Right now I’m sitting in the DIA terminal waiting to catch a flight.
So stoked for the trip. But missing a kid.
Still happy. Still sad.
Ready to be out but not to meet what it means. Tired of performing. When did I start doing that?
I’m not ok. I told Kevin that today, “I don’t feel like me.”
I also don’t know how to make it through.
I’m still trying though. I’m not mean, or uncaring, or selfish.
Right now, I’m looking around the terminal and no one is concerned about anyone else… they’re all in their phones, moving forward, forgetting their purpose.
I weep for the world.
I’m looking at these people and they seem angry. They don’t even know why they’re mad. But they’re there. Sitting. Waiting. Judging. Angry
That’s not me. I’m not that person..
I’m not the same, I’m better. I’m stronger. I’m here. I show up.
… it breaks; it twists; it shatters; it make you doubt and question.
And when its feeling settled, it breaks through without warning. That’s what happened tonight.
I was finally getting to sleep, enjoying the novelty of actually being tired ang sleepy enough to surrender before 11; I closed my eyes and listened to the distant sound of a motorcycle passing, thinking what a great serenade, and that was my last thought.
But pounding on my front door startled me out of bed and into a sprint minutes later; it was the sound of urgency that took me down the stairs-a flash of red lights seen through the window that spiked my fear and my fight or flight response.
“Who is it?” I called. A hundred scenarios raced in my thoughts. My pancake (youngest child) was out camping with friends but my other children, were home.
Was she OK? Was it my brother that prompted this late night visit? Kevin’s? One of my friends? Wtf is happening?
“It’s me.” My son. He had gone out and had decided to walk.
And this is where trauma is a pain in my ass… I jumped head first to worst case. I flashed through what I knew immediately before bed- pancake is camping, the vehicles belonging to my others kids are parked, Kevin is here-and I clocked an urgent pounding on my door and red lights out my window.
Trauma response engaged.
It’s been 20 minutes since then and here’s what happened and what I see now: the knocking wasn’t urgency-it was firm enough to wake someone to open the door; my son didn’t have his house key. The red lights outside-my son making sure the lock was engaged on his car before he came in. I can make out the outline and color now that I think on it a little.
My heart was still racing so I curled into Kevin who briefly woke and reassured me I wasn’t being silly by defaulting to fear; he fell back to sleep while I took several deep breathes and tried to slow my heart rate. And that fight or flight thing? It means I’m now too warm to sleep and still over thinking.
When I said trauma doesn’t tremble it breaks? What I mean is that things that used to be simple, things that I used to wait to worry over? They’re all they’re on a loop now, like a thread waiting to snap…but the body remembers what the mind forgot so…the anxiety, the fear, the accelerated heart rate… they all act in ways meant to protect, all perfectly, natural responses; what’s broken is there isn’t always a reason for them. And when they happen now, and it is something simple…well, that’s why I’m still up writing.
Well, we did it. It’s done. Our youngest child has officially graduated from high school. I was a wreck.
There had been a lot of anxiety for me leading up to her graduation and it took me too long to figure out why there was a sudden return to destructive behaviors. But as I sat in the university gym where the ceremony took place, I thought back to our oldest child’s graduation…and the fact that Kevin almost wasn’t there. Then it hit me: I still hear my bug’s screams from that day-that her father wouldn’t see her graduate.
That kind of thing doesn’t leave you.
And I realized that I was still holding onto that irrational fear that he almost didn’t make it to see any of our babies walk; the irrational fear that he almost wasn’t there for a lot of things. And that first year was the worst…
Birthday’s, anniversary’s, holiday’s, special occasions, gatherings, celebrations, wedding’s… I felt anxious at all of those first events. I couldn’t stop thinking that he almost missed this-and how absurd it is to still harbor this fear-it didn’t come true. It did not happen. The worst, the absolute worst for me was the first anniversary of the accident-that’s when my anxiety was at its peak. While I had never had issues with anxiety before-I’d had multiple anxiety attacks following the accident. Something would trigger me and my breath would catch, my chest would feel tight, and I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs, no matter what I did.
