The Harrowed Heart

Tag: family

  • I just miss her

    It’s my grandma’s birthday today; she would have been 89.
    This is the first birthday without her, and it sucks.

    I always hate these types of first; they’re always the hardest. The first birthday without being able to call her-it reminded me of the last birthday I got to spend with her. The first and last time we went to a baseball game together. The last call we had where she asked when I’d be back to take her to another one.

    I’ve been thinking about her all day and I struggled to keep it together at work. I made it to mid-morning before I started crying. That’s me. I’m the cry-er in my family. Always have been. Always will be.

    I used to hate that I was always so emotional. It seemed like a burden that my anger or my sadness would always result in tears, and I couldn’t help it. But now I see it as a strength…my compassion lets me do my job and do it well.

    Kevin said he could feel my heart breaking as I cried over the enchilada’s he made for me tonight; they were grandma’s enchiladas. I remember the first time I ate them after she was gone… I was crying in the grocery store, in front of the Mexican food section, asking my Kevin if he would make them for me. I sobbed through every bite; he said it’s because I love so deeply. And it was the same tonight, but I couldn’t let her birthday pass without her enchiladas.

    I knew today was going to be hard but what I didn’t expect is that it would feel as if no time had passed since I got the news that she was gone… it hurts every bit as much as it did then. Maybe a bit worse since it’s been almost a year since I last spoke to her. I can still her soft voice calling me “mija” and telling me I eat like a bird.

    But I also remember the last trip to California before her death; we took a day trip to Yosemite. Grandma told me about the trips she and grandpa used to take my mama and my uncles on when they were younger; how they would leave early and make camp by the river and cook up breakfast. She must of told me that story about 9 times on the way to and from Yosemite. I remember not minding…knowing I wouldn’t have many more opportunities to hear them. Knowing that she just wanted to talk with me. Know that we loved each other so much. Not knowing that would be the last time I heard that story. I didn’t mind.

    Man do I miss her.

  • A good reminder

    I often get people, patients and visitors alike, coming into my lobby and looking for specific services that are not located in my area; usually, I just direct them to the appropriate location and wish them a happy day.

    More often than not, I get those who need to be directed to the emergency room for various reasons: they require emergency services; they’re here to visit an in-patient and need to check-in with the emergency room unit coordinator first (for patient safety), or they’re here to be with someone in the emergency department-usually a relative or friend.

    I typically handle these visitors with care, first finding out what is bringing them in, though they’re usually good about letting me know when I ask, “how can I help you today?” Then I’ll either direct them around the building to access the emergency room department, or personally walk them down, and through the locked access doors. FYI: anyone bleeding and people in obvious discomfort or pain get an immediate escort directly to the emergency room while visitors are given directions on how to get there.

    Last week, however, I had a gentleman come in looking for his son, who had been in an accident. That was all he said. Normally, I would give him directions to the emergency room but something in the tremor of his voice spoke to me. I could hear his fear and his grief; I felt his pain wrapped around the way he said “son” and “accident” in the same breath. And I felt a kinship towards him, knowing that feeling myself.

    So I didn’t hesitate to shut down my computer, lock up my HIPAA protected papers, put the bell out, and walk him to the emergency department. Knowing the strength he would need, I asked if he would like me to grab him a coffee or juice before I led him to the ED. He declined and that was that.

    Quietly, we made the short trek to the ED; we didn’t speak a word between us, other than my light direction to take a right down another hall, but I could feel each shudder in his breathing, not knowing what to expect. As I let him through the final door, I introduced the unit coordinator to him by name, let him know they would help him from here, and to let us know if he needed anything.

    I don’t know the outcome of that encounter or who they were: I don’t need to know. I know what I needed when it was me and I just wanted to pass along any kindness I could to that person. It’s scary, the not knowing. And the fear you feel is so painful, so crushing, it’s a wonder it’s not tangible. It’s something dark that just lives in you until you get the relief you need, if you get it, until you hear the words that can turn it into a bad memory. And when that relief hits, it’s so sweet it’s draining. It takes your strength and the air from your lungs.

    This meeting has been sitting with me the last few days; I find I’ve been dwelling on it more than I should, as well as a few other personal issues… yeah, there have been a few lately. It just really makes me wonder, ya know? Why do some of these things happen? Some people are gone before we’re ready; some are told how much time they have left. And in between…in between I guess we just do the best we can; we just keep showing up and showing the world how resilient we can be, even if it doesn’t feel like it at the time.

    I also got some really wonderful new, coming May 2025; there will be a new baby in our family…not me!! Another family member is expecting and we’re thrilled for them. That news was just what I needed right now… it was a reminder that while shit hits the fan, regularly and with more frequency than I care for, good things are still happening, too.

    I really needed that.

  • That time of year again

    I haven’t been sleeping all that well in the last few weeks; I kept trying to tell myself that I wasn’t sure why it was such an issue recenlty: I’ve been going to the gym, monitoring my emotional health and state, talking to Kevin about my frustrations (not necessarily related to his accident), and overall just trying to remember that I control my peace, especially when others are so determined to be miserable.

    Nope, I know exactly why sleep has been an issue for me lately: it’s because it’s about that time of year again.

    I used to love this time of year, I loved the brisk mornings and the warm afternoons. I loved the way you could see the sparkle of frost on the aspen leaves and smell the smoke from a wood burning stove. To me, this meant a changing of the season’s, a change that typically everyone indulged in as we entered the holiday season.

