The Harrowed Heart

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  • Not Alone

    My friend is leaving me tomorrow. And I’m so proud of them for it, even if I’m sad for me.
    They are one of the best people that I know. Kind, funny, hard-working, and caring. Always willing to lend an ear or cry with me, whichever I might need.

    And they’re checking themselves into an inpatient facility.

    We talk, obviously. They are as open about their therapy as I am. We have no reason to be ashamed.

    So when they told me today they are leaving tomorrow for this, I gave them a hug, told them I was proud of them, and let them know that if anyone gives them grief for this incredibly courageous decision, to send them to me and I’ll throat punch them…a little levity was needed. I reiterated that there is nothing to be ashamed of in this. And to make sure their family have my number in case they need anything.

    I also sent a follow-up text this afternoon: “Meant what I said earlier, babes. So proud that you’re taking this step. It’s hard to admit when we need help and harder to accept it sometimes. But you’re doing it. And you’ll be stronger for it, but don’t under-estimate the strength it took to take this step. And don’t forget you have people at your back every step of the way. Love you.”

    I need them to know they are not alone. The people that live them saw the struggle.

    I had been keeping watch lately, I knew something was weighing on them, I felt it.  So i started asking whether they ate, had regular check-ins, you doing ok’s?, and how can I help? These all found their way into our usual banter. I knew they had been struggling…that’s one of the things with people who grow up with childhood trauma: we learn to watch and we learn how to read people exceptionally well, even the things they try to hide.

    It’s one of the reason’s I don’t doubt my intuition: there are always markers, even micro-expressions, unconscious movements, things your mind picks up on even when the brain can’t explain it. I trust that about me more than anything else.

    So as I think about my friend leaving for a while, I did my only mental check-in. How am I feeling? Really. So here’s what I’ve got:
    I’ve been working to stay present, to not anticipate the bad days taking over as the anniversary of them approach. Check. This time the last few years, I’ve overwhelmed myself with it. Right now, I’m looking at tomorrow, and our trips coming up in a few weeks. But not about the dark days.

    Two. I’m still keeping my therapy to every second or third week, for now. It seems to be a good schedule for me. I’m not overwhelmed by always going to therapy, because, yes, it can be overwhelming to dig through the trauma, and I have enough time between sessions right now to consider what is bothering me, either about Kevin’s accident, or anything else that might be weighing on me.

    Third, I’m finding my gym routine again. It kind of falls off in the summer, when I’d rather be out on the golf course. And now that the season is starting to wind down, I’m finding my stride again. I even broke my personal best on the elliptical by 30 seconds: first time running a mile in 10 minutes and 40 seconds. I was pretty damn proud of myself. Though I may have overdone it on the leg work out this week…it’s true what they say: leg day proves 2 things: pain is real and toilet seats are low. haha

    And finally, I have a great support system around me. My Kevin, a few close work colleagues, 2-3 trustworthy friends, and Kavi. I know I can reach out to any of them if I’m struggling, no judgement, no hesitation. Even when I fall and fail, they’re still there.

    So yeah, I’m feeling good, strong. Worried for my friend and determined to be their champion. Determined to start showing up a little for other’s the way they’ve shown up for me.

    This whole healing thing is a trip. A good one most days.

  • 9/11 Ghosts

    You looked at my sign today, the one that I generally write inspirational quotes on; the one that usually helps myself, especially myself, and others reflect on things like patience, kindness, grace, love, and peace. 

    This month, in honor of 9/11, I have written:

    Never Forget, 09.11.2001

    I still can’t believe it’s been 25 years since then. 

    But you looked at my sign today and I never would have believed it if I hadn’t asked you to repeat yourself.

    You worked as a heavy machine’s operator in New York then; you were part of a crew for search and rescue, I thought you said.

    Search and rescue? I asked.

    And the look you gave me said something that I will never understand, “it was awful,” you said, “search and recovery.”

    I had to pause to take in the weight of those words.

    Those that could be saved had been found and you and your team, multiple teams, thousands of efforts, were pulled into the search. Not for survivors, but for closure. 

    The vacant look in your eyes told me you were still looking for it.  