Colleagues caught me running down the hall sobbing, crying in restrooms, struggling to catch my breath as I held it…and that was the worst of the anxiety attacks…I can’t tell you the number of times I sat crying quietly at my desk, box breathing, repeating my mantra-it’s fine, he’s fine-and desperately trying to distract myself from my spiraling thoughts. I actually had to take meds at one point to help control the acute attacks, the one’s I couldn’t talk or will away or work myself out of. I didn’t like it-it made me too sleepy and foggy. Effective but not functional.
I’m better a managing my triggers now-avoiding one’s that I believe have the potential for catastrophic consequences and managing the ones that are merely bothersome. Kavi has been phenomenal in arming me with techniques and tools to help me manage these trauma responses. I need to remember they are there, that I set a few myself, and that I am still stronger than I was.
I am also coming to see that what I was feeling this week was two sides of the same coin: yes, there was anxiety in remembering what we almost lost. That will always be there. And two: My babies are no longer babies. Their lives are about to diverge and change in ways that are frightening and exhilarating in equal measure.
This is the very first entry I ever made, when writing became a way for me to release the memories I held onto. It’s pretty raw, emotionally speaking. I was trying to purge the memories I kept then, the one’s that I still keep. They’re quieter now, and I know it might seem strange to refer to them like a tangible entity, but when something like that completely overwhelms your limbic system, it feels like it’s attacking your soul. Kevin wrote a song about it called “Seconds later” that I feel captured that day perfectly. It was hard to listen to the first time, triggering even, but I can see the beauty behind it too. I’ll see about attaching a link… Song listed at the bottom of the post
19 November 2022: If he’s still alive
Time: 14:00 ISH
I felt like my entire world just shifted off its axis when I heard those words. I feel like my brain is physically protesting understanding the meaning of them: “If he’s still alive.” What did that mean? This was just a simple accident, what sort of damage had happened to lead to those words, “If he’s still alive?” Does that mean that he could die? Who’s he? Surely, they’re not talking about Kevin, my Kevin. I was briefly glad that Kevin’s brother L– was here to offer support while I struggled with the information before me. But there was no one else in that emergency room and the flurry of people in and out of it seemed to indicate that whatever was happening inside was not good. Life threatening even. Is that what this meant? That Kevin could die? I couldn’t understand.
I feel like I blanked out for a few seconds when I heard those words, self-preservation at its finest. The background noise seemed to reach me from a long tunnel, it was muted, dull, and incomprehensible. A hush had already fallen around the Emergency Department: Everyone knew Kevin; they’d worked with him for years, almost 2 decades in some cases. They knew what was happening and did what they needed to do to keep Kevin alive. And the unspoken thought screamed from every direction: would it be enough?
“What did you just say?”
I felt Kevin’s brother, L– step closer to me, put his arm around my shoulders and Dr. G– stopped speaking while I struggled to grasp the situation. To this day I’m still not sure what it was that Dr. G– had said when I blanked out, the jargon far exceeding my knowledge of medical terminology; or maybe my brain had temporarily blocked my ability to understand it. But one thing seemed to be very clear: The people going in and out of emergency room 6, the lab techs running blood bags in; the frenzy surrounding the prone figure on the bed; the machines beeping; the cardio-ultrasound machine; the lights shining brightly overhead; the sounds of doctors and nurses yelling out directions and vitals; all of them were fighting to save Kevin. This is bad.
So I do the only thing I know: I cry. I run to the closest bathroom and try to slam my way thru the door, barely acknowledging the two cops standing guard outside the room down the hall. But the door doesn’t open, at least not fully. Instead, I’ve slammed the door, or maybe it was the handle, against a person, a woman. Specifically, I slammed that door with my full weight behind it, against her head. A blonde, 40’s-ish woman with pink-looking clothing around her ankles as she plays on her phone while she tries to do her business screeches and grabs her head. I notice the second door is open into another emergency room and there appears to be someone in there. The woman yells that I should knock and while I briefly think I should’ve shoved the door harder, it’s a fleeting thought; there is no room for animosity or anger towards this person. Knock? That was the least of my concerns. I just need a quiet place to think. To cry. God, I want to scream! All I know is I needed to get out of that room, out of the hospital if I could, but that wasn’t going to be possible. Not for a while. So I turned into the wall there, just beside the restroom door. I curled into it, I wanted to crawl into it, and tried not to collapse, tried not to lose my breath. I fought against the misery straining to escape and looked for anything that would help me keep my hold on sanity, anything.
