The worst part was that whether I could hear the saw or not, the image of Lewis’s fateful stumble–didn’t the boss always say that his clumsiness will be the death of him?–played over and over in my head in torturous slow motion, his body falling forward and his hands sprawled out. And how his head fell onto the spinning blade with the safety cover up. The spatter of blood which splashed not only the machine, but me too, because I was standing so close. His body, which fell onto the ground, twitching in death throes.
How was I supposed to ever get rid of this image?
I admitted to my daughter that I hadn’t sought medical help because I was afraid to talk about it. I had to relive it again while telling the story to the police, and then again to the boss and the insurance guy.
Connie had never heard the details. She’d been through a lot at the police station and I didn’t want to give her any more things to worry about.
“I’m afraid to go back there,” I confessed in a frail voice.
Ruby was colouring on a coffee table. I didn’t give a damn that her crayons were straying outside the paper and decorating my furniture, and Connie didn’t care that her daughter was stuffing herself with gummy bears. We needed to keep her busy so we could do what I didn’t feel like doing at all, talk.
“Back where, Dad?”
“To the sawmill. I can’t take it anymore. I’m haunted by memories of Lewis wherever I go, but at work… it’s the worst. The sound of the saw is killing me and… whenever anyone gets close to it, I forget to breathe. I constantly feel sick. I’m useless.”
That’s all I’d said to her that day, and it was enough. She called her work and took a few days off. She refused to go back home and stayed with me, even though she didn’t have any of her things there. Luckily, Ruby saw it all as a big adventure, and an opportunity to trick us out of more treats. On Monday, Connie called a few institutions. She’d found a psychologist who could see me the next day, and she drove me over. She didn’t listen to my protests that I can drive to the doctor myself, but I was grateful. Even though physically I could move around normally, I was desperately afraid of being alone; her presence was an incredible help.
“What happened isn’t your fault, you don’t have to blame yourself.”
“I feel like a weak loser.”
“You’re not weak. You’ve just been strong for too long. Everyone needs to take a break sometimes, and if you don’t, your body will do it for you.”
The truth was that I’d never really recovered from losing Penny, or from the violence of her death. Since my mental health was already compromised, Lewis’s death hit me like a hurricane.
“Post traumatic stress disorder,” I told Connie the doctor’s diagnosis.
“Move in with me, Dad,” was her answer.
Since then she’d been taking excellent care of me, while trying to make me think that the deed is mutual. And now I couldn’t stand watching her suffer without doing anything.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“About what?” she stalled.
“About what’s been troubling you. You don’t have to be brave all the time, I’m happy to help. And if I can’t… I know a good psychologist.”
Her chin shook a little. “Thanks, Dad. I’ll think about it.”
She started eating her bramboráky, but she was doing it so slowly, as if she had to force herself. It occurred to me that she just wanted to end the conversation. She was staring into nothing and wiping her greasy fingers into a napkin without thinking.
She took a deep breath. “I think I’ll take some time off. Not just a long weekend,” she added, “I was thinking more like a few weeks.”
Relief washed over me. “That’s a great idea.”
I’d been thinking she might be suffering from the same thing as me. PTSD has lots of triggers and symptoms. From my own research I knew that people working in the medical industry, prisons and the police are especially susceptible because they are constantly faced with injuries, violence, sadness of the families… What if she was affected by some case? Or has something happened to her specifically? There were so many bitter criminals walking around, ready to cause harm. Somebody could have been threatening her, following her or even attacked her. So if her state of mind was really connected to work, she definitely should take a break. I knew that she’d started working for the police because of Mum, to help put guys like those from the bank behind bars. But she’d already served her time, surely… Who knows, maybe she’d change her mind and want to find a calmer job. There were so many options.
“I’ve always wanted to go to New Zealand. What do you say to a family holiday? You, me and Ruby?”
Connie
Mark was trying to outline the plans for relocating the chosen ones last night, but I had to stop him. There was just so much to take in, I struggled to pay attention. I’d remembered some key points, mainly the selected meeting place and a date by which everyone must be in the country before the spreading infection made flights a risk.
I’d only known New Zealand from Geography lessons at school and a few travel articles on the internet. Based on the pictures, it was a gorgeous country with breathtaking nature, and I’d often thought about visiting myself. Whenever I travelled abroad, it was always with Dad, and to the heart of Europe to our Czech family. We’d go for at least three weeks. The family budget didn’t allow for another holiday until the next year, and as soon as I started working, I was limited by the time and the number of days I had off.
It seemed incredibly
