I just wanted to warn everyone that the angst in the story will continue for a while - so please be prepared. Things will not happen overnight - but there is hope ahead.
"Well Jack", Henry said as he came and sat beside the man in the bed. "Samantha is off gallivanting around again. She says she wants to see some of the countryside so you've got me today. I know I'm not near as good looking so I hope you'll put up with me!"
Over the past few weeks Henry had spent more and more time in the room upstairs, talking quietly to the man there. He felt like he'd gotten to know the other man, although that was rather foolish as Jack had as yet to say a word. Still, Samantha had told him many things about him and spending time here made him feel close to the unmoving man.
He spent the next hour chatting away to him, telling him stories from his own youth and childhood. Somehow he figured Jack would relate to the young imp he'd been. He'd been a trial to his parents alright, but they'd loved him dearly. He felt sad when he thought of them. They'd been gone for years now but he still missed them. He had a sudden yearning to see them again.
Henry was thinking more and more of those he had lost – and more and more he wanted to rest, to be with his loved ones again. Other than the time he spent in this room or with Samantha, he had no interest in this world anymore. He knew it was time to let go. His time on this world was almost done.
"This will be the last time I visit Jack", he told him. "I'm going away after this. I'm going to see my wife, my Sarah. I miss her. I'm also gonna see Hannah and give her a hug and ask her to forgive me. I'll tell her I've looked after her daughter for her." He patted Jack's hand and smiled when the other man looked at him with his eyes. "You're in there, I know you are Jack. I just wish you'd figure out a way to come back to us. Samantha is going to need you soon."
He sat quietly for a few more moments. "She won't be alone though", he told Jack, "so I don't want you to worry. Charlie is here and he'll watch out for her. He loves her you know. Yup - I don't think she knows though. She thinks of him as a friend, and he's okay with that – for now. But I suggest you get off your behind if you don't want to lose her. Eventually she'll need someone. She's not a person who should be alone. She needs love Jack – love and life and children. The sooner you figure out how to get off the bed the better you'll all be!"
Henry stood up and moved over and sat on the bed beside the man who he now considered a friend. "You listen Jack. I left the ranch to Samantha – well, everything except what I've given to Charlie. He's been with me a long time and deserves something too. When I die she'll have the house and the land so she'll be fine. Charlie will look after her, like I said, and I think James will too. He's sweet on her as well. So you see Jack, you have lots of competition – but at least you'll know there are people out there who will care for her."
He rested his hand on Jack's shoulder. "You take care of yourself, okay? I want you to get better because now isn't your time. I don't want to see you again for many, many years!" He got up slowly, stiffly and walked to the doorway. At the last moment he turned back. "Thank you Son", he said. "It's been an honor to know you. You're a good man Jack – don't you ever forget it."
The next morning Sam got up and spent her usual time getting Jack bathed and changed. She got the feeling that something was wrong with him – but since he couldn't move or speak she had no idea what it was. "I wish you could tell me what's wrong", she sighed as she readjusted his covers. "I'm just going to go down and get breakfast for Henry and then I'll be back. Would you like the window open? It's a beautiful morning this morning." She walked over and opened the curtains and lifted the window, allowing a fresh breeze to come in.
She spent the next half an hour fixing Henry's favorite breakfast of pancakes and bacon. She'd noticed that he was looking rather pale and thin lately. She needed to fatten him up.
The pancakes were done and were waiting for him. She was surprised she hadn't heard him yet. He still tended to get up early, even though he didn't need to any more. He'd stopped doing anything around the ranch weeks ago. She supposed it was just the habit of a lifetime that made him rise with the sun.
She served herself and ate quickly, wanting to get back up to Jack. She was still worried that something was bothering him – although she supposed that was silly. She didn't think he was really aware enough or capable of worrying about anything.
Before she went to see Jack she stopped at Henry's room and knocked on the door. "Hey sleepyhead", she called. "Breakfast is ready when you are." She waited a few moments but there was no reply. "Henry? Are you awake?" Still nothing. She began to grow nervous. "Henry?"
