She was four years, ten months, and seventeen days when she died. Yesterday, it was four years, ten months, and seventeen days since she died. Today, she is dead longer than she was alive.
Those who lose loved ones when they are older, do not run into this. Like, for instance, my dad, he died when he was 76, I was 43. So, unless I live to 119, I will not hit that point. Not something that crosses the average mind, however, the trauma mind, that is another ball of wax (who came up with that saying?)
I thought I was prepared for yesterday. I thought, well, I have been through worse, it will probably mess with my head a bit. I had no idea how bad it would be. I think that is me trying to be an optimist, it is a work in progress, one that does not come naturally. I think that if I did not, I would have sunk by now. I woke up, feeling like shit, not sleeping well the night before. Not abnormal for me. The slight nausea was, and caught my attention, and I thought, crap, I hope that I am not catching one of the gazillion colds or flus going around. I got the kid off to school, who looked at me with concern to which I replied, I just did not sleep well last night, I am ok. I went up and showered. And then remembered. I could feel my skin crawl with the remembering of my sweet innocent girl, my girl whose laugh could light up the darkest corners of the world, whose cunningness would put most politicians to shame, whose intelligence was mind boggling, whose kindness, joy, positivity, and wonder brought tears to my eyes. I armored. It is kinda like when Iron Man suits up, a piece at a time. It goes all around my heart, then my body, it is how I have learned to survive in moments like these. These moments that if I actually “felt” and “expressed” how this affected me, I would fall apart. It would overwhelm me like a tsunami. The pain would be too great. I would not survive. And since I promised a whole lot of people I would do WHATEVER I needed to do to survive, I armored. Which meant I was like a zombie walking, doing, functioning. I have done it many times before, so it is a familiar path, the day and detail different. All I wanted to do was to crawl in bed, take the prescribed medication that makes me not care and just sleep until today. But I couldn’t. I needed to go to work. This tragedy has made me cut back on my hours so much. This is so that I can still feel like I am doing a good job with my patients, and I can’t just take a day off easily. I said to myself, come on, it will do you some good, helping people is one of those things that gives you purpose, and you really need that right now. While driving, I was on the edge of tears. That maintained the whole day. It was an interesting ledge, the armor keeping them at bay, my eyes burning under the pressure. I got home after an hour commute, numb, wired, and tired. I wanted to crawl out of my skin. I wanted to run hard. I can’t do that yet, so I continued to walk around the house aimlessly, occasionally hugging my poor husband, whom I know this is not easy for. I got through dinner with Oli, who after asked me, mom, you look so sad right now. I answered him honestly, yes, I am. He said, do you want to talk about it, and I said no sweetie, I will be ok. I coudn’t tell him. I did not have the heart. Why put something like this in his head if I don’t need to. Why mess him up when he is doing relatively ok right now. I got out my really good scotch, poured a bit out and sipped it before and after dinner while looking out the window at the clouds, the trees, the rain falling. I remembered the night I came home to find them, the sky not much different. I looked at the clock at some point, 5:35. I told my husband, the line has passed. I don’t know when he killed her, but she was definitely gone by now. I went on saying a lot of things over the next few minutes, mostly about the current news, about the father of the little girl who died in Sandy Hook, the teens who died this past week from Parkland, how we keep fighting this fight, and sometimes it is all too much. How the parents of those teens, of those children, all will hit that moment when they pass the line like I did yesterday. How their hearts break everyday at some point.
One of the most common questions I get from people is, how do you do it, how do you survive. It is a good question that does not have a straight forward answer. On a day like yesterday, a minute at a time. I focus on the things that need to be done. Get up. Pee. Get the kid ready for school. Drink my tea. Breathe. Shower. Get out the door. Go to work. Get home. Help with dinner. Watch a romcom cuddled on the couch with my husband. Turn on the fireplace, gaze at that alongside the movie. Crack up at my cat who is now obsessed with watching TV. Woven throughout is the remembering. Those moments when the reality, the memories, try to break down that armor. Depending on how much it is winning, I may take one of the things my docs have prescribed. I rarely do, trying to use the list of tools that usually help, terrified of the addiction area in my brain lighting up and using it as a crutch. But then, there are those times when the pain is too great. And I have been taught in my profession, when you are in a lot of pain, healing cannot occur, it actually impedes it. So, I remember that, remember self compassion, and give my body the break it needs from the pain of this excruciating loss. I did that last night.
Time is a funny thing for people who have survived trauma. After, you are in a timelessness. The only thing I can compare it to is when my kids were born, those first few weeks where time did not exist like I normally knew it. Then, when you clunk back in to the rhythm that everyone else is observing, you start to notice the time that has passed. First, it was the weeks since they died. Then the months, now the years. That is what happens to us survivors. That is what you are reading about in the news this week. It never goes away. Then there are the doozies, like mine yesterday. As much as you may have a heads up with these, they still rock the boat that is already on choppy waters. You reach out for the life vests that you have set up. That is what they are there for. Their job is to support. It could be a friend, a loved one, or the lifeline (if you are struggling, please reach out, they are available 24/7/365 at 1-800-273-TALK (8255)). That being said, I have talked to other survivors, so I know I am not alone in what I am about to say. Often, when time passes, and people not as close to the trauma have moved on in their lives, we still carry the weight right next to our hearts. When the waves take us down, for whatever reason, big or small, we often don’t want to “bother” or depress people. I know I am guilty of this. I don’t want to bring people down with my shit. The same shit. The same pain. The pain they can’t take away or make better. Which is stupid. Because they want to be there. But that is not how a survivor’s mind works, you often feel like a burden, and you have to fight that day in and day out. I cannot tell you how many times after Jesse and Bella died, when I thought about suicide, the reason was that I was burdening others with my grief and messing my kid up because I was so messed up. It takes a community of love and compassion to remind those affected that they are not a burden during the times they forget. So, reach out, send a text, say how are you holding up? Is there anything I can do for you? Want to grab a cup of tea? And follow up. And sometimes, you need to just go grab them and drag them out. And remind them, they are loved, that you may not understand the depth of pain they are in, but you are there for them, and that they are not alone.
It is not an easy path. You learn to live again slowly, joy creeping in alongside that harrowing grief you hold close to your heart. You “keep it together” so to function. There are times that are so hard that you can barely breathe. You don’t “get over” it.
I chose to fight and not give up as much as I want to some days, and yes, I still have those. I channel it into a fire that I have to believe will make a change, that will help people, help people survive when they think they can’t, help support those who can’t speak for themselves, and maybe change the world in a positive way.
