We arrive at the hospital and dad's words were on repeat in my head. It could've been on purpose. That doesn't make any sense.
We walk in and I see my grandmother dabbing a tissue to her eyes as she sat on the edge of one of the chairs. My heart started to pump faster as crying was never a good sign.
We sit down next to her when I finally ask the question that has been burning inside of me.
"Is he going to be ok?" I ask in a quiet, yet loud enough for them to be able to hear me.
They don't say a word. Dad turns his head towards me.
"We're not sure," he says in a quick breath. He clears his throat before saying,"That's what the doctors are trying to figure out right now."
"Have you called Autumn," I say, immediately thinking of their child.
Dad nods his head as his elbows rest on his knees. I sit back in my chair. I wanted to cry. But for some reason, I couldn't. It was almost as if I was so overwhelmed with emotion, that there was no emotion at all.
The three of us wait and wait and wait, when a nurse finally comes out asking for James Lowry's family. We stand up, bracing ourselves for the worst.
It doesn't make sense why we do that. We expect the worst so we're not disappointed in the end, yet it never works. But for some subconscious reason we do it to protect ourselves in a way.
"Mr. Lowry has had some significant head trauma, so his recovery will be a process. However he will be able to make a full recovery." As she says this I let out a breath that I didn't know I was holding. "His right leg is broken as well as two of his left ribs, and we stitched up some cuts."
"How long will the recovery take?" My Dad then asks crossings his arms.
"He'll be out of the hospital in about two to three weeks, but the recovery process itself could take up to a two years at most," she says in a soft voice. "But he's strong."
Two years. He'll have his own kid running around by then. I glance around the room at the thought to see if Autumn had come in yet.
"What is the recovery process exactly?" I hear my grandmother ask.
"Well due to his head trauma we're not sure when he'll regain consciousness. He may be in a coma for a day, or he may be in it for a year. We can't determine that." She takes a breath, not wanting to overwhelm us. However it was to late for that. With every word she said, I felt my heart drop.
"But afterwards, we will start therapy." She continuous. "This consists of learning the basic things all over again. Based on his scans, he'll probably have no balance, meaning that he won't be able to walk as well. However that's what physical therapy is for."
"He'll gain all the skills he's lost back, right?" My Dad then asks.
Th nurse hesitated before saying,"We're going to try our best."
After talking to us she takes us to his room, where I would see something that would be etched in my brain forever.
His eyes were closed softly and there was a bandage wrapped around his head. He had an oxygen mask over his mouth and an IV taped to his right forearm.
He was laying as if he had been sculpted to lay like that. His arms were stiff, and although his eyes were closed, he had this cold hard expression on his face. He was in there. I could tell.
"A year?" I whisper. The thought of staring at my brother in such a state caused something inside me to die.
"It won't be a year, sweetie," Dad whispers back as he slings an arm around me to pull me into a hug.
I felt the warm tears start to form in my eyes at that very thought. I need him. He can't leave me just yet. That isn't fair.
My grandmother had always told me life is fair because it's unfair to everyone. But at a young age, I learned that that wasn't true.
No one else in my 3rd grade class had a mother who was murdered. No one in my 4th grade class moved across the country because their father was going insane at the constant memories being thrown at him. No one in my high school has an older brother that could've possibly been murdered. Yet everyone says that's life.
So I guess that's my shitty life.