    I was overwhelmed by that look; I could sit in it for 100 years and never understand the depth of what you saw in the aftermath of 9/11.

    I remember those days clearly: I was only 20. 

    I remember seeing my RA at the time engrossed in the news, not even bothering to give me the smart ass comment he usually reserved for me and my sass. That was about 7:30 am, mountain time. I took the bus the 40 minutes to campus, which seemed deserted, and I got an email that classes were canceled. And when I walked into the student union, it was packed, wall to wall with students, professors, and employees… no one spoke; no one said a word. Every eye was glued to the screens, watching the aftermath of the planes hitting the towers.

    There was no panic, only sheer terror. For the people in the planes, the ones in the towers, everyone on the ground, and for the world as we knew it. The news reported on the downed planes at the Pentagon and in Pennsylvania.

    We watched in devastation as the towers collapsed, one by one. We listened as all the other flights were grounded. We watched as the sky filled with a plume of smoke. We watched as those at ground zero ran thru debris, and dust, and destruction.

    And I said the thing I despise now, “I can’t even imagine.” No other explanation is needed here. Because I refuse to imagine it now. I couldn’t, not if I wanted to and not if I tried. Nothing could be comparable to what those people went through that day.  

    And for those who made it past those days, who lived despite them on the ground, and through the media coverage, I wonder how they feel having that brought up, year after year. 

    Don’t get me wrong, 9/11 should not pass without us honoring the fallen and lost; we should not forget the way an entire country came together and were united. We cannot forget those who stepped into the fear.

    I guess I’m just lamenting that this is a thing this gentlemen has carried with him for the last 25 years. He’s never stopped to read my little sign before, even if he has always stopped for a brief hello and conversation.

    I was honored he shared that small moment with me; that he trusted me to hold it for him for a moment.

    So, as we move toward the 25th anniversary of 9/11, remember what we came together for that day.

    Remember that we once believed standing together was the only way forward.

    And remember, you really do never know what other’s carry.

    Be safe out there.

  • The light died

    I saw you today; actually, I’ve seen you a few times in the last few weeks, but today, there was an actual conversation. 

    I did what I do; asked how I could help; directed you as needed, and tried a hold a very ‘normal’ conversation with you.

    I didn’t want to bring up painful memories from that day that changed your world. Not even to ask how you were doing; I didn’t even want to imply that I was asking about that day.

    I know how tedious and exhausting it can be to have every conversation be about that.

    I didn’t want details, I didn’t need them; too many live in my head as it is.

    What I wanted was to provide a space where you weren’t defined, reminded, or reduced to the worst moments of your life. I can’t even say they were your worst, not knowing what you’ve lived through outside of that day. So, maybe… not defined, reminded, or reduced to one of the worse moments of your life. 

    And it was harder than I thought it would be… the careful phrasing of ‘how are things’; the avoidance of asking after one child for fear of bringing up the one who is gone, unable to recall either of their names-or wondering how the third child I do remember is, not knowing if you’re still in touch with him; and the words you chose with care as well; to not define or reduce yourself to those moments. And it felt awkward, so, very awkward. But I hope you understood it came from a place of compassion and empathy…we’re kindred, in a way. Marked by things that destroyed us, before we could find or try to rebuild who we are. 

    And I saw it. The light you carry is different, almost like it’s died, almost like it died with him. Something substantial changed for you that few, even me, could understand. We’re never the same again once something so soul shattering changes the core of who you are, or were, or worked to become. You can’t go back, you can’t undo, you can’t un-feel, or unknow that kind of presence on your soul. 

    But slowly, you begin to bring pieces back together, stitching them together with grit and grace, with the tears that no one saw and the screams that no one heard. You move forward past one day, a week, a month, a moment. You survive the first anniversary’s, the first birthday’s, and the first moments where life went from before this happened to after this happened. It’s all split in two some days.

    On my youngests’ graduation day, I cried for the woman who thought her husband wouldn’t see any of their children graduate and wept for the one who stood beside him and watched him see them all.  It’s a jest, that grief can and will pull you in two directions even when all you want is to feel the joy. 

    But I know what its like for the light to dim. And I know what it takes to find it again. 

    And I hope one day, you will.

