Page 150 of The Widower
“You closed your eyes?” Colin laughed, and both Joshua and I joined in. “Didn’t see that one coming.”
“Yeah. Are you gonna come to all my games now, Dad?”
“I’ll do my best, son.I want to be there, but I need to get better first.”
“You’re gonna get better really fast,” I said, cutting in.
“I sure hope so,” he murmured, smiling softly.
CHAPTER 34
“There are gestures that can surprise even the most skeptical of men…”
ISABELLE CAMPBELL
After six grueling months, Colin finally started walking on his own, though he still struggled a bit with some hip movements.
To make things simple, I’ll explain what happened step by step.
The first two months were the hardest—for him, for all of us. That was when every possible difficulty hit at once, and he thought about giving up more times than I can count. The second month, in particular, was when he began the full circuit his physical therapist had planned.By then, he could already move his toes and foot normally again.
That had been our biggest fear. Because of the spinal injury, several areas were affected, and Colin had to start from the ground up—literally.
The third month was a turning point in his recovery. That was when he showed the most progress and managed to move around with crutches. It wasn’t easy, but he did every single exercise, never lost focus—and for once, he didn’t let frustration win.
The fourth month, though… that one was tough. There wasn’t much visible progress, and I honestly wondered where he found the strength to keep going. Still, Colin didn’t give up. Somehow, he kept believing—seeing hope in everything.
The kids stayed with him during every session, cheering him on nonstop. Joshua grew even closer to his dad, and even during breaks, the two of them were inseparable.
And Hanna...
I almost forgot, but she insisted on being there too. At one point, I actually wondered if she even remembered I existed anymore.
Yes, I’ll admit it—I was a little jealous.
By the fifth month, his exercises had changed, but Colin kept improving. He could now balance on his own for a few seconds without any help.
One day that month, I threw my arms around him and sobbed when I saw he’d completed another stage of therapy. That was when I noticed something new in him—Colin was moved by his own progress. He looked forward to each new day, eager to start again, always saying, “I’ll do better than yesterday.”
The sixth month was the most stable of all, but Colin was strong by then—walking completely on his own.Even when he stood for long stretches, he didn’t falter.Sometimes he’d lean on something for support, but as his therapist told me, that was part of the process.
As for me... well, I was completely drained. I’d lost weight, had dark circles under my eyes, and my mind was hanging by a thread from the constant exhaustion.
Even with this victory, I was falling apart.
For anyone who thinks I’m exaggerating—try helping someone who doesn’t want to be helped, and you’ll understand exactly what I mean. It wears you down.
There comes a point when you just want to throw your hands up and say screw it.But when that person means everything to you, you keep going.
That’s what I did. What I keep doing.
I won’t lie and pretend I never thought about giving up on pushing Colin. The thought crossed my mind countless times—especially when he snapped and refused to do a single exercise. Thank God that phase didn’t last long. As he got stronger, an incredible determination took over him, and soon my worry flipped to the opposite—he started begging to do more.
But as his therapist reminded us—too much of anything is never good.
Colin and I were in the kitchen.Besides making sure he ate properly, I also kept a close eye on him. After catching him cheating on his diet once, I’d become relentless about anything food-related.
“You don’t look so good. Did something happen?” he asked, his dark eyes fixed on me.