The cops there knew me, I don’t know how, but Officer A– called me by name, “Andrea, what happened?” I tried to calm myself enough to speak, but I still couldn’t breathe. “Kevin…had an accident….he…shot himself…with a nail gun…” I don’t know whether that was enough to explain what had happened but I’m pretty sure they understood the brevity of the situation. Their faces looked concerned; it seemed like that they understood this was life or death. Please don’t be death. And the female officer, I have really got to learn (or probably remember) her name, she looked like she wanted to come give me a hug but stood in place, remembering her position on the room she helped to guard.
I’m not sure what happened next, but I think I asked to sit somewhere, anywhere that was not in that room. Kevin’s brother, L– came with me and we sat quietly in one of the offices off the med surge floor. “He’s strong, he’ll pull through.” I think he was trying to reassure himself as much as me and I wondered when and who had called him. That seemed like a lifetime ago. I remember asking that someone call them, Kevin’s brother, L–, and my brother R–: I think I had asked R– to go sit with the kids at my home. But everything was a blur and disjointed. Painful. It was fragmented.
I had only caught one piece of information prior to being told Kevin might die, and that might explain my behavior. Because I understood what it meant when the tech had said there was fluid in the cavity. Or did he say sac? Or did he say that it was blood that was leaking into the cavity or sac? Either way, I knew that the body shouldn’t leak after having an accident. Leaking was bad, especially around the heart. Especially if it was blood. Wait…where was the blood coming from? What was leaking? What did they mean by cavity? I wish that everyone would just shut up so I could think for a moment. But they didn’t… And then Dr. G–’s meaning became all too clear: Kevin might die.
And I didn’t know what to do.
I really shut down this time. My mind immediately going to every scenario and every thought of what needed to be done if he didn’t make it. What would I do? He’s not going to see any of his kids graduate; L–’s high school graduation is just months away. We’re meant to be in Florida for our niece’s wedding in March: Can I refund the tickets? I recalled the family gathering to help plan his mother’s funeral…oh my God, I was going to have to plan his funeral…Could I bury him…that’s ok, right? No, Kevin wanted to be cremated, didn’t he? Did he? Oh my God, I can’t think. I don’t have enough pictures of him.
And I tried, I really tried to keep it together through my tears as I looked at L– and told him we needed to call the rest of the family: T–, C–, and Kevin’s father L2–. L– called their father. I called T– and C–.
I had to try calling C– three times before he picked up-he was still at work, as he made very clear when he answered. We hadn’t been on the best terms recently, but we were still family. I choked as I tried to explain what was happening. The words were fighting against me, fearing their place if I spoke them out loud. And I was frustrated: Did he really think I was going to call him repeatedly just to chat? While he was at work? “Kevin had an accident…he might…not… make it.” I just couldn’t give voice to the very real possibility of death. I didn’t want to fathom life as a widow. I was only 41!
“I’m coming,” he said, and the line disconnected.
I called T– next.
What time was it in Alaska? 10? 11? Would she be in class or would the kids be at lunch? Wait, it’s Saturday. T– answered right away. She and her husband S– were driving, I think, as I again tried to explain what had happened. Her voice…I didn’t like it. There was too much emotion in it, too much in it that threatened to release everything I was feeling; too many things I didn’t want to feel. T– sounded broken. This was her brother, of course, and though they didn’t talk often, they were close and loved each other. They all did. We all did. Kevin and I were both close to our siblings. T– thanked me for calling her and told me to keep her posted and that was that. I remember feeling like the conversation, either of them really, should have gone on longer. But then I realized that T– was feeling what I was but on another level: I may have been Kevin’s wife, but that was his sister: I’m sure she didn’t want to think about losing her brother, not when it had only been a year since they lost their mother. T– wasn’t rushing to get off the phone but if she couldn’t be strong, she wouldn’t lose that with me.
