Hobson's Choice

Five: Love's Mask

My head bows involuntarily as the tears fall - faster and faster. Why does my heart hurt so much, when it's only a muscle? A completely abstract thought in the quicksand of the misery my brain wades through in its abject confusion.

Gratefully, but briefly, back in my temporary home in the city while Dan spends time with Jake, I can let my true feelings out... at last. Somehow Dan had overcome his own deepest despair long enough to sense how much self-control I'd lost as I fought to stay positive, day after day - and now week after week of the seemingly never-ending rehab. Finally recognising how dangerously close I was to (as he knew I was wont to say about others in great stress - or distress), he'd drawn me aside. "Ellen.. you MUST take some time out. I'll stay with him while you rest," and he'd echoed other words I inevitably used, "If you're not there for yourself, you can't be there for ANYONE."

"Please God, help Jake. PLEASE! He's just a kid. I have to believe he'll make it through these blackest of times. He MUST." The words burst out loud now there's no-one around to hear me. As if there were any words to adequately cover the dread filling my heart whenever I see the black dog of depression in Jake's eyes and hear the despair and frustration in his voice.

His anger seems spent these days. Most of the time. I shake my head in a vain attempt to push away the memory of the scene the other day when he almost lost it all, lashing out at anyone who came near. In my heart of hearts, I knew what triggered that one - a sudden, intolerable twitch where his right calf muscle should have been. He'd unthinkingly reached down to rub it, only to realise once again... there was no muscle. There was no anything at all below the knee. And his anger exploded. Instantly at flashpoint. Once again, I witnessed how hard he worked to keep it below the surface for no other to see. Hmphh... like me and my grief. Forever lurking behind my most loving and positive smiles.

Ahh... Grief. Pain. Loss. Anger... Some days I wonder if any of us will get past the negativity burdening our waking hours, haunting our dreams when exhaustion finally wins out. Countless hours of watching Jake's restless sleep have clearly shown how nightmares dominate. I feel the familiar, hated shudder starting - the one that creeps up my spine, painfully jerking one disk at a time. Happens every time I remember Jake's worst delirium days - when his body tried to cope with the loss, his agonised eyes clearly showing his shocked brain refused to accept the new reality. When he questioned why he'd lived at all. As I have too!

The enormity of that unbidden thought takes my breath away, blotting out all else for a heart-stopping moment. I don't want to revisit those darkest days, but try as I may, those guilty questions with no answers are back to haunt me. I bitterly chastise myself for the traitorous thought of life without him, and struggle mightily to understand and forgive myself my doubts. Once again I remind myself of those words that have become like a mantra to me - 'The strongest steel is forged in the hottest fire'. I repeat them over and over. That stirring, positive thought makes me straighten my back and take a bunch of long, soul-healing breaths. As I have, SO many times before. Such a long, long way - one miserable, painful step after another.

"No, no... NO!" had seemed all I could say in those first agonising days. And... "why our Jake?" It had been a long time before I could ask 'why ANYONE?' And the seemingly never-ending blame game. Who didn't I blame at first when denial and anger swamped common sense? It took a while to 'move on' as family and friends alike told me, but mostly now I feel the deepest remorse for the hapless victims of my accusations. Mostly.

It was all the fault of the Doctors (surely they could have saved the leg, with all their so-called miraculous technology?) and husband (what was he thinking - letting Jake be there in SO much danger - all by himself), the tractor and harvester manufacturers; even the poor devil of a salesman who'd sold us the huge machinery. The only one to escape my many tirades was my refuge, good old Bill the neighbour and Alice, his wife of forever? Can't think of how many years just now... can't seem to concentrate on anything apart from Jake. Deep breaths again. Straighten spine again.

There was that other stage when we kept ourselves exhaustingly busy, investigating every type of rehabilitation; and prosthetics - of course, concentrating on the best money could buy. I was ready to mortgage the farm and everything on it to the hilt, although Dan didn't seem as keen. I sniff and snuffle again. Another tide of tears floods my eyes, remembering. That flurry of activity seemed to help somewhat at the time. Gathering information, sifting through it, working out how we'd pay for it all. Some control of the runaway train ride is how it felt, I guess.

This is such a relief, escaping the physical reality, if only briefly. But the emotional and mental side? "Never," I say out loud. My face can smile cheerfully; voice calmly rattling on about inconsequential things. Sometimes it works with Jake - other times it's encouraging murmurs along with warm stroking and squeezing his hand, smoothing his furrowed brow, gives temporary relief. Optimism in the face of Jake's despair demands the most soothing, positive exterior.

I'm not a religious person, though my spirituality is my everything. As is my fervent wish to do no deliberate harm to anyone. And yet, I've found myself thanking God constantly for the bucket of strength I've found somewhere deep inside to dip into daily... even hourly. Surprisingly, I seem to feel a sense of God's warmth, comfort, love? Something certainly surrounds me at times, easing the loneliness that increases as the days wear on.

Tensions have been growing between Dan and me. Understandable I guess, after the initial shock and disbelief all our son's life plans could have plummeted so dramatically. In the earliest days, Dan was incredibly loving and protective, almost all of the time. We clung together, earnestly believing (as we always have) the good old adage - a trouble shared is a trouble halved. He still has flashes of compassion, like today when he insisted on me taking 'time out'. But more and more often, when he thinks no one is watching, I see that foreign expression in his eyes. He's brooding about the future, I can tell. Supposedly Jake's future... and yet, I'm suspecting much has to do with fears about his own plans. So many dreams have crumbled, gone awry, become impossible.

I've tried to talk through our feelings, but there never seems a right time, or place, or mood... for him, anyway. Dan is like a stranger as he withdraws deeper into himself, closing the door between us more tightly than I can budge. I never considered this happening to us. His unquestioned strength through all the downturns we've faced in years gone by seems to have chipped away at his resolve... slowly but relentlessly. The hurt is more than I can cope with; this increasing reluctance to look me straight in the eyes and vent his pent-up frustrations and fears; to seek some release by holding our love tight between each other.

Even in bed, we've become strangers sharing nothing... NOTHING! The tears roll down my cheeks yet again. Somewhere inside I register the question, 'where DO they all come from?', but my concentration never wanders far from these walls of loneliness crushing our love; trying to survive without even the tenderness and warmth of a cuddle. I'm having to dig deeper and deeper to find enough support to keep going. It's the last thought I remember as the warmth of the electric blanket soothes my aching body, finally quietening my grieving soul.

even the poor devil of a salesman who'd sold us the huge machinery. The only one to escape my many tirades was my refuge, good old Bill the neighbour... and Alice, his wife of 'who-knew-how-many-years'? Can't think of how many just now... can't seem to concentrate on anything apart from Jake. Deep breaths again. Straighten spine again. Phew-w-w-w...