Buckaroo
February, 2000
The drive home from the hospital two months ago reminded me of the drive on the night Kurt convinced me to leave my parents’ house and go back home with him…Well, except this time his legs didn’t move. Even so, he was all smiles. He didn’t even care when he had to boost himself up from the wheelchair, balance the entire weight of his body on his crutches, and wriggle his way into the passenger side of the car. He was just happy to be with me and on our way home. On the long drive, he gabbed about all the things going on with our neighbors that I didn’t know about since I’d been gone for so long. He got me up to speed with his job, and told me about his promotion to Vice President of International Sales, and he apologized for the Kayla fiasco…sort of. There was no admission of grossness for bringing her back to our house and no confession of a double standard about going to Mexico with her. And also not surprising was that there was zero mention of Leo. Everything was one hundred percent positive and great. He was one hundred percent Kurt…but again, without the legs.
Moving back home allowed me to make up for a lot of the horrible things I did to Kurt over the last two years. Obviously nothing I do will ever erase all of the indecencies, but helping him get dressed, driving him to work, to physical therapy, even taking him to the shitter…all of it was penance for the crimes I had committed against him. And I didn’t resent a second of my time with Kurt, either, because I knew that seconds were all we really had left together. No, no, no, he didn’t die! In fact, after two months of intense physical therapy, spinal fusion surgery and gallons of steroids, he’s almost totally rehabilitated. I’m sure he wishes the same could be said about our marriage, but it can’t, and he realized it the moment we walked into the house after that long drive home from the hospital that December morning.
“Where’s all your stuff?”
“Right there.”
“That’s just a suitcase. I mean where’s the furniture, the dishes, all the stuff you moved out with?”
“At my cottage.”
“Why?”
“I’m not moving back here, Kurt. I’m staying with you for as long as it takes to get you better, but my cottage is my home, and I’m keeping it.”
“Babe, I meant everything I said to you at the hospital, and I’m gonna make it all up to you.”
“Make all of what up to me?”
“You know, making you feel more appreciated…cherished. All the stuff you and Dr. Maria talked to me about that one time.”
“How are you gonna do that?”
“Why are you being so antagonistic about this? I’m saying good stuff!”
“Kurt…please…”
Seeing him struggle to turn around in his wheelchair to face me almost makes me hold back what I have to say. Almost.
“Let me finish and then you can get as mad at me as you want.”
“Fine.”
“However you plan on making me feel cherished…it won’t be enough. However much you try to open up your heart to me… it won’t be enough. Whatever wonderful things you try to do and say to make me forget about everything I’ve learned about myself, none of it will be enough to erase it.”
“You don’t know that!”
“Please…for so long, I thought you were holding out love for me in order to control our relationship and it drove me CRAZY insane. And I thought if you could just learn how to stop being so damn controlling, we could magically be that perfect couple I always wanted us to be.”
“I NEVER held out my love for you!”
“I know that now! From the start you gave me 100% of your heart. You cooked good food for me because you wanted me to be healthy. You took me on adventurous trips and encouraged me to try things I’m afraid of because you thought I’d feel the same rush as you and you wanted me to experience that joy. You bought me camping gear and roller blades and bicycles because you wanted to do all of the things that you love… together, as a couple. You didn’t want to talk about really painful stuff with me because I think you wanted to protect me from the kind of pain it caused you. Those are all the ways you tried to make me feel appreciated and cherished and I see that now. That’s why I’m here.”
“Then why would you leave?”
Telling him all of this with two good legs would be hard enough, but doing it now when he’s so helpless looking is horrendous.
“Kurt, for some lucky lady your 100% is gonna be more than she ever dreamed of, but for me, it’ll never be enough.”
“I don’t want another lady. I want you.”
“I know and for a really long time, I fought those same feelings. It’s hard, but you have to believe me, when you find the woman you’re supposed to be with, it’ll be like peace and sanity and relief and safety wraps around you like a cocoon and all the things you ever thought you wanted no longer exist because she’ll be all you ever need. Everything will feel calm…comfortable. Like a dream come true. You have to believe me. Please tell me you believe me because your trust in what I’m telling you is the only thing that’ll set me free.”
Right there in the entry hall, I settled onto his wheelchair burdened lap, wrapped my hands around his neck, and held him as tightly as I could and I begged him to believe me. Once he told me he did, and our positioning became incredibly uncomfortable, he used all of his strength to lay me on the floor where we spent the rest of the afternoon talking, laughing, kissing, and crying. Everything we said and did that day was centered around how little time we knew we had together, and so instead of fighting about all the things we did wrong, we focused on everything we did right. We talked about how sorry and scared we both were and promised each other to always speak highly of our marriage because as we agreed, it was the most precious learning experience of our lives. The next day, with new attitudes and a rediscovered respect for each other, we aggressively tackled Kurt’s leg situation. For two months we worked on getting him better and the teamwork paid off, because today he’s getting himself dressed, driving himself to work and wiping his own ass.