L– had finished his phone call too. L2 had been heading out to spend time with his sisters, Aunties squared. I’m glad he wasn’t going to be alone for the news he just received. I don’t know what he must have been feeling but I also knew that while he was with his sisters, Aunties squared wouldn’t let Larry fall off the deep end. Hopefully, someone would be able to keep a calm head. Waiting to worry until there was something to worry about was something I tried to do whenever I found myself in worrisome situations. I just couldn’t find the spot in me that told me to sit down and stop worrying until we knew what was going to happen, and there were really only two options left to us: Kevin was either going to live, or he was going to die.
As I come to this conclusion, I see Dr. S–, the surgeon, running up the hall; he all but throws his things on the desk and rushes into the room where Kevin is. I feel relief that he is here. I don’t know why but I know as a surgeon he is here to help.
So I have been struggling trying to write this most recent post: At first, I wanted to share how wonderful my therapist is: I’ve decided to call him “Kavi”-it’s Sanskrit for “sage” or “poet”- and I wanted to include the letter I had written to his boss in full…but that seemed like a bit much…
And then I wanted to touch on a trigger I met in the last two weeks: And while I did have a momentary reaction to it, it didn’t affect me in quite the same way the other triggers have hit. Which is good, I suppose; it could mean I’ve become adept at handling them-jury’s out on that. It didn’t feel big at the time, but when I started thinking about it, I understood why it hit.
See, while golfing on opening day, another group hit an errant shot that came far too close to us for our liking. Kevin being Kevin, yelled “ow” facetiously, though it took me a moment to realize he was absolutely fine as I was not looking his way at that moment. As I was thinking about my reaction to it-the panic and fear I felt- I realized it was a trauma response to last time I thought Kevin was “fine” and wound up facing his mortality.
Any thought of Kevin injured or in pain does not sit well with me.
There is a direct correlation to that, and my dark days; the thoughts, the fears, and the pain that came with them.
Not a fan. Do not recommend.
So I was struggling to figure out what I wanted to say, how to say it, what I wanted to touch on and I’m still not sure, to be honest. Some days I feel like me, most I would argue. And some days are just…meh.
I also think the reason that I’m having a hard time settling on or sticking to particular topic is because I feel like that little bit of panic is pulling at different pieces of me. It’s invasive.
It’s also a cognitive distortion-I know this-I know Kevin is fine, he’s okay, he’s here with me; I know it’s unreasonable to fear his pain; I know he can have an injury AND be absolutely fine; and I know, I KNOW, that feeling that panic is perfectly normal for what we survived.
I am seeing “Kavi” tomorrow, time for my regularly scheduled sanity session. I know he’ll guide me as he always does when I can’t settle my thoughts…and that’s one thing about these little moments of panic, or even the larger ones, that feels debilitating: I hate how they pull at the pieces of me; how they pull my thoughts to darker corners, to what if’s and could have been’s; how they flitter to “I can’t imagine” and “you were so lucky” (I still hate those phrases, by the way); I hate how those thoughts steal my focus, how they steal the light; I hate how they interrupt my sleep. And I hate how easily it happens.
I’ll keep going though: keep writing, keep breaking through the minutes, and keep leaning into Kevin. I’ll find a way to reclaim those pieces of me again. I always do.
Well, the end to this day sucked. I was let out of work late, again.
I’m talking minutes; not long, but enough to interrupt my process. It feels silly that I can’t be patient enough to wait for my coverage to show up, but it’s exhausting that I have to keep reminding them that I leave at four. And more exhausting to remind them that they just need to communicate with me if they’re going to be late.
And I wasn’t very nice about it, either. I believe what I said was that my coverage “needs to learn how to show up on time.” It feels very much like it did when I walked away from my friend last week.
And I’m starting to wonder why I am fixated on this very precise time. I have ideas: the first being that I need that control-that is the moment I walk out the door and get to the gym. That’s the time that I take for me, for my peace, and I don’t like it being…adjusted. Changed? Negated? I’m not sure what the right word is there, but I need that consistency. I’ve started to live for those times when the world is quiet, even when my playlist is slamming against my ear drums. I love running out of work to head to the gym, finding my spot, changing, deciding if I’m going to run 5 that day or just 3 and include core work out, or legs, or arms.
