Gabby_ A Story of Courage and Hope - Alison Hanson [131]
Given the stresses in my life the past six months—Gabby’s injury, the mission—Tilman suggested that before we returned to the States we could spend one day relaxing on his boat, which was docked in Monaco. “You could use the break,” he said.
Many people had told me that as a caregiver, I’d need a respite once in a while. I didn’t think it was such a terrible idea to spend a day on Tilman’s boat.
But I soon realized that my whole trip wasn’t sitting well with Gabby. She was mad at me for going, and blamed Tilman as a co-conspirator. I called Gabby the night before her birthday and she hardly spoke to me. She handed the phone to Gloria.
“She’s pissed at you,” Gloria said.
On June 8, Gabby had her usual six-hour regimen of physical, occupational, and speech therapy. A portion of the physical therapy was done in a pool. After that, hospital staffers, her parents, and some friends shared cake and cupcakes. Her staffers phoned in from their offices in Washington, Tucson, and Sierra Vista and sang “Happy Birthday.” When I called her that day, I could feel her cold shoulder through the phone. She accepted my birthday wishes and then she was done with me.
I returned to Houston on Thursday night, June 9, and when I came into Gabby’s room, she wouldn’t talk to me or look at me. Finally, she spoke.
“I am mad at me!” she said.
She wasn’t the type of woman who’d blame herself when it was really the man in her life who’d screwed up. I knew that. “I think you mean you’re mad at me,” I replied.
“Yes,” Gabby snapped, and now the words came perfectly. “Yes, Mark, I am mad at you!”
She didn’t have much else to say to me for the rest of the night. In all our time together, she’d never been that upset with me.
Part of it was that, since the shooting, her emotions often seemed magnified. When she was happy, she was really happy. When she was sad, she could get very sad. But in this case, I knew I was at fault. I shouldn’t have been gone on her birthday. I shouldn’t have taken that one day in Monaco.
I came into Gabby’s room the next morning and she rolled her wheelchair around so that her back was to me. I asked Kristy, the nurse, if she’d give us some private time.
After Kristy left the room, I moved my chair around and went to hold Gabby’s right hand. Using her good left hand, she lifted my hand off of hers and plopped it back in my lap.
I tried to explain myself. “Sweetie, we talked about my trip ahead of time,” I said. “You told me it was OK. I was only gone four days. And it was a pretty important opportunity.”
Gabby glared at me. Then she rolled her wheelchair out of the room.
I ended up talking to Carl Josehart, the chief executive officer at TIRR, who used to be a marriage counselor. He sat down with both of us to help iron things out. He started by asking Gabby to express her feelings.
“Mad,” she said. “I’m mad.”
“Well, that’s understandable,” Carl said. “Mark was away for several weeks, then he came home for a few days and then he was gone again. A lot of wives wouldn’t like that.”
Carl asked me to tell Gabby how I was feeling.
I wanted to explain myself. “Honey, you know I’m in this with you for the long haul,” I said. “This is a lifelong marathon that you and I are on together. I’m not going anywhere. But early on, after you were injured, people gave me advice. They said I’d need a life outside of caring for you or I’d get burned out. I’ll need my own time sometimes.”
That said, I knew I needed to admit that, in the case of her birthday, I had made a mistake. “I thought I could sneak away for four or five days. Boy, was I wrong. I wish I could undo all this and make a different decision. But I can’t. I just hope you’ll forgive me.”
Gabby is a very smart woman. She understood my commitment to her, and appreciated my willingness to admit to screwing up. She accepted my apology, reached over, and gave me