“I know. I love you too.”
“No, I don’t think you really understand. I’m so incredibly thankful you’re my brother, and that you’re still with me. It could have been different. I don’t know what I would have done. You’re my best friend, and you needed to hear that.”
She knew. Twin intuition or something, but she knew. I felt the tablets drop onto the table as I closed my eyes in anguish.
“G,” I’d whispered. “It’s too hard.”
“I know, big brother,” she’d answered. Gianna only pulled out the “big brother” card when she knew I really needed it. “I know you’re struggling. You lean on me, okay? I don’t care what time of day it is. Whenever you’re thinking these things again, you call me. I’m here for you always. You are so much more than the Army.”
“I don’t think I am,” I’d confessed.
“Leo. You’re an amazing big brother. You’re like the baby whisperer, you’ve always managed to get the kids to sleep faster than anyone else. I don’t know how you got a green thumb when mine is very clearly black. Everyone goes to you for advice. You’ve always taken to technology, whereas I would be totally fine going back to an old flip phone. And, while I definitely will deny this if you admit it to anyone, you’re Nonna’s favorite. You always were, and you always will be. Honestly, I think she’ll leave all of her recipes to you when she dies, because she doesn’t trust anyone else with them.” She’d hiccuped then, like she couldn’t get the words out. “You’re such an integral part of this family, and I wish you could see it through our eyes. Please don’t leave me.”
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to move forward.”
Gianna cleared her throat. “It’s simple. Get up. Pack your stuff. Come home. We’ll take care of the rest.”
So I did what she’d asked. The unspoken command, which I felt was loud and clear from my twin, was to flush the drugs. I did that, feeling a tiny bit relieved to watch them disappear in the swirl of water. I was back in Eternity Springs a week later, under the watchful eye of Gianna and our mom, slowly recovering. We never spoke again about that phone conversation, and I never asked if my mom knew about it.
I think of that phone call almost every day.
As I hand the worksheets over to Josh, I think about what he’d had me work on this week. The first piece of homework was to write a list of self-soothing techniques that work for me. He’d given me a list to try, which made me feel like a complete tool. Listening to different kinds of music, taking a walk, drinking different kinds of tea. Which tea was more soothing, chamomile or peppermint? Did I relax while listening to country, jazz, or classical? Was a hike more soothing, or a walk by a lake? One technique he wanted me to try was taking a bath. I’m six-three. The large soaking tub I have in my bathroom probably wouldn’t be comfortable for that, and I doubt I could pretzel myself enough to fiteverything under the water. Honestly, I haven’t tried to fit in there, but didn’t want to try now. I filed that under “no” for soothing.
The second item I worked on was a letter of self-compassion. He had me write one for every day of the last week, describing an event where I’d felt like my emotions were out of control, or a time that I’d felt I’d been too negative on myself. I had to write the letter about me, but alsotome. It was bizarre, and I disliked every moment of it.
“How many of the letters are about how much you hated writing them?” Josh asks, flipping through the pages.
“More than half,” I answer honestly.
Josh chuckles. “Fair. I had you pegged as five to six letters, if I’m being honest.”
“One day I got a splinter in my thumb, and another day I burned my dinner.” I pause. “Oh, then there was the day I got a card in the mail from a gold star wife.”
Josh’s gaze whips to mine. “One of yours from the IED in Afghanistan?”
I nod. A gold star wife is the widow of a soldier killed in the line of duty. I wasn’t lying when I told Ella that I keep in contact with the families of every soldier I’d lost that day. What I’d left out is that I do that so it’s on my terms. I’m emotionally prepared for it. I put on my mental armor, ready to go into battle. When a spouse contacts me, and I’m not expecting it, I go into a spiral.
“What did she say?” Josh asks.
“She wants me to come to her wedding this summer. I knew she was getting remarried. I’m happy for her. Really, I am. But she asked that I give her away, because she doesn’t have anyone else to do it. She said that she thought Stitchum would have wanted me to.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“Honestly? I don’t want to. I feel like I’ll be thinking of him the whole fucking time, and it’ll bring up too many memories. I held his hand as he fucking died, Josh. Now I’m supposed to smile andgive his wife away to someone else? He loved her so much. Had her picture sewn into his hat. Talked about her all the time. I know he’d want her to be happy, and he’d never stand in the way of her getting married again. But, fuck. I don’t want to be there to watch it.” I rub a hand across my forehead, willing the tears to stay away. I miss him. I miss all the guys. Lives cut short, for what? Absolutely no fucking reason.
“You’re allowed to feel how you feel, Leo. You’re entitled to say no to this request. You don’t owe her anything.”
“My decision is what cost her her husband,” I snap.
“Not your decision.”
“I pushed us to leave when we did. I could have chosen another route, or asked for more scouts, maybe find whoever planted the IED. So many things I could have done differently.”
“Leo, you could have changed all of those things, and the result may have still been the same. Or, it might have been worse. We can’t play the ‘what if’ game with the events from that day.” Josh’s voice is calm, pleasant even, but it feels like fingernails on a blackboard.
“Or it could have meant everyone survived. Everyone. Do you even know what it’s like to live with that on your conscience? To know you’re responsible for six guys dying?” I shout, looking down at Josh. I don’t remember standing up, but my chest heaves as I’m taken back to that day. “Itismy fault. It’ll always be my fault. Nothing you say will ever change that.”
In the worst timing ever, the timer sounds on Josh’s desk, signaling the end of the session. Tilting my head back, I close my eyes, uttering a deep “Fuck.”
