Shadows of Shelly

Brit - The healing process Part 11b

ELEVEN-b

Brit – The healing process.

We were searching for hostages, when a presumed dead Chinese soldier laying on the ground fired several shots. Two of my men were wounded. A Marine Sergeant Major working with us came from behind the shooter, kicked him in the head knocking out the combatant teenager. The opponent was carted to the contained area.

We had freed one hundred and fifty-one captives. Fifty men, twenty-six children and seventy-five young women were alive. They had been kidnapped from surrounding areas from Burma, Laos and Thailand. They had been abused and were forced to work as manual laborers on a vegetable farm next to the base camp. There was a trench with dozens of older dead men and women laying in it.

The ones dead were killed because they were to old to work or had tried to eat one of the beets or turnips they were growing. From the bruises, many had been tortured. We were told that some were killed because the Chinese did not like the way they looked, or they were sick.

We were loading the refugees onto the helicopters when shots came from a small hill. Four of our men used grenade launchers which abolished the gunshots from that area. Two rounds hit me. The next thing I remembered was when I woke up in the hospital room seventy days later. A doctor and two nurses were around the bed.

Shelly joined us a few minutes later with waterworks flowing. She had settled down until Momma came into the room crying. Shelly began howling again. The sight was hilarious.

I pulled the covers over my head to keep them from seeing me laughing. Of course, I instigated some moans and groans to make them think that I was in more pain than I was. When I pulled the covers down, they were bubbling and smiling.

The doctor told us it may take six months to recover. The physical tormentors came in again and helped me drag my feet around the floor another time. The next day we moved into the hall. I raised my feet about an inch as I staggered around the corridor. That afternoon my feet were flying a whopping two inches from the floor. The end of the week found me running a grueling mile an hour.

My head pounded painfully. Taking medication muddled my mind. Uncle John gave Shelly an ointment developed by a shaman monk. She was instructed to massage my head with the balm and wrap my cranium with a moist hot towel for five minutes each morning and evening. Within a week my forehead and temples were mildly throbbing. In a another week the agony disappeared.

Shelly kissed each side of my head then switched to my mouth. She pampered me, and I knew deep down that I was the luckiest man alive. I had heard other men say that phrase, but now I have experienced it.

As I was contemplating a gentle pulsation spread through my body. I knew this was my woman. Not in the sense that I owned her, but in appreciation that I was blessed with her.

I ask myself, "Am I worthy of her love?" Is it selfish of me to want her forever? My injuries may be a liability the rest of my life! I ran an hour this morning barely covering two miles. I was huffing, puffing and grasping for air. If anyone challenged me now, I would not be able to climb into the ring!

"Shelly, I need to share something with you! To some degree, I have forgotten the combat encounter.

A man in my unit came up before the battle, and said, 'Do you remember me?

'No! Should I?'

'I want to ask your forgiveness!'

'What for?'

'I was trying to break in your house when your dog approached me. I was scared, and I shot him. You were so heartbroken, and it devastated me. If you had killed me, you would have been justified.'

'I have a new dog now.'

'I know. I had my brother find a little puppy that looked similar to your dog and place him on your back porch.'

'Man, you did not have to tell me that!'

'Yes, I did. I have been plagued with that bad deed for the last four years. I joined the Thai Frontline Guard to make up for my crimes. You are my commanding officer. Please forgive me. If I die tonight my conscience will be clean, and my spirit will go to heaven.'

'I forgive you and wish you peace.'

Twenty minutes later the man was killed by the same sniper that wounded me. Coincidence, I do not think so. Maybe God was speaking to me, not to hold grudges and offer forgiveness more often. I want to make sure there is no residual resentment between us.