Veteran finds life through true love

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http://www.news- leader.com/ apps/pbcs. dll/article? AID=200880319043 1
March 19, 2008

Veteran finds life through true love

Story by Kathleen O'Dell - News-Leader
For a long time after Bobby Lisek returned home from the Iraq war where a mine explosion left him near death, he carried a bullet with his name on it.
He was saving it for the time -- he was sure it would come eventually -- when life got too hard to live.
But that was before he met Mary Grace, who worked at the clinic where he was undergoing dental work to replace shattered and missing teeth.
She presented a challenge that made him forget the bullet in his pocket for a while. She refused to go out with him. For an entire year and a half, he asked her for a date and she refused. It wouldn't be right, she told herself. You don't date your patients. And then, she did.
They were rarely apart after the second date.
Time passed. And when they returned from an Iowa hunting trip in 20-degree weather and she thought she had the flu but she was pregnant, they rejoiced. They took six home pregnancy tests to just make sure.
Doctors had been telling her since she was 18 years old that she couldn't have children.
Doctors were sure Bobby couldn't father a child after his injuries.
That's when Lisek's mother, Carmen Lisek, told her son, "This is just God's way of telling you it's time for you to take your pack off and be happy now."
That's when Bobby Lisek threw the bullet away.
It doesn't mean life is any easier. The injuries left pain and lasting problems.
The 1997 graduate of Kickapoo High School was a sergeant in the same 1st Cavalry Division.
On Sept. 11, 2004, an armored vehicle carrying an Army assault team led by Lisek was blasted by mines in Baghdad. He was so bloodied and unrecognizable, Lisek says now, only the dog-tag tattoo under his armpit identified him. The tattoo had been advice from veteran soldiers.
His skull was shattered, resulting in a traumatic brain injury. He had numerous fractures, and his left leg was gone below the knee.
A solitary man
Bobby and Mary Grace say they work deliberately at life every day. The traumatic brain injury affected his reasoning and his moods, which are sometimes dark, sometimes playful. At times, it silences his 'internal editor.'
"When we take Bobby out to places, he says what he thinks," Mary said.
Early in their relationship, Mary moved in with Bobby's parents to learn how to take care of him, how to roll with his rhythms and his crazy food cravings. One month they'll have 20 boxes of cereal in the cabinets. Other times the freezer overflows with popsicles.
Bobby smiles. "Some people drink beer. I eat popsicles."
She learned how to respect the alone time. Where he once was a social animal, Bobby is content to hunt, or sit alone in the farm field nearby and watch wild turkeys. "He doesn't kill anything," Mary said. "He just takes pictures of them."
He let friendships lapse, but formed new ones. He still loves to fish and pheasant hunt with his father.
He doesn't go to shopping malls. When living in Springfield became too hectic for comfort, the couple bought a home in rural Clever.
One of Bobby's greatest thrills is talking to school assemblies about his experiences, and showing off his high-tech prosthetic leg. He loves children's honest questions. He looks forward to returning to Camp Hope, a Farmington preserve where veterans can hike, hunt and relax in the country.
His greatest frustration is with the military, and his inability to be permanently released from the Army. Officials declared him 100 percent disabled, which normally earns a soldier release from the military so he or she can collect retirement.
Nearly five years since his injury, he's still waiting, and his parents Carmen and Rick continue to wage a telephone and letter war with military people.
Officials told her they want to evaluate him in three years to see whether he improves, get that 100 percent down a bit. But releasing him at anything less than 100 percent disability will affect the level of his benefits, she added.
"My life's on hold," Bobby says bitterly. "Everybody who was on my (Iraq) team is in their second year of college, and I'm still in the military."
A fresh start
He calls her "Lizard," but she was born Gracie Leigh, just over 9 pounds and 22 1/2 inches long. And her face, the spitting image of her father's own baby pictures. She said "Da-Da" for the first time last week and melted his heart.
He often tussles on the floor with her, and does the "Army crawl" across the carpet. She follows, even dragging her left leg because that's how he does it -- prosthetic leg in tow.
"Having Gracie and being married to Mary Grace is the best thing that's ever really happened to me," Bobby said.
"I just hope that nothing comes back to bite me in the butt with my injuries. I want to watch her grow up.
"I want to see her go to college. She's going to be somebody."


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