17.

Healing

I drove 268 miles to see my father at the hospital in Savannah—but appearances would be deceiving. He was awake, joking with my sisters. The surgical doctor said, “Your father is going to be OK. He’s in recovery.” So that night I left him to prepare to take final exams at Life University.

Several hours later, after I’d returned home, my youngest sister, Sue Anne, called to tell me that our father had had a heart attack. An hour later, around midnight, my cousin Greg told me Dad had passed away. Nobody saw it coming.

I tried to take my exams anyway. During the first final exam, Dr. Marni Capes told me, “Howard, you need to get up and walk out of here right now.”

“No, no. I can do it. I can do it.”

I found out I wasn’t as tough as I thought I was. My head was not in it. After I had become a SEAL, I didn’t worry about Dad kicking the crap out of me anymore. Our relationship had improved. After Somalia, I told him I loved him for the first time—then I told him every time I saw him after that. We hugged. The passage of time had mellowed him, too. During a family reunion shortly before his death, he told me how he approved of my new wife, Debbie. “She’s a keeper. Don’t mess up.” He loved her. Regarding my new profession, he said, “When you open up your clinic, I’ll be one of your first patients.” Coming from a man who wouldn’t go to a doctor unless he was dying, which was part of his undoing, his confidence in my future skills as a chiropractor meant a lot to me. I had received the acceptance, respect, and approval from my father that I’d always longed for.

My mother told me that later in life Dad was disappointed that he and I didn’t have a better relationship. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that when I was home, he had always been a dictator. He didn’t have conversations with me—didn’t build a relationship. I didn’t cry as much about his death as I had about Uncle Carroll’s. As a kid, I could ask Uncle Carroll questions like, “Is it normal for me to wake up every morning with a hard pee-pee? Is there something wrong with me?” My uncle laughed. “No, that’s normal, son.” Still, my dad raised me the only way he knew how, and I was sad when he died.

One day, about nine months later, Blake asked out of the blue, “Would you like to meet him?”

“Meet who?” I asked.

“Your real dad.”

My biological father could have walked past me in the grocery store, and I wouldn’t have known who he was. “Yeah, Blake. You know, I think I would.”

We did a people search and found him. Then I made the phone call. At Christmas, I went to see Ben Wilbanks, my biological father. Ben said that my mother had taken us kids and run off to Georgia with Leon. In my mind, Ben’s story kind of explains the quick move from Florida to Georgia and the quick adoption. I’m inclined to believe him, due to conflicting stories I got from my mother and sisters. Ben said he had spent years looking for me and could never find me. He turned out to be one of the nicest and most loving men I’d ever met. When he hugged me, I knew that I was really being hugged. Seeing Ben Wilbanks seemed to explain where I got my affectionate side—my capability for compassion and emotion. Ben had served in the army as a military policeman and worked most of his career as a truck driver, which is what he still does.

Blake and I continue to maintain a relationship with my biological father, Blake’s grandfather. Whatever happened between my mother and Ben, she still hasn’t forgiven him. Nor forgotten. For my part, I refuse to hold decisions made in their youth against either of them, because I wouldn’t want to be held in contempt for all the decisions made by me in my youth.

When I was getting ready to graduate from clinic, I received a message from Captain Bailey. He’d seen a magazine article about me in his chiropractor’s office and sent an e-mail congratulating me, asking if I remembered him from BUD/S. It was a no-brainer remembering my commanding officer at BUD/S. I could be on my deathbed and still remember him securing us from Hell Week.

I graduated with honors as a doctor of chiropractic on September 24, 2009. I have always been a “show me” person and resisted going to a chiropractor for a long time, but chemicals couldn’t fix my structural problem. The chemicals only hid my pain. A general practitioner can’t do everything for a patient, and a chiropractor can’t do everything. Working as a team, as I learned my whole life, we become more effective. Local doctors refer patients to me, and I refer patients to them. The patients benefit the most.

When I first started seeing patients is when I knew I’d made the right decision. They trust me, I figure out what’s wrong with them, I help them feel better, and they love me for it.

I am now focused on my new career. Construction of my new clinic, Absolute Precision Chiropractic, was completed in April 2010. From the day I opened the doors, I have been blessed with busy days treating members of the local and surrounding communities. One of my patients, a thirteen-year-old boy, had been suffering from chronic headaches for four years. It turned out he experienced a bad car accident when he was little and lost the curve in his neck. He went from nearly twelve headaches a month on frequent medication to one or two headaches in the first ten weeks I saw him. Success stories like this let me know I made the right decision. I truly feel that this is the path God intended for me when he spared my life in Somalia.

Another affirmation for me occurred when I treated a young lady who had brachial palsy. Her arm hadn’t formed correctly, and she had a lot of nerve damage—she was barely able to move her right arm. I had been helping her with electrical stimulation, adjusting her, and administering other chiropractic techniques. She laterally moved her arm 42 degrees for the first time in her life. Then she flexed her arm forward toward me 45 degrees for the first time. My assistant cried. The fifteen-year-old girl cried from her exertion and success. Her father cried. I stepped out of the room—and cried. I had to walk around a little until I could hold back the tears. I grabbed a tissue and wiped my eyes. Then I returned to my patient as if everything were OK and said, “All right, here’s your exercise for next week.” Seeing her move that arm after hard work on both our parts fulfilled me. Helping patients like her helps lessen the guilt that still makes me wonder why I’m still alive when better men than me like Dan Busch are not. I understand better why God spared me—he really did have a purpose for me after my life as a SEAL.

Even though Blake is in his twenties now, whenever he visits, I give him a good-night hug. I give the same affection to my stepdaughter, Eryn, whom I consider my own daughter. I give my wife, Debbie, a hug or a kiss every time I leave or return to the house. Debbie and I are so affectionate that friends tell us, “Get a room.” Years ago I had questioned why my life had been spared. Today I am thankful that God spared my life and equally thankful for the path that was laid before me. I once again have a positive mind, body, and spirit. Professionally and personally, life is good again.