    For now, feel what you feel over the next few months; I know in 6 months, you’ll feel the pain of that day again, you’ll feel the pain of having one year without him. You’ll try to hold onto the lighter moments, to only feel them with happiness instead of the grief that hit you in them; and you’ll stumble, and you’ll pick yourself up again, because that is who you are. You try to light up for the joys that are left in your life even as you fight the grief and bury the scars you carry. 

    And know that it’s ok if the light goes out, even if it’s just temporary. Someday, you will light up again.

    The light always finds it’s way.

  • Schrodinger might’ve been onto something…

    Soo…my mother texted me the other day to see whether I had had any dreams about my father recently; she pointedly let me know that both of my siblings had dreamt about him in the last few weeks. I let her know I had as well. Mom asked what I thought that meant…. superstitious woman.

    But I’ve had a thought circling for a while, one I haven’t looked at too closely.

    It says something when your wife returns from living in Mexico and you have not. Now, there could be several reasons for this: they divorced, probable-he had issues and she was sweet; he’s here and keeping a low profile-he knows where his children stand-that is together without him-long story, another day; or, he’s gone. Like, gone gone.

    Now before I go further, we, and I mean my siblings and I, have all had a deeply complicated relationship with that man. In short, he was a manipulative, self-serving, woe-is-me, con man. People I have known my whole life tell me what a shame it is I don’t make more of an effort to “repair the relationship,” like they have any idea what that was. Like they know the number of times we’ve all tried to reach out with an olive branch only to have it thrown back in faces. It’s like he thought we wouldn’t say “enough” and walk.

    Remember a few months back when I mentioned a person had spread rumors about my involvement in Kevin’s accident? I had to shut that person down before that for trying to have a conversation with me about him… no. I don’t do that-offer personal info about myself to people I’m not close to and/or don’t trust- and I made it clear to them that was not a topic of conversation they were ever to approach me with again. I even told their supervisor about the confrontation and I expected them-the rumor monger-to keep their mouth shut, that any whisper of my name alongside my father’s and I would go straight to HR. The supervisor handled it.

    But I digress.

    This has been weighing on me-the not knowing and the likelihood that I know. I see my step-mother’s children and grand-children fairly regularly and I can ask. But I don’t. I don’t even ask about my step-mother, not because I don’t want to but because it can lead to questions about the absentee father. It really had been eating at me a bit and I wonder if it’s lead to some of the bad dreams that I had been having. I know I’ve been regressing to some bad habits and I need to put a stop to that. I even downloaded an app to help, but I’ll save that for another day.

    Right now, I’m just going to keep going-minus the bad habits-speak to Kavi next week, and maybe have a conversation with Kevin. I’ll want support for the few good memories I still have and comfort for the anger and grief for the loss of someone who I said goodbye to years ago.

  • It’s been a lot…

    I’m not sure that’s the title I want to go with for this post. Things have been good. Stable.

    When I saw my therapist 2-3 sessions ago, I told him that I was really going to try to focus on the present and keep myself from that anticipatory grief and anxiety that has plagued me the last few years. July is tough because it marks my grandfather’s death anniversary; he’s been gone 11 years now and I still miss him.

    This one was different; the grief was easier to handle because I’ve started to do things to honor his memory. Simple things: he loved baseball-so that’s what I’m doing. Watching baseball on tv-kind of. I went to a few local rec league games this year. We saw the Dodgers play the Rockies this year. It was good.

    I even decided to take my grandfather’s clothes that I saved and have them made into a blanket. And I called my uncle G to see if there was anything of my grandmother’s that I could have-make the blanket from clothes from both of them.

    But…even if it was easier-the nightmares still came. Nightmares might be too harsh a word-I struggle to handle nightmares. Bad dreams is more accurate. There have been several bad dreams over the last 2 weeks. All with the same themes that have littered every post I’ve had. They’ve been handled but it’s been a lot.

    Dreams, bad or good, can be more exhausting than the nights that I don’t get a lot of sleep but don’t dream at all. I searched and learned that dreams can be exhausting because the mind is still responding in a manner that it would were a person conscious. Let me reiterate: the brain cannot differentiate anxiety or emotions from when you’re awake or asleep-it will only respond as if you were active in the moment, real or not, your brain stays active. Real racing heart. Real stress hormones.