She put her ear to the door but there was no sound. Maybe he was outside? He could have gotten up early to go for a short walk, although that was something he hadn't done for weeks either. "Forgive me Henry", she said as she opened the door. She hoped she wouldn't frighten him by walking in.
It took her a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. The curtains were still drawn. She could tell that he was still in bed however, so she walked over slowly, to make sure he was okay.
"Henry? Are you still sleeping?"
She didn't know what it was that made her realize. Maybe it was that he was too still – or maybe she could tell his vibrant life was no more. She took a sudden breath. "Oh – Henry!" She rushed to the bed and reached out a hand. All it took was one touch to know he was gone. His cheek was ice cold – and his body was unmoving.
"No!" she cried. She felt his neck, just to make sure, although she knew there was no point. It was only then that she realized. In his hand was a black and white photo of a woman and young child – Sarah and Hannah. She looked again at his face and saw he wore a small smile. He'd gone to be with the woman and child he loved.
She couldn't help the tears, the sadness that came over her. This man had saved them, had offered them refuge and love. She knew he was now in a better place, that he had grown tired and that he had wanted to go, to give up this life. But still, she was going to miss him. She had learned to love him as if he really was her grandfather.
"I love you Henry", she told him, gently stroking his hair. "Thank you!" She reached down and kissed him and then went to find Charlie. He'd be heartbroken.
It was a while before she realized she hadn't been in to see Jack since before breakfast. Damn! She'd never forgotten him like this before. "I have to check on Jack", she told Charlie. She'd spent quite a bit of time with the hired man. She had been right, he was devastated. Henry had been like a father to him.
Charlie nodded. "I'll – get him cleaned up and changed into his suit", he said, referring to Henry. "He'd want to look his best. I'll go into town then and let the preacher know. We can have the funeral tomorrow."
"Where - ?"
"Here", he said. "Right beside Sarah. She's buried down by the stream – it was her favorite place. The ladies of the town will bring food and everyone will come. Henry was well-liked", he told her.
She agreed – it hadn't taken long for her to realize just how much he was liked and respected by the town's people. She'd spent more time there lately – and had realized that she had been made welcome largely because of their respect for the old man.
She left Charlie then – alone with the body of his employer and friend, and went down the hall to see Jack. "I'm sorry Jack", she told him as she entered. "It was – something happened", she sniffed. "Are you okay? I'll get your food right away, you're probably hungry." She didn't actually know if he got hungry – or if he could even feel such things as hunger - but she usually tried to speak to him as normally as possible.
She spent the next few minutes tidying up in his room and generally chatting away to him. She didn't want to break down so she avoided looking at him. Even though she was sure he couldn't really tell what she was feeling, there was something about him looking at her that made her want to keep her eyes turned away. The Colonel had always been able to read her, even when she tried to hide how she was feeling. She had this strange feeling that he could still do so.
"I'll just go and get your food –" a sudden sound startled her. She looked around, wondering what it could be. It was only when she heard it again that she realized. It was coming from Jack.
"Jack!" She flew over to his side and looked at him. "Was that you?"
He made the sound again. It was something between a moan and a cry. It was then that she looked at him – really looked at him. His eyes were focused on hers and – there was recognition there. Not only that – there were tears. He was crying.
"Jack! Oh my God! You're there – you're still there!", she whispered. She waited for something more – for him to suddenly blink and begin talking. Of course he didn't – she hadn't really expected him to. Still it was something, even though she was sure he still didn't understand her words. He was better – but still was not the man she'd known. It was only then that the fact that he was crying got through to her. At least, she had to assume it was crying and not some autonomic response.
"What's wrong Sir?" She leaned over and took him in her arms, half lifting him up so that she could cradle his head against her shoulder. "What is it? Oh, I wish you could tell me." As the tears rolled out faster she tried to soothe him. "Don't cry, please don't cry."
He whimpered again and she laid him back down. He continued to look at her – but it was no longer the blank stare of the past many months. She could tell he was trying to communicate, trying to let her know what it was.
