Gabby_ A Story of Courage and Hope - Alison Hanson [138]
In any case, after I finished answering Gabby’s question, I told her how happy I was to hear it. “You’ve finally asked a question, a real one. And it’s something you wanted to know. It’s really great.”
Gabby and I were both grinning.
“Now,” I said, “you just have to come up with another one.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Inch by Inch
Once Gabby had moved home with me, I began taping Meet the Press every Sunday on my digital video recorder. Gabby liked the show. It kept her abreast of issues in Washington. We developed a little ritual of watching it together later in the day.
One Sunday afternoon in July, as Gabby headed for the bathroom, I told her I’d meet her in the living room so we could watch the show. I sat down on the couch, but she never showed up. After ten minutes, I went looking for her.
I found her in the bedroom. “Sit down,” she said. “Shut the door.”
It occurred to me that she should have told me to shut the door and then sit down, but I didn’t correct her. I saw by the expression on her face that she was serious. I closed the door. I sat down.
“Shot,” she said.
“Yes, you were shot in the head,” I said. She knew that, of course, but sometimes it helped a conversation if I provided a sentence to get started.
“Questions and answers,” she said, very seriously.
I could sense what was coming. It had been more than six months since her injury, but now she was ready to find out.
“Who died?” she asked.
This was only the fourth or fifth question she’d asked me since the “Your day?” breakthrough a few weeks earlier.
I’d spent months considering exactly how I’d deliver the news when asked this question. But now that the moment was here, I needed to take a step back. Our friends Marc and Suzanne Winkelman, and their daughter, Eli, were driving in from Austin for a visit. They’d be arriving in forty minutes. I didn’t want to give Gabby all the terrible details, knowing she’d then have to be upbeat and social for visitors. I explained that to Gabby.
“I’m glad you’ve asked me this,” I told her. “You know, after you were injured, there was a lot of debate about how much to tell you about the shooting. Doctors said it was best to wait to tell you all the names until you were able to ask questions yourself. That made sense to me. And now that you’ve asked, I’m going to tell you. But I know it’s going to upset you. So let’s wait until tonight, after the Winkelmans leave. I promise I’ll talk to you about who died and show you their photos.”
Gabby understood that the news would likely leave her distraught. She’d waited this long. Could she wait a few more hours? “Yes,” she said.
We had a great time with the Winkelmans. Gabby was very engaged and interacted with them easily. When they left, and Gabby had gotten into bed, I came and sat beside her.
“OK,” I said. “I’m going to tell you who died on January eighth. It’s going to be really hard because you knew two of the people.”
Gabby waited for me to continue.
“One of the people killed was on your staff,” I said. “It was Gabe. Gabe Zimmerman.”
She started half-crying, half-moaning. She was overwhelmed with grief. I gave her a hug and then I continued. I wanted to get it all out.
“And do you remember John Roll, the federal judge?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“Well, he was standing very close to you when the shooting started. He was near Ron Barber. You know that Ron survived, but Judge Roll, he didn’t make it. He died.”
I then told Gabby about the four people killed whom she didn’t know. I spoke about Phyllis Schneck, the seventy-nine-year-old widow from New Jersey who was devoted to her church, loved to read, and had come to the Congress on Your Corner event to talk about border security. I let Gabby know about Dorothy Morris, the seventy-six-year-old retired secretary whose husband, a retired airline pilot, had tried to save her by covering her with his own body. Shot in the shoulder, he survived.
I told Gabby about Dorwan Stoddard, the retired road-grader who died while protecting his