This was a tough day: I’ve been preparing for a training class that I had to lead for several days, checking and making notes, preparing guidebooks, reviewing the power point presentation against the flow of speech, anticipating and answering questions, and fact checking the information I had on hand. I even made sure to let the team know that I would need to take my lunch at the usual time, which would allow enough time to set up before the class began at 1. That was the plan.
And I was screwed before I even got out of bed for the day, having woken up around 2:30 this morning and struggled to get back to sleep. I think I drifted off around 6 and my alarm went off at 6:30. Strike one.
I got to work 10 minutes later than normal-but figured that would be fine since I would be working and extra hour in the afternoon. But then I got busy and the one thing I told myself I couldn’t forget, was to remind the team again that I needed to leave for lunch as close to my usual time as possible…and I forgot to remind them. Not intentionally, I got distracted, and involved, and had my attention diverted multiple times…that’s not unusual, except when I’m low on sleep, and don’t function at my normal capacity. And lunch did not occur on time. Strike two.
When my coverage arrived late back from their break-I had just cleaned up a pretty difficult encounter, contacted another party about required, updated information we needed, and reviewed a supervisor’s reply and direction for a third event that I just did not have the time to resolve at the time. I just shut everything down, finished up my last note, transferred the last call I accepted, grabbed my things, and a lunch that was kindly delivered to me, and booked it. The person that covered for me decided that my very quiet if not frustrated departure required a snarky comment, and a degrading comment on a group Team’s channel, and I was not left in the best mindset heading into lunch. I reported both to my lead and took a screen shot of the remark, demanding that it be taken down or I would be going to HR. Yeah, try me.
So I left frustrated, but I was quiet; I get quiet because it gives me time to reflect, not just react. I didn’t berate you for not having the decency to let anyone know that something had come up over your break-I learned long ago that there are things I don’t know and I’m not privy to-but its common sense to reach out to a supervisor if you’re going to exceed your allotted break time. Strike 3.
So I sat in Kevin’s office and tried to get myself together, I closed the door so it would be quiet; I did not have time to have time to fall into my feels, I needed to calm down and mentally prepare for my class. Success.
And it went well. The class was engaging and asked thoughtful questions that I was well prepared for.
And when I got home, I let Kevin know about it all. I just let it all out. All the anger and frustration from all of it. Just let it all out and let myself breathe. And then I cried. Just for a few minutes when Kevin hugged me, and I thought that was it.
But after dinner, I was reading quietly, thinking about the conversation I was going to have with my supervisor tomorrow, and felt myself getting worked up again. Stupid lack of sleep helps nothing, anywhere, ever. I started my breathing exercises, and after a minute or two, when I felt like it wasn’t enough, reached out to grab Kevin’s hand. He immediately asked if I was ok and when I let him know my anxiety was kicking up, asked whether I needed a big hug. I said yes, and stepped into him for the second time tonight. I kept going with my box breathing, and that didn’t work; I took deeper breaths, and held them longer, and then I started shaking. I couldn’t stop it. I starting baby running feet-you know-the quick steps when there’s too much energy and nowhere to expel it. It was a little scary how quickly the anxiety took over and before long, I was full on sobbing again. I couldn’t stop it, so I gave up and leaned into it, and just cried into Kevin’s shoulder.
I don’t know how long we stood in the living room like that. I just knew I needed to pull myself together; the kids know I’ve struggled with this since Kevin’s accident, but I’ve done everything I can not to have a reaction like that in front of them. I didn’t want them to see me like that now, not ever.
So yeah, it was a day. I haven’t had an anxiety attack like that in…several months. And I couldn’t stop it.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
