Gabby_ A Story of Courage and Hope - Alison Hanson [134]
We landed at Davis-Monthan Air Force Base on Friday evening, and Gabby walked down the stairs to the tarmac. She headed straight for Air Force Brigadier Gen. Jon Norman, who was waiting for her along with the base commander Colonel John Cherrey.
“Congresswoman Giffords, so nice to have you back,” the general said.
“Thank you very much,” Gabby answered. “Nice to be back.” It was as if she had fallen right back into her congressional persona.
We drove south to Gabby’s parents’ house, which is in an isolated spot deep in the desert. It is so remote that you spend twenty minutes on a dirt road and drive through two creeks to get there.
Gloria and Spencer hosted a dinner for friends and family, and everyone said Gabby looked great and seemed to be doing well. Ron Barber, her district director, saw Gabby for the first time since they both were injured on January 8. It was an emotional experience for both of them. Gabby stroked the new dimple in his cheek where one bullet had passed, and she examined the scars on his leg from another bullet. Gabby showed him her scars from the bullet and her surgeries, and they compared the progress each of them had made in walking again. They held hands as they ate dinner.
There had been news reports that we were returning to Tucson for a private family visit, so locals knew we were there. The next day, Saturday, we drove downtown and passed the Rialto Theater. Gabby read aloud from the marquee, “We love you, Gabby,” and then she got a little teary. I’d been ready for this weekend, with tissues in my pocket. I handed them to her.
Later we stopped by her condo. Gabby hadn’t been there since the morning of January 8. Her friend Brad Holland had kindly replaced the fish that died after the shooting, and he’d been coming to the condo to feed the fish tank’s new residents.
“Beautiful fish,” Gabby said when she saw them.
Gabby went around her condo, looking at the artwork, mostly Latin American folk art, remembering what she liked about each piece. She also went “shopping” in her closet. I had packed a couple of suitcases for her when we departed Tucson in January, but I’d left a lot behind. Gabby was happy to find outfits she’d been missing and, with her nurse Kristy’s help, she stuffed them in her suitcase.
Gabby was also able to nap in her own bed. I napped, too.
That afternoon, Gabby visited her new district office, which was bigger and in a more secure location. It was a weekend, so there were few staffers there, but she walked around trying to figure out who occupied each desk or office.
Later in the evening, we attended a dinner for Gabby and her staff at the home of her district office manager, Joni Jones, and Joni’s husband, Gary. It was encouraging to see that Gabby didn’t have an issue remembering anyone’s name, even a new staffer she’d met only a couple of times. Gabby gave each of them a hug and thanked them for their continued hard work. It was exhilarating and emotional for everyone.
Gabby still was unaware that Gabe Zimmerman was one of those killed on January 8, and no one told her. I had prepped the staff in advance: Until she could ask questions herself, we’d been advised by doctors not to give her the full details of the tragedy.
Even though her staffers saw that her communication skills were still compromised, they were uniformly impressed by Gabby. She was sharp the entire weekend. When the Capitol Police officer driving us made a wrong turn on a Tucson street, she’d point him in the right direction. When I couldn’t find her rental property that I’d been to several times, she showed the way.
The two-day visit was much too short, however. After an early Father’s Day breakfast with Gabby’s parents, we headed for the Air Force base. When we arrived, Gabby saw a group of officers about fifty yards from the plane. She walked toward them, shook all their hands, and gave them each a hug. “Gabrielle Giffords,” she said.