A Half Lucky One

Content warning: PTSD

He loved his parents and he loved his wife. Gerry even loved the baby Marla was expecting that hadn't yet come. Two months before he would have his first child, a son of all things, there was so much he wanted to say to the lot of them, not to mention also his pals in service, those who were now back home like him and others he's met like himself since his return. He had a lot to say to his doctors and the many nurses and experts he had encountered, especially those hard working rehabilitation specialists doing their best to make broken people like him whole again. There was a lot Gerry had to say but most of all he wanted them to understand he still felt quite normal, no matter how trapped in his own mind he appeared to be.

Leave it to a well hidden IED, a terrifying surprise followed by so much sudden pain and unexpected numbness, at least his body was still intact and he wasn't physically ruined, or worse yet paralyzed or missing parts of himself. He was blessed in that sense. Mentally however was another thing altogether. Gerry had been blown by the explosion fast and hard into a small stone wall, an ancient Iraqi ruin, one that had been crumbling for centuries, and now he was the one crumbling, falling apart and left to fate and fate alone. The handsome twenty-two year old store manager from Iowa, all he had managed to be so far in his young life before the army, nearly dying far away from home in a strange place that at times felt so desolate and hopeless. Though there had been small breaks of vivid life, the civilians, as scattered and scarce as they could be, were a welcome relief from the silent emptiness, stark surroundings and occasional violence.

For Gerry it wasn't PTSD like many others who were half lucky to have survived. His brain itself had been severely damaged to the point it took him weeks to awake from unconsciousness, then about the same amount of time to begin to recognize and understand what things were again, and months to finally move and eat properly once more, well properly enough now that the food didn't mostly fall out of the left side of his mouth. In a year and a half he had relearned what many words meant and was able to read again, quickly picking that function back up as if he had never been injured at all. Figuring numbers and solving basic math problems was a more challenging feat but Gerry had always been bad at math. As a manager in charge of tallying a day's profits he had been good really only at counting and separating bills and coins into their proper stacks to be taken to the bank.

The most devastating thing for the young wounded soldier, a veteran so early on in a career he had planned to be a long one, was his inability of speech. At the present time Gerry could almost sound words, more so half grumbles and groans, fractions of words so to speak, which could hardly be understood until he forced them out in a raspy exclamation, which upset him terribly more so due to the fact he always came off as if he was angry and frustrated with whomever he was attempting communication. Mostly now Gerry scribbled his intentions and thoughts on notepads and sticky notes, frantically at times, his writing erratic but legible, another area he had worked tirelessly at to regain once more. Speaking however was still a continuous struggle, one that he knew was also hard on everyone else, sometimes more than it was on him.

He could easily think again, think out full sentences and his ideas and thoughts finally made sense again, and had for some time. Physically he was fit once more, obviously shaky at times but able to run fast like before, play sports as he once had, though he would occasionally fall over, and he had even bulked up more so than ever before. It hadn't taken Gerry long at all to recover his mobility in the hospital, his limbs would dart out surprisingly and startle people at first but he managed to control them over time and now only convulsed once in awhile, wobbled some here and there and rarely dropped anything these days. He could convey emotions very well, his eyes and face were very expression filled, and he was determined to be affectionate and intimate with Marla, even with her reservations at first which had been a blow to his pride and dignity. In time they could easily make love again, 'fuck' for that matter, and he could silently express his love for her and lust for her without any problems at all. However stating it and sounding like Boris Karloff's Monster from Frankenstein was infuriating, degrading even, and Gerry could become quite depressed and silent at times.

Forget feeling powerless and alone, there were moments Gerry didn't even feel human. And they all couldn't say that he hadn't startled them, not frightened as he suspected, when he attempted his ghastly, horrid speech, a speech that no longer wavered so much, and no longer did his raspy voice stammer or stutter, the attempts just came out forcefully, piercing even, with Gerry sounding much harsher and louder than he intended to be. He wasn't purposely trying to alienate himself and his fears of what others felt and thought of him were more so in his own mind, as he was mostly trapped in his own head, and as understanding and patient as so many had been, like his beloved Marla, he would assume many pitied him, another blow to his dignity and self worth. He knew he could unsettle and disturb, especially strangers or old friends and acquaintances who had no idea what to expect as he appeared quite normal in every other regard. The only scar he had was a long one on the side of his head from his surgery that his short, light brown hair covered almost completely. For a time he didn't speak at all and even stopped his verbal exercises, giving them up until he realized something very important that mattered much to him.

Marla and his unborn son had kept him going, Sean would be his name, named after his best army pal that didn't come home after that fateful blast, and Gerry had always wanted more than anything to be the dad that taught his children how to walk, play and talk. Two out of three wasn't bad he reasoned with himself, better than hiding away sad and keeping himself up at night tormented without any real sleep. How could he be any kind of a father for the kid like that? And who really knew? He had started to muster out some words when he really tried, maybe not an entire sentence yet but surely more now than those moans and grunts that used to make no sense to anyone but him. And wouldn't his kid have the same trouble at first, the same frustration as he tried to convey his thoughts and needs? Sean's would pass as he grew and so could his, even if just a little at a time, and in the end Gerry gave up on the idea of being perfect once more, he was good enough for now. He could improve his speech to a point, maybe even surprise himself one day, but no longer would he let his struggles so severely affect his life and loved ones. Some couldn't snap out of it like Gerry was able to, sadly, and there were so many like him broken in countless other ways, whether physical, mental or emotional, so many like him just taking it day by day.

At least as he saw it now, he was one of those half lucky ones.