"I wish I knew what you were trying to say", she cried. She watched him carefully and saw his eyes move over to the right. They kept repeating the movement until she finally understood he wanted her to look at something. She followed the direction of his eyes but couldn't see what – "oh", she said softly. He was looking at the book Henry had left. The old man had gotten in the habit of coming up each night to read to Jack. Sam had been touched and had enjoyed watching him as he sat in the chair by the bed, softly reading the words she knew Jack couldn't understand.
"Henry's book? Is that what you're looking at?" She watched him but he didn't respond, he just kept looking at it. She walked over and picked up and returned to sit on the bed. "Jack, Henry is –he -" The tears suddenly began to flow. "Oh Jack – he's dead. He died in the night." She leaned forward and put her head on his chest and cried her heart out. "He was ready to go – I know that – but I'm going to miss him", she sobbed. Somehow, losing Henry had brought up all the pain and anguish of the last six months. She cried, not just for Henry, but for Jack and for Charlie and for herself.
It was only when she lifted her head, feeling embarrassed, that she looked again at the Colonel. She laughed softly – she hadn't thought of him that way for a long time and this was twice in one morning. Still – for some reason, right now it seemed appropriate. "I'm sorry Sir – I didn't mean to blubber all over you!"
She tried to smile and looked again into his eyes – and took a sudden sharp breath. He'd known! That was what was wrong this morning. He'd somehow known about Henry and he'd been unable to tell her! "How did you know Jack?" she whispered. Of course she got no answer – not even a sound. "Damn it, I wish you could talk!"
The next day it was as if the whole town of Mariscola had descended on the ranch. All the women, for miles around, brought their food, their husbands and their children. If it hadn't have been such a solemn occasion it would almost have seemed like a town picnic.
They buried Henry next to Sarah – down in a shady spot under some trees by the stream. The preacher said a few words, prayed, and it was over. For the rest of the afternoon people shared stories of Henry - while laughing and crying - and she found out again what a good man he really was. He'd helped many of the people in the town and on the surrounding ranches. He'd done so quietly, humbly – and he was well-loved.
"Samantha, if you have time now, I thought we could go into the house and read the will. I'll need Charlie too", John Murrow the town's lawyer came up behind her and spoke gently. "It won't take long and this way we'll get it over with."
"Oh – okay", she replied, wondering why she was included. She followed him to the house and found Charlie waiting.
"It concerns – uh Jack – as well, but I understand he's not well enough to come down?" John asked carefully.
"No", she said, puzzled. "He's not. Uh – what's this about?"
She was to find out soon afterward. It turned out that Henry had left the farm to her – along with half of the herd and a substantial amount of money. He'd been generous with Charlie too – leaving him the remainder of the herd, a small house in town and money enough to keep him comfortably for the rest of his life.
Sam was shocked when the lawyer announced that Jack was to receive something too. Henry had left him his book collection – some money – and the house. Under the terms of the will he was to be under the care of Samantha and was to be cared for as she saw fit.
Sam shed a few tears when she heard all the provisions in the will. She told the lawyer that everything should have gone to Charlie – but neither he nor Charlie would hear of her trying to change the terms.
"Look Samantha", John told her. "He wanted you to have it. It made him happy and Charlie did just fine. He never planned to leave everything to him anyway and Charlie knew that. Henry had planned to leave most of it to the town – instead he left it to you."
By the time everyone had gone home Sam was so tired she was ready to collapse. Everything had been tidied up by the time they left so all she had to do was check on Jack one last time before heading to bed. She'd looked in on him periodically throughout the day but hadn't had any time to stay and talk with him.
When she got there he was awake – not only that, he was looking at her. And this time, it wasn't just his eyes. He'd actually turned his head – he'd moved! "Jack!" she smiled. "You moved! Can you do it again?"
Of course he didn't respond. He didn't know what she was saying. Instead she tried to pantomime what she meant. After a couple of seconds he turned his head – just like she had done.
"Good for you!" she cried. She bent over and kissed his cheek. "Good bo- ur good man!" She frowned, wanting to kick herself. No matter what he was like, he was no boy. She didn't know where that had come from!