That control aspect is what is bothering me; I’ve worked a long time to let that go because so much of what happens on a normal day is out of our control. And what happens on an abnormal day, and what keeps happening past those abnormal days, none of that can be controlled. You just kind of roll with it, not because you want to but because there really is no other choice. You know the saying, “if you’re going through hell, just keep going.” What they don’t tell you is that the fear you carry through it stays with you.
What they don’t tell you is that when one thing, one small thing changes in what you’ve defined as part of your new routine, that small change is enough to bring the fear back.
I don’t need to leave at four on the dot, precisely. I need what little autonomy belongs to me.
It’s not that I wasn’t very nice because my coverage was late, it’s that disturbance that lets the fear reclaim my thoughts.
And more than anything, it’s not that I’m not doing everything that I can to be well, it’s just that sometimes I am not okay.
After my run today, after coming home upset because I didn’t leave on time again, after my shower, Kevin came in and just held me while I cried. He reminded me that it’s ok not to be okay. He knows that none of this is easy or linear; he knows sometimes I just need to let that out and be not okay. I’m only entitled to my feelings.
I need to remember that: I am only entitled to my feelings. And regardless of them, I need to remember to be respectful. Which I know I wasn’t. It’s probably what led me to make an appointment with my therapist this week, instead of waiting for my next regularly scheduled appointment next week. Because right now, I don’t feel okay…and that’s not okay.
Pretty sure I upset a friend this week; it wasn’t intentional, but then, when do you ever really mean to hurt someone? That answer should be never, in case you were wondering.
I had just reached the end of the workday and I was desperate to escape for a run. The day hadn’t been bad, quite the contrary, actually, but the noise felt lout. Too loud. And I was ready to run.
Going to the gym didn’t start as a means to quiet my mind, but to get ready for our 20th anniversary trip to Hawaii. After a few months of it, it just became habit to go, even after our trip ended. And then, well, you have that one day that is just too much; and that’s when I really started looking at my gym time as a healthy outlet for everything. So I pushed myself on those tough days. It helped.
So on days when I’m ready to run, I’m really ready to get at it.
My friend was telling me about her recent break up; I am walking with purpose to the time clock to head out, ready to be done. Ready to do anything to quiet my thoughts. As I’m inching towards the door, she asks me if I have an appointment, and when I tell her I have to get to the gym, she tells me that she’s trying to talk to me about things with her ex.
And here is where it feels like I’m an uncaring, unfeeling asshole. Neither of which are true, but it still feels wrong. I was done for the day. I had met and probably exceeded my capacity for human interaction that day that didn’t include anyone I didn’t birth or live with. I wanted to go have that time for me, when the work is hard and the noise is quiet. And I told her to call me later, and I left. I booked it to my car and was at the gym 2 minutes later.
There’s one thing people don’t mention when you face trauma, and that is that even though you do the things, you see a therapist, you type it out, you run, you fight, and yeah, sometimes you crumble…none of that will ever truly erase the thoughts or memories or physical reactions you feel. Even years later. They help, for sure. But the noise still gets loud. And, when you’ve had to spend time in survival mode, in a constant state of fight or flight, your body doesn’t get that the reactions meant to protect them are not needed for simple things. Not immediately.
So when my friend’s very loud, very forceful, very chaotic re-telling felt like more than what it was, I chose to choose myself and my peace. I know it shouldn’t but why does it feel wrong? And I think I know why… it’s because we’re told, repeatedly, not to be selfish. But why is it selfish to choose yourself? I was putting my mental health first. I was not in a place to have all of that dumped on me. I don’t like feeling like I’m obligated to listen… I will. In the right time and head space, which was definitely not that day.
All of this also happened immediately following what I feel were her attempts to gas light me. The more I spend time with her, the more it feels like spending time with people I’ve cut out of my life for their toxicity. And similar tactics of manipulation.
I’ve always had people try to treat me as an emotional garbage dump, and that’s exhausting. And for someone who cares deeply for the people in her life, it was too much to constantly be on the receiving end of that script. I am so done letting people treat my compassion like a weakness and done letting them take advantage of that, too.
My boundaries should be clear, by my actions or by my words. I don’t know why it feels like I did something wrong by choosing myself, but it does. Might be a good conversation to have at my next session. For now, I will continue to run, and set boundaries, and choose me when I need to…even if it still feels wrong.
