Gabby_ A Story of Courage and Hope - Alison Hanson [43]
And so Gabby found herself at yet another turning point in her life.
Her move back to Tucson had reignited her heartfelt affection for her hometown. Her interactions with El Campo customers and employees had helped her understand the most pressing financial and social concerns swirling in the region. Her success running the company had emboldened her as a businesswoman and as a potential leader. She talked to her friends and family. “Look, I’m single. I have no children. Maybe now is the time I should be dedicating myself to my community.”
After three years of focusing on tires, she widened her sights. She wrote down the issues that mattered most to her. She asked herself: If I ran for a seat in the Arizona House, what would be my platform?
She started scribbling. She’d make education her top priority, arguing for smaller class sizes and increased pay for teachers. She’d advocate for better health-care coverage for families living in poverty. She’d work to improve the state’s mental-health system, which was in terrible shape. She’d get involved in making smart decisions about managing growth in southern Arizona. She’d help small businesses. Her list kept growing.
She was thirty years old, full of confidence, ambition, and enthusiasm, with a résumé that seemed like a dozen young women’s résumés smashed together.
She felt different. She was no longer Spencer’s younger kid, Gabby, back in town to sell tires.
She was no longer that cute “buck-stretcher” girl that people saw on TV.
She was now the candidate Gabrielle Giffords and she was ready to serve.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Big Dreams
In the early months of Gabby’s recovery, I’d ask her, “Do you ever have dreams when you’re sleeping?”
“No,” she’d say, shaking her head.
One day, I pushed her a little. “Never? You never dream about anything? Your childhood, your life in Congress, the years we dated? Nothing?”
She thought for a moment. “No,” she said. She seemed to understand my question. No was her answer.
I wondered: Was she having dreams but not remembering them? In her head at night, was she back to being her old self, conversing effortlessly? Or was she having nightmares, reliving or reimagining the shooting and the painful aftermath?
Her doctors said it was possible that she was having dreams she couldn’t recall. It was also possible that the damage in her brain prevented dreaming. The brain is such a mystery. It was hard for them to say for sure.
“Well, I have dreams,” I told Gabby. “I have recurring dreams.”
Gabby didn’t ask me, “So what do you dream about?” From the day she was shot, she had lost her ability to formulate any original questions. For those of us who love her, that was one of the most difficult aspects of her injury. She either had no urge to ask a question, or more likely, the broken pathways in her brain weren’t allowing it. It was sad for us to see this. All her life, Gabby had been a woman fueled by her curiosity. Had she lost that piece of herself, or was she just unable to tap into it? We couldn’t tell as we communicated with her, mostly in monologues. We talked. She listened.
On that day when I told Gabby that I have recurring dreams, she looked at me intently, waiting for me to say more. And so I answered the question she didn’t ask. “I dream about you, Gabby,” I said.
My recurring dreams were actually wonderful. In every one of them, Gabby would make an almost full and miraculous overnight recovery. The dreams were a little different each time, but the general theme was the same. I’d arrive somewhere, usually the hospital, and I’d be greeted by a nurse in the doorway of Gabby’s room. The nurse would say something like, “You’re not going to believe it. This is a really big deal! You’ve got to go in and see Gabby.”
As I entered her room, I could immediately see that Gabby had morphed back into the person she used to be. She was almost completely lucid, talking in full sentences. “Hi, Mark. Sit down and talk to me. I