    That freaking fantastic, right?

    Because the waking hours aren’t’ difficult enough… And that’s not really fair of me.

    Except for being tired, I’m still a freaking ray of sunshine at work. I’m being sincere here… I keep whatever is bothering me, sleep deprived or not, locked tight. Whatever it is, that is only for me and I only share that side of me to Kevin, Kavi, and a few select others. For the most part, I’m pretty even keel at work (and with my family) and only occasionally come over as frustrated…and I work to keep that in check (which is incredibly difficult to do when I’ve set a boundary that has not been met).

    Either way, it’s been a lot, the dreams have been a lot.

    Anyways, I have been focusing on the present. So far, I’m not pre-anticipating the anxiety and grief that usually monopolize my mental space from mid-August through November. I’m going to keep trying to stay in this moment now.

    And in this moment, I’m really looking forward to heading to Utah tomorrow. Our golf course is being overrun by a major tournament, which means we won’t be able to get on the course at all this weekend. So we’re headed to Moab to golf there, and cross Utah off our bucket list.
    I can’t remember if I said so, but our bucket list includes golfing in all 50 states. And right now, we have Colorado, Nevada, Arizona, New Mexico, California, Hawaii, Texas, and Alaska down. Utah is on the block.

    And in August, a state flower tattoo to commemorate our bucket list journey.

  • A little secret…

    I don’t know how many of you have actually had to deal with any kind of trauma, and if you have, I’m sorry-it’s no bueno.

    And for those of you who haven’t, I sincerely hope you never have to struggle that way, and I want to let you in on a little secret about trauma. It’s probably one of the most under-talked about issues related to trauma: it changes your thought processes. All of them, even the little ones, even years later.

    For example: I had what I thought was a completely normal interaction with a colleague yesterday:

    They called to tell me a patient was headed my way. OK

    They said the patient needed customer service. OK

    They said what the patient’s issue was with their bill. OK

    Nothing out of the ordinary; I answered everything he told me with an OK, and didn’t think anything of it. The patient did come to my entrance for the customer service team, I got his name, let the team know he was there, and told him someone would be out to help him in just a moment. Standard response to anyone who comes in my doors. Helpful, understanding, and direct without being cold. I didn’t think anything else of it…until my supervisor told me we had to talk.

    Here’s part one of that thought process change: I felt a little anxiety but not too much. I knew I hadn’t done anything that would warrant a serious discussion or rebuke or write-up, none of that. And then I started thinking about every interaction I had had with every patient, co-worker, caller, and walk-in for the last 2 weeks. What did I do? What did I say? Was there a misunderstanding? And it went on. And nothing came to mind.

    My supervisor finally came over, just as I was about to send her a message with a funny meme about the things that keep us up at night, to ask her to come see me before my shift ended. So she walks in, and I shut down the music so I can give her my full attention and prepare myself to hear what I had done. Because it must have been something, right?

    She tells me that my colleague I spoke with, said I had a tone.

    I gave her a blank look, like, what? He said, through our lead-not the same as our supervisor-that I had a tone. So I told her about the conversation, that I only said OK… She said “is that all?” Yeah, that was it, such a mundane conversation that I didn’t even remember it initially.

    And here’s where it gets fun, part two: I’m calmer after she tells me what happens–a little frustrated that my direct approach is seen as too blunt, or aggressive, or mean. And, yes, that last one has been going around; said colleague even gave me a sticker that says: I’m not funny, I just say mean things and people think I’m joking–But I immediately start replaying the conversation again, and again wondering where I went wrong? Questioning myself and whether I actually had a tone. Or if there was any other way I could have responded without seeming like I had a tone.

    And the sticker is funny-I’ve learned to laugh at myself- but I’m not even saying mean things, I’m just saying it like it is. I’m particular about how things are done, a perfectionist, if you will. I have standards and a solid work ethic, and I expect the same from my co-workers. I’m not the best at explaining things and I don’t have a lot of patience after explaining the same 6 things 27 ways, to the same 2 people, but I’ve learned to be proficient in training others. I guess you could say I don’t suffer fools. I also know I come across a little sharper than I mean to, so I do actually put in effort to soften my edges-I know not everyone responds well my brand communication. And I make sure that people know that any sharp, brash, or short response is not a reflection of them, but of me and the things that I struggle with.

