How was your family different after you went back home? Quoting: Anonymous Coward 26241126
There were two hells I experienced that day. The moment after the gun went off and the other, chest tube insertion. I remember being wheeled into the trauma bay and at that point I was done. I wanted to go. I couldn't breathe, I was wracked with bouts of shivering from the shock and my pereption of time and space was different. Much like being at the beach. You decide you are going to perhaps walk back to the shore. Your head bobs under the surface, its peaceful and quiet. Than you break back above the surface and see another reality. The noise, air temperature and light etc. I wanted them to let me go. From what I can piece together I was about 1hr and 15 minutes to 1 hour 30 minutes post shooting by the time I hit the trauma ward. I remember turning my head and seeing my family out in the hallway looking in at me. They were visibly shaken and weeping. My father covered his face and walked away. Years later he told me, "Boy, you looked dead when I saw you..." I remember being upset they were walking away from me. I wanted them to come back, I didn''t understand why they left me, we had just made eye contact. I heard them say, "Hold him down this is going to hurt...." It was the chest tube insertion. It would be at that moment I broke the underwater perspective and went back to the reality of the trauma room.
My brother had nightmares for twenty years after seeing me. I made a mistake of looking down at my feet after the shooting but just before the squad arrived and saw the mess I had become.
The POW/internment type environment was folded up. He apologized to me in the ICU. I avoided the woods for over a year. To this day, at this time of the year I prefer to stay out of them. One year after the shooting he thought I had plenty of time, "to get over it" he dragged me down to the woods and made me stand infront of the tree I sat next to while I blew a hole into me. He made me walk to that tree and touch it. I thought I was going to pass out. The police gave him my report cards, suicide note and rifle. The suicide note and grades were unreadable, they were nothing more than a blood soaked rag.
I haven't spoken to my family in 6 years. My father has problems with women. That was one of the issues in our home, his routine abusive nature and womanizing behavior. Shortly after his divorce from my step mother he showed up at my home wanting me to help him get established in our community, I said, "sure." For a few months I worked with him. My wife and I had a 2 year old daughter and our son was 5 months old at this time. My wife is striking and a head turner...one afternoon she tells me, "Your dad gives me the creeps, he wants to hug when we are alone, and I am afraid of him...."
I said, "say no more..." I confronted him. He trashed my child-hood and was bent on allowing his sickness destroy my family. He demanded to see my wife and started to shove past me. I told him and I meant it, "take one more step towards that house...it will be your last....dad." I called my family, come to find out he was inappropriate towards my first wife, and I never knew. There was much more to him I found out that had been kept secret. I wanted to distance the man until he could get help. I thought surely, my family would rally around me, circle the wagons. Nope. He had manipulated them to make them believe, I was in the wrong. I divorced myself from the madness and planted new roots for a young family tree.