The Brock children arrived at Thayer Hospital within a few minutes
after Kimberly had hung up the phone with her mother. They went to the
information desk, asked which room James Brock had been in and were
promptly directed to room 372. Kimberly immediately had a sickening feeling
overcome her-she knew this couldn't be good if her father was in that room;
based on what little she knew about hospitals, rooms located on the third
floor were generally for those individuals who weren't medically stable.
She certainly hoped this had not been the case. The three Brocks stepped
off the elevator and ran to Jill, hugging and crying together now as a
family.
"Is he going to be OK?" Kimberly had asked with a crackle in her voice as Jill escorted her close knit family to the CCU.
"I think so," Jill replied, trying her hardest to hold back a stream of tears. "He's just down the hall a little ways." The rest of the Brock family had followed the two women into room 372, where Jimmy laid so still with all of his numerous durable medical equipment attached to his muscular body. He himself, was exhausted from the entire ordeal, and, thanks to modern anesthesia, had no difficulties in sleeping. Jill Brock knew her husband needed rest, but he also needed his family. She pulled up a chair and sat down beside him, placing her hand in his. Surprisingly, neither of their children have ever witnessed a gesture like it, yet this time, it seemed all the more special.
"Jimmy, it's me, Jill," she managed to say, having tears fall down her cheeks like rain. Just then, he mumbled something-the first words since his unfortunate accident.
"I," Jimmy stopped. His thoughts were still cloudy from the entire anesthesia he had received earlier in the night, so piecing together what he yearned to express came across as a difficulty. He then continued on with what he was going to say,-"am sorry." One could tell he was really trying to concentrate on what he was attempting to say, his eyes were closed and he had squinted, giving him an almost angry look on his face.
"It's OK honey. You can open your eyes. We're all right here-we're not going anyplace," reassured Jill, still grasping her husband's large right hand, all while having more tears well up in her tired eyes again. "You're going to be all right. You're safe now."
Sheriff Brock made the effort to open his tired blue eyes and wound up staring into the eyes of his youthful offspring and spouse. Truth be known, he despised the fact they had all seen him like this-hooked to a cardiac monitor, oxygen tubing in his nose, hell, even the Foley catheter had bothered him. None the less, deep down in his heart, he was never more proud than to have his family at his bedside.
Jill, still perched in her chair, moved her other hand and placed it on his forehead, feathering back his salt and pepper hair out of his eyes. Typically, on a good day, he would have it parted down the center and what were supposed to be his bangs went off to each side. Deep down, she loved to run her fingers through his wavy scalp-usually when he let it grow out a little. Jimmy wasn't a man known for his lengthy hair, just when he had purposely forgotten to have it trimmed every five weeks.
"Daddy?" Kimberly couldn't restrain her emotions any longer than she absolutely had to.
Jimmy had dozed off again, but was found to be easily aroused. Damn, was he ever tired. When Kim said his name, he woke up almost immediately.
"Kimberly," he managed to spit that out. "Its late, you guys should be home and in bed." Some things never change.
"Dad, it's OK. We're here to help you pull through this," Matthew concurred. He should be one to know; after all it was his parents who never left his bedside when he had gotten shot; now it was his turn to return the favor.
"You have a hockey game tonight son," Jimmy recalled, again stumbling for appropriate words. His mind was playing games on him, yet, in reality, there was nothing he could do about it, at least not now. His body had to metabolize the anesthesia; he was just impatient and hated that state of mass confusion. "You should be in school so you can play and go out there and kick some ass for me." Little did Brock know, school and work were the farthest things from everyone's mind.
Zach just sat quietly in a corner, praying to God his dad would be all right.
"Is he going to be OK?" Kimberly had asked with a crackle in her voice as Jill escorted her close knit family to the CCU.
"I think so," Jill replied, trying her hardest to hold back a stream of tears. "He's just down the hall a little ways." The rest of the Brock family had followed the two women into room 372, where Jimmy laid so still with all of his numerous durable medical equipment attached to his muscular body. He himself, was exhausted from the entire ordeal, and, thanks to modern anesthesia, had no difficulties in sleeping. Jill Brock knew her husband needed rest, but he also needed his family. She pulled up a chair and sat down beside him, placing her hand in his. Surprisingly, neither of their children have ever witnessed a gesture like it, yet this time, it seemed all the more special.
"Jimmy, it's me, Jill," she managed to say, having tears fall down her cheeks like rain. Just then, he mumbled something-the first words since his unfortunate accident.
"I," Jimmy stopped. His thoughts were still cloudy from the entire anesthesia he had received earlier in the night, so piecing together what he yearned to express came across as a difficulty. He then continued on with what he was going to say,-"am sorry." One could tell he was really trying to concentrate on what he was attempting to say, his eyes were closed and he had squinted, giving him an almost angry look on his face.
"It's OK honey. You can open your eyes. We're all right here-we're not going anyplace," reassured Jill, still grasping her husband's large right hand, all while having more tears well up in her tired eyes again. "You're going to be all right. You're safe now."
Sheriff Brock made the effort to open his tired blue eyes and wound up staring into the eyes of his youthful offspring and spouse. Truth be known, he despised the fact they had all seen him like this-hooked to a cardiac monitor, oxygen tubing in his nose, hell, even the Foley catheter had bothered him. None the less, deep down in his heart, he was never more proud than to have his family at his bedside.
Jill, still perched in her chair, moved her other hand and placed it on his forehead, feathering back his salt and pepper hair out of his eyes. Typically, on a good day, he would have it parted down the center and what were supposed to be his bangs went off to each side. Deep down, she loved to run her fingers through his wavy scalp-usually when he let it grow out a little. Jimmy wasn't a man known for his lengthy hair, just when he had purposely forgotten to have it trimmed every five weeks.
"Daddy?" Kimberly couldn't restrain her emotions any longer than she absolutely had to.
Jimmy had dozed off again, but was found to be easily aroused. Damn, was he ever tired. When Kim said his name, he woke up almost immediately.
"Kimberly," he managed to spit that out. "Its late, you guys should be home and in bed." Some things never change.
"Dad, it's OK. We're here to help you pull through this," Matthew concurred. He should be one to know; after all it was his parents who never left his bedside when he had gotten shot; now it was his turn to return the favor.
"You have a hockey game tonight son," Jimmy recalled, again stumbling for appropriate words. His mind was playing games on him, yet, in reality, there was nothing he could do about it, at least not now. His body had to metabolize the anesthesia; he was just impatient and hated that state of mass confusion. "You should be in school so you can play and go out there and kick some ass for me." Little did Brock know, school and work were the farthest things from everyone's mind.
Zach just sat quietly in a corner, praying to God his dad would be all right.
