I was going to go through the hundreds of things I have written over the past couple of years and post something from that. That is the nice thing about when you are consistently trying to do a “regular” thing (ie. every Tuesday) and you are busy. That was not my excuse today. Today I just don’t want to. Frankly, I don’t want to much these past few days. Then I figured, what is the point of being raw and honest if you don’t. So here I am. Continue reading
I wrote this on May 4, 2016 while on a train north from Edinburgh to Inverness, pondering some of the history I had encountered as well as the vast open landscape passing by.
In looking at history these past few days, it reminds me how small I am in this grand timeline, and even smaller in the grand scheme of this universe. What am I in this “timeline”, why am I here? It cannot be just to live, reproduce and die? It makes you think differently of this human experience. Seeing the struggle, the war, how the hardness of the land shaped people. Yet the simplicity. If you could avoid the complexities that society puts upon itself, go for that simplicity, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Away from these electronics, back to the land. Back to human connection. Continue reading
PTSD is a disorder that develops in someone who has experienced a shocking, scary, or dangerous event according to the National Institute of Mental Health. Not everyone will develop it, though those that do, it can show up immediately or even years after. Some people recover, some people live with it chronically. Having it present in your life can reek havoc (in your day to day, work, family, relationships). It shows up in a variety of ways: flashbacks (re-experiencing), nightmares, thoughts that are “worst case scenarios.” You may block out time around the event, you may be more forgetful in general, have trouble focusing, not enjoy things like you used to, avoid things/places/people. Your body may go through a variety of reactions when experiencing PTSD. You may become dizzy, scared, have temperature changes (hot/cold), break out in a sweat, want to cry, have a rapid heart beat, shake, be nauseous. It can happen for obvious reasons (you see something that reminds you of the event) or it can happen out of no where. Those are especially challenging because people will often ask you: “I don’t understand, why did it happen?” And the answer is I just don’t know. Continue reading
I spread Jesse’s ashes this past Saturday. Well, that was the idea. What actually happened was a series of metaphors that I cannot and still do not believe happened.
You see, I was ready. I had been ready for about a year to do this, and really ready for about six months. There are a lot of reasons for this. It is such a complicated grief with him that I vacillated between honoring his wishes (which thankfully we talked about after we got married) and taking him out back, digging a hole, dumping him in, pooping on it, then calling it good. Yeah, I know, not one of my more glorious and compassionate thought processes. I figured being in the mostly anger stage of grief recently, I better get him out and honor his wishes. Another reason, in order to allow new energy to come in, you have to let go of old. That is another post for another day. Let’s just say about six months ago, I got there. Continue reading
I was asked awhile ago by someone if I would always be so affected by all these anniversaries. I had no answer except “I don’t know.”
People respond differently of course to death. After my mom died, the anniversary of her death was this point of reference in my summer that was daunting. I lost her when I was eight months pregnant with Raffi, never got to say goodbye in person, and even though it was something I expected at some point (she was an alcoholic), I did not envision it when she was 61. The first anniversary I took the day off, went to the beach for the day to reflect and think. It was my mom. I loved and missed her, I wanted so much to share the things that were happening with my newborn, ask her the gazillion questions that I had, say I was sorry. Until you become a parent, you cannot appreciate the flaws that you so readily criticized. Subsequent anniversaries it slowly got less daunting. I think there was even a year that I may have gotten through the day without even realizing. It is not that I still don’t miss her. It is more a veil that is always there, thin like, that if I tap into, I can go there at any point verses this day that is overwhelming. Continue reading
I came to Bend this weekend. I come as often as I can. I found after Jesse and Bella died, it was one of the only places that I felt peaceful. This weekend, no one is here but me. I often remember the times when the girls were running around the house, making all kinds of ruckus, all I wanted was peace and quiet. After, I kept myself so busy, distracted, to the point of exhaustion, the first time I was alone in the house, I almost lost my mind. We adapt. We cannot survive as a species otherwise. I mostly can do it now. In fact, I now need it. When I have seen a lot of patients, been “on” in the world, when the city is particularly loud, I need that counterbalance of quiet. My system is constantly on adrenaline overload, waiting for that next shoe to drop, it’s the PTSD. I have learned that being in quiet sorta calms it down a bit, more like it doesn’t add to it. That being said, when one is quiet, the mind becomes loud. Within that loud, not all the time, but often enough, flashbacks occur. That can come in any shape or form, from what I found that night, to the leading up, to the after, to anything my mind can conjure up.
So, it’s part of the many dichotomies that I encounter now. Try to neutralize the constant adrenaline coursing through me, with quiet, knowing well that it can backfire at any moment. I think that is why I come here as often as I can. It is consistently one of the few places where my body can calm down a bit, my mind unencumbered by flashbacks, and I can be peaceful. For this, I am grateful.
I wrote this early this year while in my regular coffee shop writing as a little girl was running around giggling in a pink tutu.
I apologize for my staring. I apologize for my crying. I sometimes forget. Well, no, I never forget. You see, I lost my daughter in the most unimaginable way possible. Her father’s mind broke into a million pieces, and he shot her, then himself. I found them. I thought, maybe I can save her. The images that I have vary from when she is alive, to when I found them, to when I was holding her cleaned up body at the funeral home. Now all I have is some of her hair, and her ashes. And memories.
Let me tell you about this child of mine. Continue reading