NecKing

-One of the biggest blocks to healing grief from profound loss is the subconscious belief that we cannot be healed—that we are not worthy of more happiness than we are currently feeling and that we do not contain the elements of healing that will move us forward.-                     (unknown)

As I stirred, I remember thinking, (dreaming?) "I'd better change positions or my head is gonna' be killing me in the morning, I'll have a cramp..."...I drifted back to sleep.  Mercy, now, my head actually hurting is what forced me to try and open my eyes.  As I did, I saw an outline in white and I could hear a somewhat familiar voice saying  "...they think this M-th--F--ker has broke his G-ddamn neck....".  Yes, I recognized that voice, and it made me try to focus on the outline, It was Donna, she was not being angelic.  At the time she was a few weeks away from graduating from Cosmetology school, and they wore white uniforms. I tried to raise my head to see just what the hell was going on, as I did so, a spasm of pain like a powerful electric shock started at the top of the back of my head and coursed down through my neck. It stopped all attempts by me raise up.  To this day, other than the mostly invisible but equally powerful pain that grief has brought to me, I have never felt anything else like that. Being unable to bring myself up, I laid back down and things in the room came into better focus. It was a hospital room...I was in a hospital room...and along with Donna, standing there, next to the bed, was her sister (uuhh, oh), with arms folded across her chest, and the classic "You really did it this time a--hole..." expression on her face, which in no way interfered with her regular look of disdain and animosity which had always been reserved just for me. Today I realize that her particular way of viewing me had not only been earned by me, but was well deserved and a comparatively mild reaction to my behavior during those times, which probably deserved something much stronger than the stare I was currently absorbing.'

Evidently I had taken(?) a fall; That morning I had started out to finish touching up the trim on some dormer windows I was painting. The memory of going up to the roof of the small back porch which gave access to the house roof proper was still very clear. Assembling the necessary materials and the laying of drop cloths was quite vivid. Then I remembered I had sat on a window frame for refreshment, I was practicing* at the time; but after that things get a bit fuzzy. That back porch roof was about 12-15 feet in height,with a fairly steep pitch, and I do recall tying myself off, using the chimney as the anchor and attaching the other end of the rope to my waist. As I worked along the width of that roof I slipped on some paint which I had failed to clean-up right away and I remember dropping everything from my hands and grabbing the safety line. As I fell, face forward on the roof grasping that rope which at some point should have tightened around the chimney and stopped my slide, I remember sliding towards the edge and watching the other end of that rope slipping quickly past me, never reaching the point of getting any tighter and wondering why. The rope at the chimney must have gotten caught on something because for a few seconds, after having slid completely off the roof, I was dangling, upside down, staring at the concrete walkway in back of the house. I was holding my entire weight and in my shape that didn't last long; I knew I was going to meet that concrete, and I remember thinking maybe if I try to swing a bit before I let go, maybe it won't hurt so much...well, I don't know if it hurt or not, the last thing I remember is the letting go of my end of the rope as my hands tired and begin to burn, next, I was looking at that white outline. It seems the homeowner's son had found me laying on that concrete walkway as he came home for lunch from school.

All this came to mind the other day as I thought about Donna and how much I was missing her; about how much she had always done to take care of me.  I thought about why had I been so fortunate to have her in my life, about how during this time she had really taken care of me, despite my being a certain "...this Mo-th--F--ker...", at that particular moment. The last few years leading up to this hospital room had been a challenge for our marriage for a variety or reasons, mostly due to things that I had done, but she remained. This memory reminded me of just how much I have lost and the pain pierces me right to my core. 

A bit later, Donna and her sister were joined by a doctor, I remember him saying something about evidently the ride from the first hospital I had been taken to must have jostled something, and now it appeared that I wasn't paralyzed, but that I had managed to crush or fracture the 4th,5th, and 6th cervical vertebrae, and that surgery would be required. He continued that I was in one of the best spinal units in the country(Northwest Memorial, Chicago) and that my chances for full recovery were good...I went back to sleep. The next time I woke up I was looking into Donna's face, full frame it seemed, but somehow weird...tho still a bit groggy I recognized that face; as my head although hurting like hell, cleared I began to understand what was going on. Lying face down, strapped to a type of bed known as a Stryker, I was seeing her reflection in a mirror.  This was not the newer type beds, this Stryker bed allowed you to be strapped to it and rotated every two hours as i would soon find out. Donna was there, so were our children, her sister and her sister's daughter who was about 6 yrs. old at the time. As Donna told me what had happened, as I didn't remember anything, I was shocked; I had fallen off that roof and nearly broken my neck...had been declared paralyzed by one Emergency Room and then, brought to this hospital; she explained the situation to me and I started to cry. I think I was crying more from embarrassment than anything else; I was laying, strapped to this Da Vinci type contraption dressed in a hospital gown and my ass covered with a diaper, worse I could only move my arms, any attempts at moving my head, produced tremendous lighting bolts down my neck and back. There were thin cables hanging from this bed with weights attached to the ends of them and strung through some type of metal band around my head; it was some type of thing like a gimbal, the balancing points of which were evidently screwed into each side of my head, I know this for a fact because any slight movement of my head produced a eerie crunching sound which only I could feel and hear. I remember the 6 yr. old asking me if those pins hurt because of the way they went all the way thru my head...

As the others went to sit in the waiting room, and Donna and I were alone, she cried, she cried and gave me the litany of my sins, not just about this incident, by my complete body of work to that point in our marriage; I think she took the opportunity because for now, this one time, I could not escape it. I was reminded of my many transgressions and about how all of this was not necessary, about how could I be so selfish and unthinking; about how, if I really loved her could I do this to her...it was a stinging rebuke of a lot of the things I had done to that point. But what I remember about it now is the sheer pain it brought to her face, the pure disappointment it declared on her expression.  As I recalled this entire sequence, I cried, I cried because of the realization of the pain I had caused her at that time, because of how I had failed her in this and appeared to have betrayed the love she had for me. This is one of those memories that had come early in this journey to me, probably because of the gravity of that situation. I had chosen not to deal with it then, in those early days after her death, but I had a feeling it would be coming back; I wrote a buzz word on a post-it and put that post-it on the mouse side of the laptop table; I have been seeing that post-it every day for almost 4 1/2 months, now I have to deal with it. After having learned something about the grieving process now, I realize that I cannot avoid how this makes me feel; I have to feel and ingest it all, now, in the context of attempting to go forward. The pain of personal regrets for me cannot be carried forward, I don't think that pain has a place in a 'new' life for me, the memory will not go away, but the deep pain has to. The thought of having brought so much misery to Donna during that time could not be adequately dealt with so soon after her death, but as I examine it now, I am finding a place for it, a better place...

END of PART ONE

*commonly used by those in recovery circles to denote drinking or other substance use