Over the next few weeks life settled back into a pattern. She missed Henry and suddenly she was responsible for the things that were happening on the ranch. Fortunately she had Charlie, who continued to oversee everything. She was grateful for him and trusted him completely.
As for Jack – well that was a small miracle. After the day of the funeral he had slowly started to show some improvement, although he still didn't respond directly to anything she said. She had realized that in most ways he was just like a small baby. He responded to certain stimuli, could make small, uncoordinated movements and could verbalize – but he was still unable to truly communicate. He couldn't sit up on his own, although she started to prop him up with pillows for a certain amount each day. She also continued to move him around as much as possible, as bed sores continued to be a real problem.
For some strange reason – although she was grateful to see improvement after so long - it was almost harder now than it had been before. The small improvements had given her some hope – but he was still a long, long way from normal and, in fact, this highlighted even more how badly he'd been damaged. While he was lying still and quiet she could sometimes allow herself to believe he was simply trapped inside an unmoving body. Now however, she knew that mentally he was not the man he'd been. He was a baby, trapped in a man's body.
What made it even harder was she discovered – or maybe just had it reaffirmed - that Jack O'Neill could be damned stubborn – even when he was mentally the age of an infant. She wondered briefly if he'd been like this as a child. If so, he must have driven his mother crazy.
It was about a month after Henry's funeral when things really began to change – no pun intended. She went into his room and sighed. He had to be changed again. She really had to stop giving him so much oatmeal. She got the basin and soup, the cloths, towels and 'diapers' and moved them beside the bed. She pulled down the covers and reached for the bottom of his night shirt. The next thing she knew, a hand had come out and weakly pushed hers away.
She sucked in a lungful of air. "Sir?" she asked. When nothing happened she moved his hand away and again reached for his nightshirt. Again, his hand stopped her. "Sir? What are you doing?"
He made the sound he only ever made when he was distressed. She hated this sound – but it was very affective. "Okay, I wish you could tell me what was going on."
He made that sound again and looked down. "Is it something to do with being changed?" she asked. Of course, as usual, he didn't answer. "Well, here it goes. Let's try this again and see what happens."
She reached for a third time and this time he screeched at her and pushed her hand away as fiercely as he could, his movements uncoordinated, but effective for all that.
"All right – I get the idea you don't want me to change you." she said, with a sigh. She didn't get an answer, but she hadn't expected one. "So what are we going to do Sir?" she asked. "You certainly can't stay like this!"
She watched him for a few more minutes and discovered that his eyes kept moving. It was when he seemed to be getting even more distressed, or frustrated, that she got it. "Are you – do you mean the chamber pot Sir?" she finally asked, realizing that he was looking at the wash stand, where it was generally kept. She'd used it a few times for dirty rags when there'd been a particularly – messy change.
He didn't move or respond to her question so walked over and pulled out the pot. "Is this what you mean?" she asked, showing him.
He made a soft sound – the one he used when he seemed to like something. "Okay", she sighed. "You want to use the chamber pot rather than wearing diapers? Well, that's certainly okay by me, although I really don't know how we're going to manage that. You can't exactly do it by yourself since you can barely move."
She sighed again and pushed her hand through her ever lengthening hair. "I guess we'll figure it out somehow. In the meantime Sir – Jack – I am going to have to change you. You're rather – rank and you'll get sore if we leave you."
She put down the pot and gently explained this to him as she tried to lift his nightshirt again. "Damn it Jack! You have to let me do this. I will not leave you like this!" She knocked aside his hands and pulled up the shirt, only to again hear his sounds of distress.
She could feel herself want to break down and cry. What did he want her to do? She couldn't deal with this anymore. She was looking after a 6'2" infant and she – just – couldn't! She sat back on the edge of the bed and covered her face with her hands. In the background she could hear him make soft noises – no longer of distress – although she didn't know what they meant.
Eventually she took a deep breath and turned around, only to find him looking at her – almost apologetically. "I know Sir", she said softly. "This has to be terrible for you. I just hope you're not really in there otherwise this would surely be hell. Please Jack – let me do this? Afterward we'll figure something else out, okay?"
