I have to pause because hearing him call me Dad wipes every thought from my head. It's normal to him, but it means so damn much to me.
"Do you know your way around the kitchen?" I ask him when my brain starts working again.
"Yep, I help Mom cook all the time."
"There you have it. You are officially banned from the kitchen. Go sit down with Gem and relax."
Once in the kitchen, I whisper to Graham. "Your mom doesn't relax much, does she?"
"Nope, not even on Mother's Day."
"Okay, first the spaghetti pot."
This is how the rest of making dinner goes. I ask for something, and Graham brings it to me. He sets the table, and as the garlic bread cooks, he asks something I thought he would’ve asked before now.
"Dad, how can you do all this without seeing?"
"Your mom has been a big part of that. She's taught me to use my other senses. I can feel when the spaghetti is done. I can taste when the sauce is right, and I can smell the garlic bread and know it's ready. The rest of it took a bit of practice."
As we eat dinner, I realize this is my family. For the first time since I was Graham's age, I have a family to have dinner and spend time with. I sure as hell won't mess it up this time.
The next day, I'm back at Oakside, and I have a slew of appointments in the morning before I meet with Lauren after lunch. I'm at the stage where Oakside is helping me transition into the civilian world.
That means finding a job or going back to school and ensuring I have everything I need to find a place to stay and take care of myself. Becky, the girl helping me, is Lexi's sister-in-law and very nice. Though I seem to be the problem because I don't want to make any decisions.
Since I don't know where I stand with Lauren and Graham, I can't make any decisions. Everything I want to do centers around the two of them. It's a conversation I need to have but have been putting off.
Next up is the doctor that oversees me and my case. He manages all the specialists and makes sure nothing slips between the cracks. Gem sits right at my side, leaning on my leg the whole time, her head moving as she watches him.
"Everything looks good. The notes I’ve received from everyone indicate you’re adjusting well," the doctor says.
"It's not easy,” I reply. “I had to re-learn how to do everything differently.”
"I know it isn’t easy and will be a constant learning process. But there’s something I want to talk to you about."
His serious tone captures my attention."Okay?"
"I've been sharing notes and talking to a college friend. Medicine is always advancing, and I like to stay on top of new treatments. There’s an experimental surgery, and you’re a perfect candidate."
"What kind of surgery?"
The idea of surgery isn't thrilling. In the days after my accident, I had many surgeries both in theater and later in the hospital in Germany, so choosing to have another holds little appeal.
"It’s a surgical procedure which may restore some of your sight, mostly up close. You’d still be legally blind and need Gem here, but you would see color and shapes. Worst case, it does nothing, and you’re where you are now."
There’s a chance I could be able to see my son. I may never see him fully at a sporting event or on stage, but I could see him up close. I’d be able to watch him grow up. I'd be able to see Lauren and wouldn't be so dependent on her.
Worst case, I'm right back where I started. But for the chance to watch my son grow up, the surgery seems worth it.
"There has to be a catch," I say, trying not to get my hopes up.
"The surgery is only available in Baltimore, and you’d have to commit to being there for at least four weeks. There’s temporary housing for patients, but you’d need someone with you."
Four weeks up north? Maryland is a long way from Georgia, and four weeks is a long time to be away from Lauren and Graham after missing the last seven years.
"Not an option."
Standing up with Gem, I leave without another word. Stupid me went and got my hopes up about the surgery. To leave the two people who mean the world to me for four weeks isn't an option.I have a lot to make up for, and part of that is proving I'm not going anywhere, and they can trust me to always be here.