    I cannot expect people to have the same level of understanding that I have after 20-some-odd years in the industry. I know it take time, and some learn more quickly than others, and some will never pick it up. I know these things, and I still work to be sure that I am not negatively affecting their mental health. They shouldn’t feel bad because this role is not their strength and they cannot do this job, the way that I do. I emphasize when I’m training that ‘this is how I get this done, when you settle in, you’ll find your own way.”

    And this is what I still work through and still struggle with: I was more confident before-I knew I needed to work on the short-comings I mentioned, and I do-and I had more faith in my interactions then. Now I get to deal with anxious moments when someone is not happy, when they have a bad day and there is no reasoning with them, and when my words or actions are misunderstood or miscommunicated. Yes, I say that, because again, that conversation was so mundane I nearly forgot it.

    So, what I’m going to do now, is hear my supervisor when she told me earlier that this is nothing to be worried about. I’m going to trust that I acted in a professional manner-because I did-I’m going to remember I am damn good at my job, and trust that being direct, is not the same as being rude, or having a tone.

  • I’m ready now

    Way back when everything first happened and everyone kept asking: “What happened? How’s Kevin? Do you need anything? What happened? ” It was kind of exhausting…it felt like our life together had been reduced to the accident, and that no one realized that they were asking questions dozen’s of other people had asked, and that every single one of them hurt me. Every last one.

    So I wasn’t really interested in hearing others’ perspectives from that day. I think there are one or two there, but I can’t quite call them to memory. Kavi says that it’s normal I struggle with my memories while I was stuck in survival mode-trying every day to make sure my family had what they needed, take care of my Kevin, and go to work, because I had to get back to work. I realize now I was just using it as a means to stop thinking about the accident and how that backfired terribly. I struggled then to set my boundaries and tell people I didn’t want to talk about that. I was still processing.

    But I’m ready now. And asking questions. And sometimes, the story comes up organically.

    T– in the lab, for instance; she runs the lab. She’s actually the reason there was enough blood and plasma on hand to keep Kevin going. T– saw a need that needed met in case of a severe trauma and acted on it. It helped as Kevin lost twice his blood volume that day and depleted the supplies on hand.

    T– was telling me that the day of Kevin’s accident, she was out taking a walk near the hospital campus, but not necessarily in that direction, and wondering if she might be called in. At some point she got the call and rushed in. She went to the ED and ran into A–, an ED tech.

    We’re no stranger to A–, having needed his assistance several times as we needed to visit the ED for appendicitis, broken bones, jammed fingers, and abdominal pain. Kids. Anyways, A– was in the ED that morning and he stopped T–. T– says he pulled her into 1035, one of the larger observation rooms (I think) to talk to her. A– told her what happened and who the patient was, Kevin, and that they both cried a bit and hugged. Then they just tucked it away and got right back to work, jumped right back into the desperate fray that was saving Kevin.

    I still don’t know how they did that. I know I was way more invested, but I struggled to maintain my composure. I know, I know. What I mean though is I deal with the occasional difficult situations with patients and I struggle to tuck my deeper emotions aways, keep it impersonal. They are both amazing.

    Then there’s W–, Kevin’s boss. We were talking about the book Kevin wrote: a short story about his experience- and I let W– know that I had I hard copy I would lend him, otherwise, it was only available digitally.

    W– started to recall that day: he was traveling between our home and Denver and there’s a gas station they usually stop at; he was in that area when he got the call about Kevin, and it didn’t look good. I still remember the call W– place to me, as we were headed to Grand Junction, and I remember the emotion in his voice, and I chided him. I told him he needed to pull over and take a minute because it sounded like he was speeding and we didn’t need another casualty that day. I promised I would keep him posted.