They are striking, beautiful, real, and they make me ache. In the best way but they are also a little triggering.
Kevin used my own words and thoughts, taken from this blog, or from conversations we’ve had to create them.
The one he has, “A Little Grace,” is my favorite. I listened to it all day. And I do mean all day. On repeat. Kevin captured what I had been feeling exactly. And showed me more than anything that he has seen me every moment since he woke up in that hospital. That was never in doubt; Kevin’s always been my biggest source of comfort-to the point that I would fly into his arms or crawl into his lap when the worst of my panic attacks hit. Kevin was the only comfort I could find then, and the only way I was able to calm down then. He had the patience to bring me back from the edges of my mind; and he’s seen every step I had to fight for since then.
Kevin captured perfectly how hard this has all been; he’s stood by me when I couldn’t keep trying; he’s seen me fight back when other people would try to damn me, like they had any right to; he knows better than anyone how difficult this has all been. He knows I’ve been “locked in the fight,” trying to get back to my old self. But after that horrible person speculated my involvement in the accident, and I was forced to confront demons I already struggled with, before I was ready, I had a breakthrough, I guess you could call it.
My biggest struggle has been my own sense of guilt around the accident; I wanted new floors and Kevin wanted to do something for me he knew I would. He was hurt because of something I wanted. Rationally, I know it’s not my fault. God, that is still hard to take to take to heart. It still hurts to say it, my eyes still sting, and my nose burns even just typing that out. I know this. This is the rationality of it. Sometimes accidents happen and no one is at fault. It’s just unfortunate. Rationally, I know this but emotions are not rational. I’m getting there.
But this forceful meeting of my own guilt also showed me that I wouldn’t want to go back. I believe I’ve stated that before so I won’t get too repetitive.
But the song is right.
Look at how far I’ve come. I’m kinder to myself. Give myself grace. I wish I could play the song for you here, maybe one day. For now, that’s just for me. But I will leave you with the chorus:
“Look at how far I’ve come–Breaking through the minutes on a five-mile run–Breathing through the burn, letting the old pain set, I’m not who I was I’m the best version yet–I set boundaries now, I give myself grace, let myself crumble then rise in my own time and space–Yeah I miss who I was before the accident but I wouldn’t go back–This version of my is the best yet”
I think this is the most beautiful thing he has ever given me: proof that he still sees me. It’s an unbelievable feeling to be seen, to have my own harrowing experience validated.
Well, I went hard while running last week; I keep pushing myself to move a bit faster, for just a little bit longer. And I was able to hit my goal and beat my best time so far. It felt really good. And it also helped me let go of control long enough to grieve for the trauma of last week. Some things just weight too heavy.
I’ve been wondering why this event seems to linger… but I bet my therapist will tell me that trauma triggers trauma. I’ve been thinking about that, too. I knew it would bring on bad memories and trigger nightmares, thankfully only one, but it was enough to disrupt my sleep (again). I’m working on that. Sometimes, even pushing myself at the gym doesn’t help.
In my experiences, I understand more what people are feeling when they have their worst days. I know what it’s like to be overwhelmed by questions from people who mean well but don’t understand that silence is a gift. When those two things collide, when the information meets my uncanny ability to understand more than I want, well, I’m not left with many outlets to express that. There are laws for a reason, and besides that, I want to allow people their privacy in their worst moments-knowing how invasive it feels to have everyone, and their mothers (yes, literally) know and approach you with details that should have, and legally, were required to be protected.
I can only keep to myself what I know. And putting two-and-two together sucks sometimes. It means I have a more thorough understanding of the situation as a whole. And it’s awful.
I have just learned, however, that healthcare professionals are allowed to speak with their mental health providers and therapists about difficult work-related events. I know there have been debriefs, counselors called in and services offered for severe cases, especially when they, the healthcare team, are shaken by a case or when they know the patient, as they did with Kevin and his accident. So that is a relief, knowing I can share with my therapist.
I’m hoping it will help to relieve the noise.
