Brave

Chapter 12: New Normal

He strokes my hair for several minutes. I love that my dad doesn't feel like he has to jump in to say something just to fill the space or to try to make me feel better.

"Daddy," I finally sob, "Will I ever be normal again?"

When he finally speaks, it's more of the wisdom that I admire in my father. "You won't ever go back to your old normal. But you'll create a new normal. You'll see. It seems impossible right now, but I promise you that life will be normal again."

Even though my dad traveled a lot, somehow he always made it up to me. What he lacked in the quantity of time he spent with me, he always made up in quality. I'm not quite sure I believe him now, but his wisdom has always proven true with time.

Before bedtime, my mom comes in to ask if I need anything.

"I want to see myself."

"Okay...." It's obvious that she doesn't know exactly what I'm getting at.

"I want to undress and see my whole body. I saw myself in the mirror at therapy. But I haven't seen myself here, at home. Without all my clothes on. You know?"

Mom nods.

I remove everything except my bra and underwear. My mom wheels the walker over to me, and I stand up as well as I can. She walks with me to the mirror. I lean on her as I push the walker out of the way.

I start by assessing my hair, my face, my skin. I've always liked my hair. It's got a nice amount of body today, a little wave and curl frames my face nicely. The hospital shampoo I used in the morning must be good stuff. I peer closer into my deep green eyes. Okay, so my face hasn't suffered any damage. I've never considered myself beautiful, but I'm content with my looks.

So far so good.

I scan down the mirror. I'm somewhat petite at 5'4", with an average build, I guess. I've never been slender, but I'm not overweight, for sure. My body has curves where they count. I scan further down, past my underwear. I'm glad I chose my matching pink and green polka dot bra and panties this morning. It's not like I bought them with the intention of having anyone else see them, but they make me feel pretty. And I need to feel pretty right now.

My mom is standing with me, in more than one sense of the word. I look at my left leg, still bruised and scarred, but getting better. My toenails, still painted from my mom's mani-pedi in the hospital, catch my eye.

I finally gather the courage to look at my right leg, or lack thereof, full on. I assess my hip and thigh, and the flesh that surrounds them.

The tears overtake me without any warning.

I force myself to look at everything for several minutes, through the haze of my tears and the shuddering of my body.

That's not me! I think. That can't be me, that one-legged girl staring back at me!

I'm crying so loudly that my father knocks lightly to see if everything is all right. My mother tells him to come in and I don't even care if I'm standing here in my underwear. They practically carry me back to my bed. My mom lies down next to me, stroking my hair while my dad covers up the both of us.

I don't know how long I cry, but it feels like hours. Just before I black out, I hear my mom whisper, "Te quiero, mi chiquita."

I love you, too, Mamá. I say it in my head because the rest of my body is too exhausted from grief.

I wake up the following morning, not even realizing that my mother had slept in my bed with me all night. For a brief moment, I forget about my disability. I throw the covers off of me and swing my legs to the side of my bed, and the sight of my stump reminds me that I'll never be the same.