    I mentioned to W– that he still sounded a little choked up, hoping to lighten the mood; his response surprised me. W– said he still has a hard time remembering that day, it was difficult, and then he mentioned it must still be hard for me, too. So I told him the truth.
    Yes, it is still hard but I’m better now sharing with people who mean something to us, to people we care about and who care about us, and in setting boundaries and telling other’s when I don’t want to talk about it.

    And now I want to know more, I’m ready to listen to their stories about that day. I plan to start asking all kinds of questions.

  • Feeling better

    Still on Alaska sleep.

    Or maybe fooling myself… don’t think I’ll ever sleep peacefully again. Too many thoughts clogging up brain space.

    But feeling better. Stronger.  Lighter. Still can’t wait until I can fall asleep before 2 am…getting there.  Baby steps.

    Had a thing a few days back… we were making the final leg back home,  last 15 miles or so before getting back into town.  I had been reading most of the drive but I always look up as we get close.

    Nothing much but the town I love before us and a small smile and deep breath crossing my features. Kevin said,  “There’s home .”

    This is nothing, right? But the way he said it? It took me back to our bedroom the first day he was home after the accident. For the briefest moment,  I was there again. 

    Fresh from the hospital,  the harrowing drive, the terrifying, death defying nail to the heart, the temporary, lingering grief from almost goodbye. We were standing in a moment I was too afraid to think I’d see.  “I’m home, ” he said.

    I broke. Cried. Panicked.  Grieved. Choked. And celebrated.

    I held it, the pain, the grief,  the memory.

    Deep breath in.

    Closed my eyes and slowly exhaled.

    Breathed. Let it go.

    I remembered the 9 agonizing nights I had to sleep away from him and thought,  “I never want to do that again.” Thought about the anxiety I feel thinking of spending a night away from him… my home. My peace.

    And that’s when it struck.

    It hurt because home is not a place.  It’s Kevin. 

    I’m safe where his heart beats.  Loved where his soul breathes.  Real where he holds me together.  Home is where Kevin is.

    I keep saying I’m not mean or selfish and I’m not. I’m real, particular, and rough around the edges. But I’m a big softy at heart.  So I’m tough but only because I learned a long time ago that being soft is a weakness. Not everyone deserves my vulnerable side.

    I’ve learned better.  I recognize that my heart on my sleeve is my greatest strength AND  I can be selective and selfish about who I share that with.

    But home is and has always been Kevin. Where he goes, I am.

  • Just … wow

    made it to Alaska!! It’s been amazing so far… and I’d just like to add… that last post was an anomaly. I had not been feeling like myself but I’m glad to say I’m starting to get there. This trip has helped.

    Tried to get to the gym on the AFB a day or 2 in but the system was down so I couldn’t get a guest pass. So what did my brilliant self decide? Just go for a run.

    Just. Go. For. A. Run.

    I’m in idiot. It hurt. Not the same as the elliptical, girl! NOT THE SAME. But I did that mile. Half running, half walking, Half crying. But I did it. And it felt good, until the pain set in

    So what did I do? I did it again the next day! Told myself it would help loosen the muscles up…say it with me guys… I’m an idiot! So much pain! But I think I’m going to start on the treadmill when I get home, might even take another little run tomorrow. We’ll see.

    so Alaska… we’ve been to Chena hot springs and soaked for a bit; visited an ice cave and had an apple-tini out of a glass made of ice-that was amazing; toured the AFB as visited Heritage Park and saw some old, awesome, and retired planes-it was a beautiful way to honor the past; and we’re returning from a trip to Denali National Park as I type.

    It was so beautiful; we took a short 2 mile hike along the Savage River and I took an amazing picture that nearly convinced me a move was imminent; Kevin, pancake, and I even did aore difficult and shorter hike up a mountain at the trail head there- all I’ll say is that Mirabel had a point when she said Bruno’s room was the worst- too many stairs! But we made it to the top and the view was unbelievable.

    We got to see a lot of wildlife, too: caribou, seagulls, dall sheep, hare, moose, tons of birds, and the cmon tourist was everywhere! It’s been a great day.

    The only blip was as we were coming off the last hike: the parks and wildlife personnel were seeing to three young children who appeared to be abandoned. No word yet on the full story, I’ll be looking for details to share, because, just…wow.

  • I’m not the same

    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.