But Kevin and I recently celebrated our wedding anniversary, and in true Kevin fashion, I got what I love most: a letter he’d written to me. I love these, they are something tangible I can read over and over again. And he said something that really hit me this time. He was talking about the accident and how I “carried the fear so” he could survive it. I know that doesn’t make a lot of sense but if you think about it, it’s still true. Stress and fear have a way of hindering physical healing.
I’ve always been the one to manage our family, handle the difficult situations, plan for the best and worst times (even while fervently hoping those never came). And in this particular instance, it was more true than ever and to have him acknowledge that, it hit something deep in my soul. And I hope, this other family, that everyone going through their worst moments, have someone to carry that fear for them, too.
Well, I’ve made it past the holiday slump that I’ve been stuck in. Kevin and I went to a few games this year; a playoff and championship game (next year, Denver!) and even went to visit his father- we really need to make that a regular thing. And things have just started to calm down, feel less heavy, if you know what I mean.
And then, well, inevitably it seems, it happens again. I have another bad night, another nightmare. I knew to expect it, I knew it was coming. I didn’t think it would happen that first night after hearing about what had happened, but I knew it would rear its ugly head in time. And it did.
This time was slightly different though; this time the nightmare seemed to stem from fear of abandonment. Don’t get me wrong, my family and I-and by that, I mean my siblings and mother- we love and take care of one another the way that families are meant to, even if we don’t see each other as often as I would like. And I’ve never feared them leaving me.
But recent events lead to a trauma response. I work in health care, and shit happens sometimes that no one can prepare for. And while not directly involved in emergency patient care, I can still see the weight the team that worked this particular case carries. It did not end well. And it involved a small child. That is all that I will say about that. My heart aches for the caregivers and the family involved. It’s never easy working a trauma-speaking strictly as someone who is the wife of someone who suffered a serious trauma-but it’s worse when it involves a kid. You could feel it in the air and see it in the eyes of those who tried to help. It was even brought up in our daily check-in, to keep that team and that family in our thoughts.
And then I saw the email the school sent to parents, letting us know of a sudden loss. I saw the names of the family involved, people I know, who we’ve been friendly with. And it hurt more.
Someone mentioned, “I just can’t imagine…” and seriously, I hate that phrase. I have since Kevin’s accident. Those are the worst moments of a person’s life, why would you want to imagine what it feels like? I certainly wouldn’t want anyone to have the experiences I’ve had nor would I want to think about what it would be like to live through someone’s else’s worst moments. We can sympathize, sure. But no more, do not put that thought into the universe, trust me, you don’t want to be in that position. At least, that’s what I think.
So this nightmare, I was alone. Kicked out of my family home. Packed my car so tight with belongings stuffed in trash bags that I had no choice but to take a bus to a friend’s house. And when I texted my brother to ask him how he could let this happen and that I had nowhere to go, I only received a texted picture of me with a friend; the message was clear: we won’t help you, rely on your friend. And I found myself crying on a bus, a kind stranger asking if I was ok, and me, shaking my head no.
That was when I woke up, the feeling of being alone still clinging to my consciousness, sobbing. I had to work through my steps to calm down alone as Kevin had already left for work. I have a new process, I actually use to help me get to sleep, too: I think about 3 things that I can hear, and three I can feel…and this morning, I added 3 things that are true. This is actually my modified version of a coping mechanism to talk people out of their panic attacks. It seemed to be pretty efficient: I calmed down quicker than I thought it would. I also wonder if I calmed down more quickly than normal because the nightmare wasn’t directly tied to my own trauma, or the emotions that brought up.
When I heard the news, I didn’t have to wonder what that family must be going through, no, my focus was not spiraling into my own memories. That wouldn’t have helped anything anyways. Nope, I focused on trying to stay present, allow myself to feel sympathy for that family, even before I knew I knew who they were, and keep going. Because that’s all we can really do. Keep going.
And yeah, this sucks. It’s not fair, and no one will really know why things like this happen. There’s just no rhyme or reason to life sometimes. It just happens, and sometimes it’s hard.
It can also be really beautiful. The community has rallied around the family, it’s what we do. Our organization took care of their own, meals were provided to the EMT team, the ED team, and counseling is always an option for staff in these circumstances. Friends reached out to friends, we’ve all been checking in with each other a little more, and we’ve all given just a little more grace.
The Harrowed Heart 