I know what I know

Henry and I spend two to three hours on the phone together every week. It's been like this since he returned to Key West from Miami, after his accident. Often I love it, sometimes it exhausts me. The way our calls go depends on how Henry is doing at work, how he is feeling physically, whether his TBI is bedeviling him, and how patient I can be.

But here's the thing: he is getting better. Sure, every now and again he returns to rehashing the accident and how everyone is wrong about how it happened -- even though he has no recollection of it. Yes, he continues to insist he never had a brain injury, even though the seizure he recently suffered is evidence of it. OK, it's hard to hear him complain about how his medications affect him, even though he continues consuming multiple glasses of wine each day when he shouldn't be drinking at all.

I don't believe that any of those negatives are unusual or even unexpected from a man who nearly died five months ago.

He's no longer furious all the time. He doesn't rail against Reg, saying he wants a divorce. He doesn't complain about close friends who treat him "like a child." He's sweet and funny and always asks about my aunt. A Trumper, her outspoken support of the President has cost her a relationship with her favorite granddaughter, a situation which makes Henry very sad for all concerned.

Henry is healing. I can see the progress. So why am I unhappy this morning? It's Reg.

Reg is using social media -- reaching more than 150 people -- to complain about Henry. And about me. I have sent texts to Reg, saying, "Henry says he loves you!" "I can tell he's getting better," etc. I thought this would make him happy.

It does not.


This past week, Reg has posted: "Those of you who have spoken to Henry, thinking everything is good. You are wrong and I would like to bring you to the table. Read about TBI." and "Your conversations are but snippets. There is very little that you can say to make it better."

I get that Reg is tired. That he is the one who has to deal with the mood swings, day in/day out. That he is the one who bears the brunt of being with Henry as much as humanly possible (since the seizure, he's afraid to be alone).

But when I say Henry is better, that doesn't mean I think Henry is well.

Before the accident, I was more Henry's than Reg's. The accident brought Reg and I together, for a time. Now I think things have reverted. I'm going to stop reaching out to Reg, since it annoys him. Every month since the accident, I've sent money to their household through the Gofundme page, which Reg handles. From now on, I'll send it directly to Henry. (Example: I have a Shell gift card here that I'm putting in a card to Henry with a note. He can use it to thank the friend who drives him to and from work, or he can give it Reg. His choice.)

This is a journey. I'm buckled in for the duration. But I have to help them, to be there for them, in a way that does not deplete me.