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.
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’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.
I can’t even wrap my head around what I heard today, but I’m going to try, so here goes.
I was told today, that when Kevin originally had his accident, there was talk, and I won’t mention who, though I wish I could throttle them both, that I had done it. And by that, I mean they thought I was responsible for Kevin’s accident, that I somehow willingly inflicted a life-threatening injury on him.
Now, I’m all for the odd, dark joke; making them is sometimes preferable to tears and breakdowns but these people…One I don’t think much of just because of their demeanor and the other is nothing but a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Now, when I come across people I don’t like for one reason or another-or sometimes for no reason at all-I ask myself what it is exactly that I don’t like about them, and more importantly, is that a reflection of them, or of me? Mostly it’s me and I’ve come to the conclusion that we don’t have to like everyone, just as they don’t all have to like me. I think is just a natural occurrence and its ok as long as I remember that not liking someone does give me or anyone else license to be rude or disrespectful towards them.
And I work hard to do that, sometimes more than I want to. But it comes to the same: they still deserve respect even if I don’t like them. That is also a natural occurrence, or it should be.
Now, this person today, I have never liked them. Not 15 years ago when we initially met, not a few years back when I met them again, and definitely not now. I’ve tried to be more than just polite, I’ve tried to engage in conversation with them about their interests, and I just can’t anymore. My main description of them is only something I’ve shared with Kevin and my therapist; to be frank, I find nothing sincere about this person. I used to think it was just me but I’ve been proven wrong by them, on multiple occasions now.
The first time was a few months back when they approached me about a sensitive issue while I was at work. Now, I’m not shy in my emotions and feelings, but I am selective in who I willingly share that with. There is nothing in our history to indicate that I would ever want to share a more in-depth conversation with them about that particular topic. I told them, very firmly, verging on rude, that that topic was not one they should ever approach me about again. They told me they thought the situation was different and I immediately shut that down as well, reiterating that they don’t know the situation and it is not up for discussion, ever.
I also reported that conversation as a means to protect myself and ensure it would not happen again. I may have been more standoffish with this person since then.
But now to learn that they had discussions about whether I intentionally hurt Kevin… I just want to yell at them, put them in their place. Remind them that they have no right to make such an implication let along discuss it like fodder to fill their worthless time.
I don’t need to tell them how broken I felt when all this was happening; they don’t know that I can still hear my bug screaming, see my son’s tears, and watch my pancake try to shake the words, “your father could die,” from her head.
They don’t get to know about the sleepless nights, the endless fears, or about the panic attacks I had. They don’t know I use therapy, breathing techniques, going to the gym, and writing as an outlet for any of that. They don’t know that there are still triggering moments, hard days, and nightmares that still plague me.
They especially don’t know the relationship I have with Kevin or what we mean to each other; they don’t know how many times I shut down platitudes of, “at least you’ll appreciate him more, now,” with I already did. They don’t know the kind of love that Kevin and I share: one that is honest, raw, and worth fighting for, even to live, as Kevin did for me.
They don’t know how deep that connection goes or that when he was under, before he was flown out; cracked open but unconscious under the protective coverings; intubated, and looking every bit the patient that he was in a hospital emergency room that look like a bomb had gone off in it, that Kevin heard me: he responded to my words to fight and stay with me. He moved his feet, and it was like hope had been brought back to life in that room. Everyone there knew it, they felt it. It was tangible.
But this person, they don’t know that, because they don’t know me; they only know of me. Not who I am. I’m selective about that, even more now.
I really wish I could confront this vile person, but I don’t even know that I could say anything that would convey just how callous their words were. I really have no clue how they came to the conclusion that I could ever hurt Kevin, unless they equate my ability to set boundaries gave them the thought…seems like a leap though. It almost feels like showing strength equates to being aggressive.
But let me tell you: I had to walk through fire for that strength. And I’ll keep doing it now, and walk away from this person as well, because at the end of the day, a confrontation is not going to end well; not for me. And they’re also so not worth it.
Sorry I’ve been absent recently; things have been going really well-been feeling strong and just trying to enjoy the little things in life.
Got to mid-October and things just kind of slumped; we reached my grandmother’s birthday and that was hard. The first everything after the people you love pass are always hard.
Then we were able to take the oldest and youngest to dinner for their birthdays, with their boyfriends in tow-nice young men. Kevin and like them both but the key is that our kids seem happy and are treated well, so we’re good. We had to call our son for his birthday-it was really weird with him being away at school, to spend his birthday without him. But he’s also doing well and happy-and he got see his girlfriend last weekend, so he’s good, too (and yes, we also like her.)
But then I started having some anxiety-I hate to call them attacks-it feels weird in my head-especially when they seem quiet and under control. I kept watch but couldn’t really find a trigger-other than the time of year. I’ve been diligent about minding the things I know could set me off-no need test myself right now.
The anxiety seemed manageable at first, I didn’t even mention the first 2-3 episodes to Kevin; just breathed through them and tried to calm my racing heart. I hate that the most-the heart racing-it feels weird when that happens and there is no activity to precipitate it. I have to watch my thoughts when these happen, too, so I don’t exacerbate the problem. Spiraling down a rabbit hole is not the best idea to do when I’m already feeling anxious.
But over the last couple of weeks, it’s been getting worse-so much so that I spent 20 minutes yesterday trying to talk myself down, before finally giving up and hiding in Kevin’s office for 15 minutes and trying to distract myself. I had told him that I’d been struggling a little; he did what he always does-reminded me that he was here, and that he was here if I need him. And just let me hug him-which has been the best balm to my anxiety. Kevin just has a way to calm me and make me feel safe-he brings me peace.
But after yesterday’s episode-God there has to be a better way to describe this-I decided to make an appointment with my therapist. I haven’t seen him since the end of August; I was feeling good, strong, and I wanted to enjoy it for a while. And I was doing good. But this time of year just hits me so freaking hard.
It doesn’t matter that I try NOT to focus on the bad things that have happened; but how do you not remember the people you’ve lost at the time of year that you lost them? And then remember that I work where everyone knows about Kevin’s accident, and there have been questions about how I’m feeling now, about how Kevin’s feeling now.
How am I supposed to answer that? “Thanks for asking… I just love discussing a potentially emotionally charged topic that is in no way painful to me?” And really, I don’t mind talking about that, how I feel, with the right people at the right time, but work is not that place. I won’t even begin to address the second question other than to say the situation is ongoing.
There is generally more happening in a person’s life than we know, that’s why it’s important to be kind, even when things are hard.
So…yeah…I’ve been struggling with anxiety the last few weeks; I’m angry, and sad, and frustrated because it all still hurts, and sucks, and is freaking hard. And it’s all condensed into this time-frame and I thought I was doing so good and I was and I know I was and I know this is just a blip, but really, can’t it be enough already?
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.
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.
The Harrowed Heart 