A year ago today

It was a beautiful day. The sun was out, it was 2:00. I went to my dad's do some books. I was dogsitting. The dog was laying at my feet while I entered in reciepts. My dad's wife cleaned the kitchen. My nephew helped my dad to drag branches from the yard.

Then there was a scream. A little four year old scream that yelled "Grandpa." Then there was a yell for my name to grab my nephew. Below the tall tree we had often climbed in school was a slunched body, a visible skull. The man I had feared for twenty four plus years laid in his own blood. It was an instant that I looked at him, a moment where I grabbed my screaming nephew and hid his head from the sight among his tears and rushed him in the house and closed all the blinds. It was the first time I dialed 911 and got a busy signal. I heard my sister come out of her house and scream. I heard the neighbors running to call for the cops. I stood helpless inside with a crying little boy turned away from the windows trying to peak through the cracks and see if he was okay.

I dialed my mom. His ex-wife. I couldn't formulate actual words. "He fell. He can't move. Blood." She had no clue and then she heard the sirens. "Oh my God."

Two EMTs grabbed his 240 lb, 6 foot frame and held his neck perfectly still. My sister left. My brother left. I stayed at home with the little boy. I didn't know what to do. I called my mom and we came to her house. She pulled us inside the house, she grabbed his fraile frame and before any of us could say anything he said, "Grandpa fell from the tree. The branch broke. He got hurt. I think he's hurt bad." I cried.

I spoke no words for four hours. I tried calling over and over for someone to say that he was okay. Eight hours later I went to the hospital after no word. My nephew in my mom's care. I walked in to a sterile room and shocked family. My older brother grabbed me by the arm. Two broken vertabres and he had been scalped. 32 staples. Bruising all down his body. But he was okay. We'll know more later.

I stayed all night at the hospital. I went into work in the same clothes I was in the day before. I picked up the papers and brought them in. My boss walked in, my back turned. "How was your weekend?" I turned and he asked what happened. I explained the accident and was told to leave. I went back to the hospital and spent a daily routine for three weeks of visiting from 6am until 9am. Went to work at 9:30. Worked until 7:00. Went back to the hospital. Showered at 1:00am and started the routine over with.

The third day in the hospital I visited over lunch. My brother's back to the crowd in a waiting room and he was crying. I saw but didn't know what to do, so I went over and said I was scared. He wiped his tears and said he had to get back to work. We'd never speak of that day again.

For three weeks he slowly healed. He slowly got off the pills. He slowly began to walk. He broke his neck and he could walk. He slowly healed over the next six months, finally shedding his neck brace.

Yesterday he threw a "Thank God I'm Alive Party" and I didn't mind stocking his bar or washing the dishes this morning because no matter how nasty he can be or how he looks at us each like he doesn't care, I remember that he might not be here. Just like last week on Desperate, Bree told her son - "The opposite of love isn't hate, it's indifference. If you hate me, you still care." Even when he hates me and I hate him, we both still care.

So thank God he is alive.