90 Minutes in Heaven_ A True Story of Death & Life - Don Piper [51]
I was fascinated by the metal contraptions that surrounded his left arm and leg, but I knew they caused him immense pain. He looked so worn out as if he had just woken up, or maybe could never quite fall asleep. Sometimes I got the impression he didn’t want me or anyone else in the room. Even as little as I understood about depression, I knew he was suffering from it.
The first thing I did each time I visited him was to approach slowly and put my arms around him. I hugged him gently. For the first time in my life, he seemed fragile. Even when he returned home from the hospital, I continued the same routine—come home from school and hug Dad. It was as much to reassure me as it was to comfort him. I hope it served both purposes.
As my brother, Joe, and I grew older, and Dad’s recovery continued, we became more interested in sports and the outdoors. Dad would do his best to join us. I remember feeling terrible when I threw the football too far for Dad’s reach. He’d stumble and sometimes he’d fall. I choked back tears on a number of occasions. I’m sure he did the same. But from an emotional standpoint, Dad was always there for me. He is vitally interested in what his kids do. After all, I suppose we make his return from Paradise worthwhile in some regard.
The family grew closer as a result of Dad’s accident. We all took different roles out of sheer necessity. Mom became the decision maker and disciplinarian during Dad’s recovery. I tried my best to be the man of the house. Sometimes I was really just a bully, but I grew out of it. I learned to lean on the others as they leaned on me. Nicole mothered Joe and me as best she could.
Dad suffered from depression for years after the accident—still does to some extent. Maybe he struggled with it before the accident, but if he did, I never noticed. Dad is fiercely independent and seldom lets his family into his darkest corners. I guess I’m the same way.
Here is Eva’s response to how her perception of me has changed:
I was most surprised by Don’s lack of determination during the initial days following the wreck. He had always been a fighter, one who was constantly pushing himself and others to do more. When he wouldn’t try to breathe it was almost as if I didn’t know him. The depression had also been a new aspect. I learned to recognize the sign of a “bad time” approaching. It is harder when the pain is worse; he doesn’t sleep and the stress builds.
Through the years I’ve learned that if I leave Don alone he eventually returns to a more even keel. When I wanted to tell him something he really needed to hear but didn’t want to know, I had to bite my tongue—and on a few occasions I didn’t succeed.
Today, I don’t think of him as injured, even though I know he is and always will be. Don goes at such a pace that it is easy for me to forget his pain and handicaps. My husband is truly a remarkable person.
My kids were probably more confident about my recovery than I was. They never saw me receiving therapy, agonizing, or throwing up because I’d gotten so sick, or seen me when I tried to stand up too fast. As much as possible, we tried to insulate them. Eva saw me at my worst, but she protected the children as much as possible.
Although they don’t admit it, there probably is a “Dad gap” for my children, especially the twins. Because they were eight years old, they missed my being there for an important developmental time to help them learn to do things such as play team sports and go camping.
Looking back, I think the accident affected my parents more permanently than anybody. In fact, they were devastated. I’m the oldest of three sons, and all of us had been healthy. Then, suddenly, when I reached the age of thirty-eight, they were heartbroken and felt helpless to do anything for me. For a long time, they thought I would probably die.
My dad had been a career military man, and my