32. abbi #2
Murphy’s therapist shakes his head. “Not this morning. You’ve already done more than you should, and I can see you’re exhausted. You need to reset and rest now, and we’ll come back again this afternoon.”
The stubborn set of Murphy’s jaw tells me he’s not going to let this go. “I want to do it one more time. There and back.”
Nix steps closer, gripping Murphy’s shoulder. “You need to listen to your therapist, Murph. He’s had years of training and experience. You need to trust his expertise and judgement. If he says you’ve had enough for this morning, then you’ve had enough.”
Murphy hasn’t shaved since the attack, but his thick facial hair doesn’t hide the tremble of his chin. “I need to learn how to walk again. That’s not gonna happen if I’m lying in bed on my back,” he snaps at his father.
I suck in a sharp breath at the venom in his tone.
He’s never spoken to Nix or me like that before.
I get that he’s hurting, and he has to make a lot of adjustments to his new reality, but I think beneath all of it is a man who’s afraid.
His trembling chin reminds me of when he was little and broke his collarbone when he came off his bike.
He tried to hold it together, but his chin would tremble even though he was doing his best to be brave.
“Watch your tone,” Nix says firmly. “I understand what you’re trying to achieve, but if you overdo it, you’ll go backward, not forward. I’ve seen it before. You need to trust the process.” He squeezes his shoulder, and Murphy drops his eyes to his lap, the muscle in his jaw tensing.
The therapist—Johnathon, it says on his badge—watches the exchange between Nix and Murphy. “How about you take a ten-minute break, catch up with your folks, and we’ll do one more walk? But that’s the last one for this morning, okay?”
Murphy nods, grumbling his thanks. Nix grips the handles of his wheelchair and pushes him closer to the windows where there are a couple of chairs so we can sit.
I lean down, wrapping my arm around his shoulder, and press a kiss on his cheek. “Morning.”
“Morning,” he returns.
I cup the side of his face. “I was surprised they already have you up and about.” Shocked, more like it.
“I don’t wanna be stuck in a fucking wheelchair for the rest of my life, so I need to learn how to walk again,” he snarls, sending daggers to my heart.
He’s never spoken to me so sharply. But I get it.
He’s in pain, hurting, and devastated. His life is forever changed, and for a young man who has planned his life out, this will be an incredibly tough time for him—mentally, emotionally, and physically.
“Watch your tone with your mother,” Nix chastises, not giving Murphy any leeway.
My stomach sinks. I don’t like confrontation; it’s the main reason I never speak up about my wants or needs with Nix, but I can feel the energy shift toward something heavy, something negative between the three of us.
The air grows thick with turmoil—concern for our son from me and Nix, swirling with anger and animosity from Murphy—it’s heavy; the combination potent and stifling, and I struggle to draw in a proper breath.
I touch my fingers to Nix’s forearm and capture his gaze, hoping to telegraph that he should ease back a little. He just shakes his head. It’s not often we disagree when it comes to raising our kids; we’ve always been on the same page, but I’d prefer to take a softer approach with Murphy right now.
Murphy peers up at me, reminding me of when he was younger and would get into trouble. “Sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to snap or be disrespectful. Not to you.”
I smile softly. “I know.” I hold his gaze, looking deeply into my son’s eyes.
The pain I see there undoes me, causing the backs of my eyes to sting.
I blink and blink again, forcing the tears to stay back.
“We want what’s best for you right now. You need to listen to the professionals.
They have all the expertise to get you through this.
” I capture his chin, ensuring he can’t look away from me.
“We have no doubt that you’ll be walking on your own in no time, Murphy.
Because when you set your mind to something, you always …
always achieve it. We have faith in you. ”
Nix crouches on Murphy’s opposite side, nodding his agreement. “We do. This isn’t going to stop you. You’ll need to make adjustments, but you’ll make it to the other side. The important thing is to listen to your body and the team of professionals around you.”
Murphy nods slowly. “It’s just … it’s tough,” his voice shakes on the last word.
“I know,” we both respond, but we really don’t know. Neither of us has experienced this level of trauma. Nix’s injuries from the explosion he survived were nowhere near as severe as Murphy’s.
“I’m being transferred to Walter Reed late tonight. I just wanted to move around a bit before I’m stuck on a plane for nine-plus hours.” I watch his throat move as he swallows. “You guys may as well organize your flights home.”
His doctor told us they would transfer him to the States once he was stable, and part of me is relieved that we’ll have him closer to us, but the other part worries that it’s too soon for him to tackle such a long journey.
What about deep vein thrombosis? It’s not like he’ll be able to stretch his legs up and down the aisle.
“Do you want us to follow you?” Please say yes. I don’t want to leave him behind just yet.
He shakes his head, sending disappointment rippling through my body. “No. I need to do this on my own.”
“But you’re not alone. You have us. We want to support you,” I tell him, hoping my words sink in.
He shrugs carelessly. “You and Dad can’t be with me 24/7 while I recover. This is going to take months and months. I don’t need you guys holding my hand.”
His words hold a finality that I don’t want to push back against. We raised our kids to be independent, and I recognize that’s what this is about.
He needs to reclaim his independence, and I need to support that.
I need to respect his decision. As much as it pains me to step back, I’ll do it for him, but I need him to know that we have his back.
“We won’t hold your hand, Murph, but I need you to promise me you’ll call us if you need anything.
Anything at all, no matter how trivial or important.
Promise me that and I’ll book our tickets home instead of a flight to Washington.
” I hold his eyes with love in my heart, showing him how important he is to me.
He holds my gaze, and I feel his acceptance fill the space between us. “Okay. I promise.”
My shoulders fall with relief, and the tears I held back before fill my eyes too quickly to be contained. I didn’t want to cry in front of Murphy. He’s dealing with a lot already; he doesn’t need his mother falling apart on top of everything else.
Strong arms wrap around my shoulders, pulling me back into a firm chest. Nix presses a kiss beneath my ear, then his hot breath cascades across my ear. “He’ll be okay, Abs.”
I nod. I know. I know he will. He’ll get through this. We all will. But life will always be different now. He has scars that nobody can see. Nix understands that better than anyone.
It’s not what we wanted for our son.
His pain is my pain, and my heart aches for him.
This is something I can’t fix. I can’t make it better.
As he said, he needs to do this himself.
We can help him and support him, but the lion’s share of the work is his alone.
It’s one of the toughest things to realize as a mom.
Parenting was so much easier when they were small.
My limbs are heavy after saying goodbye to Murphy before he was transferred to Ramstein Air Base for his journey to Washington.
It was beyond difficult to let him go. Today has been emotionally draining; from my discussion with Nix this morning to saying goodbye to Murphy tonight, I feel as though I’ve been chewed up and spat out.
Once back in our room, Nix guides me straight into the bathroom, turns on the shower, and strips me before removing his own clothes.
Steam fills the small room, and already some of the tension in my muscles untangles.
When he takes my hand and tugs me inside the shower cubicle, hot needles prick my skin and a soft sigh puffs over my lips.