He made a soft sound and she could almost believe he'd nodded, although she was pretty sure that was a trick of her imagination. She reached out slowly and touched his nightshirt. This time he didn't move but allowed her to lift it up and begin the process of cleaning him. She only looked up once – to see that his eyes were closed and there was a trail of tears on his cheeks. She wanted to cry herself.
Later that afternoon, while Jack was sleeping, she went and got Charlie and told him her problem. They talked about it for a while – she couldn't believe she was actually discussing this with someone – and finally came up with a solution – they hoped.
As Sam made her way back inside she decided it was time to really work with Jack – to see if she could get him up and moving. Using the chamber pot was a first – and big – step.
From that day on, with Charlie's help, Jack began to do more for himself. There were still a few accidents – and Sam thanked heavens for the rubber sheet – but eventually he was able to control himself much better. He still couldn't do it alone, but she'd rigged up a bell with a string by his hand and he'd ring it when he needed the pot. It only became difficult when Charlie was out on the range for long periods of time and wasn't available to help him.
Sam hated those times as Jack grew quite angry. She would try and explain to him and offer to help but he'd usually end up throwing a tantrum. She knew, she understood that it had to be terribly frustrating, but it wasn't her fault!
Everything finally came to a head one day when he was complaining – vocalizing loudly – because he was angry that Charlie wasn't available. He began to thrash around and managed to knock things, including a lamp, off his night table. Sam desperately tried to stop him, to soothe him, but he was having no part of it. Frustrated, angry, at the end of her patience, she stood up.
"ENOUGH!" she yelled. "Stop this right now Jack! You are acting like a spoiled brat. I'm leaving and when you've decided to control yourself I'll come back. I do not have to put up with this anymore. Contrary to how it may look, I am not your damned mother!" With those words she stormed out of his room, slamming the door behind her.
Of course, she stayed in the hallway and listened carefully. Regardless of how angry she was, there was no way she'd leave him to hurt himself. She heard a few muted sounds – Jack verbalizing – and then nothing. The silence continued for a long time and she decided he must have fallen asleep. With a sigh, she rubbed her eyes and decided to go outside, to get some fresh air and maybe go look at the animals.
The man in the bed stayed totally still until he heard the footsteps move away. He then began to move. The movements were slow, uncoordinated, but they were intentional.
It took a long time and he was sweating profusely by the end of it, but he managed to roll onto his side and get his legs over the side of the bed. It was an awkward and uncomfortable position – but the man had a small grin on his face. He'd done it all by himself!
He continued to move, taking short rests every few moments. He eventually got into position and then moved his arms and attempted to leverage himself upright. Of course, after months of not moving, his muscles had atrophied and he was as weak as the proverbial kitten. He managed to push himself up by no more than a few centimeters, but almost immediately collapsed back down. He made a small sound – angry at himself – but tried again.
He kept trying, not getting very far, but he wouldn't give up. He had few thoughts – his mind was still mostly a blank – but he knew enough that he had to do this – for her. He had to prove he could – and he would.
By this time a couple of hours had passed and he was exhausted and shaking. His back and legs had cramped and he had been unable to do more than twist his body into an unnatural position. He whimpered, angry and frustrated. Closing his eyes he decided to give it everything he had. He pushed, with arms that were weak as a child's but he refused to stop.
Suddenly, the momentum of even his small push overbalanced him completely and he went crashing to the floor, bringing the covers with him. He ended up on his face, legs and arms tangled in blankets and sheets.
He made a small sound. Any who could have seem him would have expected fury, or frustration or despair. Instead, the sound coming from him was one which hadn't been heard in many months. Jack was laughing. He'd done it. He'd moved and done something on his own – not a planned for result – but it was his. Of course, he didn't think these things – he couldn't, he could only feel, and he felt like he'd accomplished something, for himself.
He'd also had a picture flash through his mind suddenly, of something - something like this. He saw someone –a large man with a dark face – lift him when he'd fallen before. The picture brought a sense of peace – and hope – to a mind damaged almost beyond repair.