When the boys get home, they jump right into doing the chores Wendy assigned them, while I arrange dinner—usually one of the casseroles and meals Mabel made, so that's a weight off my shoulders.
I pick Wendy up and settle her in the wheelchair before wheeling her into the dining room, where we all eat together still.
Afterward, I bring her back to the bedroom, and the boys do their nighttime chores and bathe Wendy in the downstairs full bath. Trace and Silas installed a shower seat so that I can easily wash her.
I take care of putting the pelvic binder back on when we're done and bring her back over to the bed to settle her in for the night.
Caregiving is a job in itself.
Silas came over today to help me out. I think my Mom suspects I might be getting burnt out, and Wendy's been having some difficulty sleeping comfortably, so I can't settle if she can't.
Silas handled the meals today and distracted the boys so that I could nap with Wendy for a bit.
At first, Wendy expressed how useless she feels, though that's the furthest word I'd ever use to describe my wife. She's spent so many years being useful that when she has to just sit and recover, it feels wrong.
No matter how many times I assure her that I want to do this, that this is my job as her husband to take care of her.
She's been a little embarrassed as I've had to help her with incredibly personal, intimate things, including going to the bathroom in her commode and when she got her period.
She cried a little the first time I had to help her, embarrassed and ashamed, and said she felt gross. I wouldn't let that stand. She’s my wife, my love, she could never be gross to me.
And when I tell her this, about how beautiful she is to me, no matter what, she smiles and kisses me.
I decided to reframe it for her, as I think that's how her brain responds positively—I brought in her yarn basket, crochet hook, and laptop to download patterns.
She's been able to use the time spent recovering to crochet blankets and hats for the team that cared for her during her healing.
Each day, that guilty look on her face fades, and the tension in her shoulders bleeds away.
And I want to take care of her, the same way she's cared for me, the boys, our entire family for the last fourteen years.
If anyone deserves this, it's my wife.
"Because women are the stronger sex," he says plainly. "Learned that over the last two years."
I face my brother and study his face. It's not drawn with grief; he looks fond as his eyes glaze over, remembering.
"How are you doing, Si?"
"Can't complain," he shrugs, tapping the lighter on the glass table between us. "Carrie's parents love having the girls nearby. When I told them they needed to watch them for a bit and why, they practically shoved me out the door. The girls were really concerned about their Aunt. I called them and let them know she's okay."
"But how are you doing?"
Silas meets my eyes, his brown ones are a little glassy as he says, "I'm doing okay. Really. Getting help was... the right thing to do."
"Yeah," I whisper, agreeing.
Silas stares at me for a long moment.
"I never… I never apologized for that night. I'm sorry you had to do that, Atlas. I'm so fucking sorry," he says, his voice low and pain-filled.
Sighing, he takes another cigarette out of the pack and lights up. The cherry burns bright red in the night, and Silas blows out a slow stream.
"Mom and Dad said you guys were dealing with some stuff. Was it because of..."
His voice trails off, but I know what he's saying, and I nod.
"Yeah."
