I hear them (and not in a Sixth Sense kind of way, well, maybe). Both of them. Mostly her. The “quiet” times are the most prevalent…

I read an article many years ago and a light bulb went off. It was a passing sentence on why it is so hard for trauma survivors to meditate and sit while trying to quiet their mind. For them, when they quiet their mind, images they do not want to see, or feelings they don’t want to feel, can flood them (PTSD). That passing sentence helped me feel saner again, as I kept trying to use meditation as a tool to help when I was a mess after I lost Jesse and Bella. And every time I did, I ended up worse than I started. Normally, when you feel stress and anxiety often, one of the main coping mechanisms you hear about is to meditate. It is a thing that I train my own patients to do, starting with a minute or two at a time. The idea is that when you practice mindfulness re meditation, it can help with areas in the brain that help in emotional regulation. It can also change the shape of the amygdala, which is responsible for anxiety, stress, and fear. Which is really good stuff! Except, I realize, I probably can count on one hand over the past over five years where I have been in actual quiet. There are many times I am doing things in quiet, but I am doing. Not just sitting and trying to empty a mind only for it to flood.

When in quiet, many things happen. I see things I don’t want to see, I hear things, both echos of memories. Yesterday I was crawling out of my skin, that wired tired that I am so familiar with now. That feeling of I want to sleep until May 9 and at the same time pull a Forest Gump and start running and not stop until May 9. The silver lining is I recognize it now, which helps a bit. We walked the dog after dinner, me noting the amazing cloud depth and color in the sky, the flowers blooming, the trees budding with one of my favorite colors that shows up in the spring, lime green. We chatted here and there, but also walked in moments of silence, both in our own thoughts. While in one of those moments, I heard her in the distance, my Bells. I heard her call, daddy, daddy, daddy! She usually called us in threes to make sure we heard her. As if we couldn’t, she had good lungs on her! It is not the first time this has happened. It is either her calling him, or I. Each time, my stomach clenches as the world shifts off axis for a moment. Then I distract, which is my go to. I pointed out those clouds and talked about something else.

I have heard them both this past week. Actually, I have heard Jesse, Bells, my mom, and my dad. It has been kinda weird. My mom and dad, when it happens, there is a sadness that enters, a hello, I miss you kind of thing. It comes, it goes. With Jesse and Bells, it is so full of emotion, complications, and memories, both good and bad, nothing ever “simple.” For him, I hear him, I remember the good, I remember the man I loved, married, and had a child with. I remember him vibrant, strong, and healthy. I get that for a second. Then I remember the other stuff. The stuff I don’t want to remember. The leading up to, and then the day. The alive, and the not alive. What I came home to. And the torrent of emotions erupt around all of that, surrounding the good, tainting it. For her. Damn it shit to hell. For her, the bottom drops out from me and I fall. I want to hear her, I am desperate in some ways to here her giggle, her laugh, her little voice, hell, even her cry. But in other ways, it is torture. I sit here writing this, tears spring to my eyes thinking about it. And just like that, I went to balance my check book, then play a level of Wordscapes. You ask me how I deal, that is a perfect example.

Not everyone who is a trauma survivor experiences this. But many who I have talked to over the years have, both directly after, and long after. For me, I call them the echoes. Echoes of a time imprinted on my mind, my heart, my being. Echoes that make me who I am, are part of my fabric. Echoes that also wreak havoc in that same mind, heart and being. Echoes that I long to hear, and dread.

Trauma survivors, be kind to yourself. Know that some of the normal tools you used to help, may not anymore. Work with someone to help you find new tools. Family, friends, loved ones, be patient. Memories and flashbacks can come out of no where. Sometimes the tools work, and sometimes, man oh man, sometimes, the feeling is so strong, the tools don’t work, and all you can do is be present, hold them (don’t tell them it will be ok), let them know they are not alone, that you are there. I know it is not easy. Walking this path is not easy, and none of us want to be on it. But we need you. Today, tomorrow, and far into the future. Those echoes don’t just go away, they do exactly what they mean: (verb) – (of a sound) be repeated or reverberate after the original sound has stopped.