kitchen for some coffee. I’m finally able to work, and drive. I wouldn’t say I’m a hundred percent again, but I’m certainly better than before. My hearing in my left ear is at about 50 percent now. My vision still hasn’t improved in my injured eye, but I can finally stand up without seeing stars, so I’d say blurry vision is the least of my worries. I still get blinding headaches that come out of nowhere, but I’m off the seizure and blood pressure medications.
My moods? They could use some work but unfortunately this will be something I might struggle with for a while. It’s getting better. I think. I get called an asshole a lot less if that tells you anything.