    Halloween would bring laughter and costumes, a reminder of our earlier youthfulness, and a return to harmless shenanigans, if you were of a mind to dress up or play tricks. And that youthful exuberance would turn into something softer, something that resembled gratitude and thankfulness as we moved right on through to the Thanksgiving holiday. Everyone was a little nicer, more patient, a bit more generous, and endlessly grateful for their blessings. We could all wander through memories to see where we’ve been and how far we’ve come. It was hard not to feel appreciative for our lives and remember that maybe, we might not have it so bad after all.

    Then Christmas. My all-time favorite. I can remember when I loved to decorate the house, put the tree up, expand our set up outside. There would be garland and lights hung everywhere; ornaments were hung from tree limbs outside; lights circled the overhangs and the patio. And when it was quiet, I’d sit quietly and gaze at the tree and just breathe, thinking there was something truly magical about the season, even if the magic had changed from childhood fantasy.

    I had always thought that there was something magical about this time of year, it was always something to look forward to.

    But the truth is, the last few years seem to have stolen the last bit of magic I used to hold onto. We still decorate, but I’m not as invested as I used to be. Halloween is either on or not, mostly not in more recent years…I can’t even remember when I last carved a pumpkin. And Thanksgiving, while still delicious, hasn’t been the same since the T-Day 2022: ICU turkey is NOT food.

    Don’t get me wrong, I’m still going to work hard to get past this time of year, and do my best not to be too much of a grinch, but I won’t lie: this time of year is now incredibly difficult for me. This time of year is now dotted with the loss of people I loved deeply and compounded with Kevin’s accident, yeah, I struggle with it. Last year, it felt like trying to take a deep breath under water, or with a pillow smothering you, sometimes both.

    I think what it comes down to is that I miss the magic; I miss the times when the holiday season had a tangible effect on the world, or at least mine. I miss the times before pain changed me. Wow. I felt that: I miss the times before pain changed me.

    And I stronger now, I know I am. I turned my pain into purpose, or at least, I’m trying to. And my next step, is to purge these thoughts tonight, and maybe, just maybe, get a good night’s sleep.

  • That’s Pretty Good

    I just read something that essentially said, with all the therapy I’ve been getting, I’m not learning how to handle the trauma, pain, anxiety, or depression I’ve been through, rather, I’m healing to enjoy and love all the good things that come my way, to allow happiness to resonate in my soul again. I felt that.

    On the one hand, there is no way the experience of Kevin’s accident is ever going to fully fade into memory; there will always be a trigger I don’t anticipate. Or a memory. A sound. A feeling. Tonight for instance, I watched a movie in which a husband lost his wife: the scene showed the husband crying and trying to curl into the wall of the hospital where he was waiting with family and I was transported to November 19, 2022, when I tried to curl into the hospital walls myself…when I was so scared and so overwhelmed that curling into anything else for comfort was all I could think to do at the time. Just to stop thinking, to stop feeling. I’ll never forget that moment, the one where my comfort was fighting for his life and I had no one else to tell me it was going to be alright, to offer that comfort, and tell me it was going to be ok.

    That comfort did come, eventually, in a coworker I was familiar with but didn’t know well. As soon as she opened her arms to hug me, I fell apart and allowed the grief to take me, knowing someone was there to help piece me back together, to help me navigate this terrifying situation, and to tell me it would be ok, even when we weren’t sure it would be.

    But I digress. The last few years of therapy have been exceptionally helpful in helping me manage those triggers and emotions, so while watching that scene did bring up extreme emotions and memory for me, I was also able to let slip the tears that managed to break through, remind myself that what occurred in the scene was not the outcome we had, and that Kevin was fine. We are fine.

    But then I think about the second part of what I had read…that I’m healing to accept happiness in again and that made so much sense. You see, when Kevin had his accident, and even though he’s fine now and I did not lose the love of my life, there was a period of time that I grieved his absence, and our future, not knowing then what would happen or that he would survive. Honestly, the trauma to his heart…I didn’t know if he’d make it; I’d been told to bring the kids, to prepare for the worst, to call our family. So yeah, I grieved a future we had planned, even if only for a few hours: trips we wanted to take, golf excursions, Florida for a wedding, our children’s graduations-our eldest child graduated from high school 7 months after Kevin’s accident-and so many other plans. I felt like I lost it all, all our future memories, even if they hadn’t happened yet…gone.

    The first year following the accident was exceptionally difficult: the wedding anniversary I thought I’d face alone, Father’s Day, my birthday, graduation, a wedding, a visit to my grandmother. I honestly thought it was all lost to me and so reaching each of those milestones, while amazing in their own rights, were bittersweet to me. They were tinged with memories of what we almost lost and a sense of relief that Kevin and made it this far. The first anniversary of Keivn’s accident brought on its own set of anxiety inducing memories and emotions for me. But we made it.

    And with therapy, I was able to face that I was afraid to fully embrace those times because they were almost stolen from me once. I was afraid of facing that I had almost lost them; afraid to believe that they did happen, that Kevin was here and celebrating with me. It took some time, but I’ve gotten better at being present in those moments now, in letting myself feel the joy and happiness that radiates in them.

    We just dropped our son off at college a few weeks ago and it was bittersweet for all the right reasons. Kevin and I, we only ever wanted to give our kids every opportunity we could, to allow them to be children for as long as they could, knowing what it was like to have to grow up early, and not wanting that for them. We wanted to keep them free from the burden of being an adult before their time.

    So dropping off our son at school, leaving our baby behind, in a place he worked so hard to get to, knowing that we had given him every tool we could to help him be successful; knowing that he had reached the first step of his dream, and knowing that Kevin and I could do that for him, that was pretty amazing. So, while I was crying for a whole different reason, I was also so incredibly happy, and that is pretty good.