The Harrowed Heart

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  • Not okay

    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.

  • Why does it feel wrong?

    Pretty sure I upset a friend this week; it wasn’t intentional, but then, when do you ever really mean to hurt someone? That answer should be never, in case you were wondering.

    I had just reached the end of the workday and I was desperate to escape for a run. The day hadn’t been bad, quite the contrary, actually, but the noise felt lout. Too loud. And I was ready to run.

    Going to the gym didn’t start as a means to quiet my mind, but to get ready for our 20th anniversary trip to Hawaii. After a few months of it, it just became habit to go, even after our trip ended. And then, well, you have that one day that is just too much; and that’s when I really started looking at my gym time as a healthy outlet for everything. So I pushed myself on those tough days. It helped.

    So on days when I’m ready to run, I’m really ready to get at it.

    My friend was telling me about her recent break up; I am walking with purpose to the time clock to head out, ready to be done. Ready to do anything to quiet my thoughts. As I’m inching towards the door, she asks me if I have an appointment, and when I tell her I have to get to the gym, she tells me that she’s trying to talk to me about things with her ex.

    And here is where it feels like I’m an uncaring, unfeeling asshole. Neither of which are true, but it still feels wrong. I was done for the day. I had met and probably exceeded my capacity for human interaction that day that didn’t include anyone I didn’t birth or live with. I wanted to go have that time for me, when the work is hard and the noise is quiet. And I told her to call me later, and I left. I booked it to my car and was at the gym 2 minutes later.

    There’s one thing people don’t mention when you face trauma, and that is that even though you do the things, you see a therapist, you type it out, you run, you fight, and yeah, sometimes you crumble…none of that will ever truly erase the thoughts or memories or physical reactions you feel. Even years later. They help, for sure. But the noise still gets loud. And, when you’ve had to spend time in survival mode, in a constant state of fight or flight, your body doesn’t get that the reactions meant to protect them are not needed for simple things. Not immediately.

    So when my friend’s very loud, very forceful, very chaotic re-telling felt like more than what it was, I chose to choose myself and my peace. I know it shouldn’t but why does it feel wrong? And I think I know why… it’s because we’re told, repeatedly, not to be selfish. But why is it selfish to choose yourself? I was putting my mental health first. I was not in a place to have all of that dumped on me. I don’t like feeling like I’m obligated to listen… I will. In the right time and head space, which was definitely not that day.

    All of this also happened immediately following what I feel were her attempts to gas light me. The more I spend time with her, the more it feels like spending time with people I’ve cut out of my life for their toxicity. And similar tactics of manipulation.

    I’ve always had people try to treat me as an emotional garbage dump, and that’s exhausting. And for someone who cares deeply for the people in her life, it was too much to constantly be on the receiving end of that script. I am so done letting people treat my compassion like a weakness and done letting them take advantage of that, too.

    My boundaries should be clear, by my actions or by my words. I don’t know why it feels like I did something wrong by choosing myself, but it does. Might be a good conversation to have at my next session. For now, I will continue to run, and set boundaries, and choose me when I need to…even if it still feels wrong.

  • Unbelievable

    He wrote me songs; multiple. Plural.

    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.

  • Sometimes, it doesn’t help

    Well, I went hard while running last week; I keep pushing myself to move a bit faster, for just a little bit longer. And I was able to hit my goal and beat my best time so far. It felt really good. And it also helped me let go of control long enough to grieve for the trauma of last week. Some things just weight too heavy.

    I’ve been wondering why this event seems to linger… but I bet my therapist will tell me that trauma triggers trauma. I’ve been thinking about that, too. I knew it would bring on bad memories and trigger nightmares, thankfully only one, but it was enough to disrupt my sleep (again). I’m working on that. Sometimes, even pushing myself at the gym doesn’t help.

    In my experiences, I understand more what people are feeling when they have their worst days. I know what it’s like to be overwhelmed by questions from people who mean well but don’t understand that silence is a gift. When those two things collide, when the information meets my uncanny ability to understand more than I want, well, I’m not left with many outlets to express that. There are laws for a reason, and besides that, I want to allow people their privacy in their worst moments-knowing how invasive it feels to have everyone, and their mothers (yes, literally) know and approach you with details that should have, and legally, were required to be protected.

    I can only keep to myself what I know. And putting two-and-two together sucks sometimes. It means I have a more thorough understanding of the situation as a whole. And it’s awful.

    I have just learned, however, that healthcare professionals are allowed to speak with their mental health providers and therapists about difficult work-related events. I know there have been debriefs, counselors called in and services offered for severe cases, especially when they, the healthcare team, are shaken by a case or when they know the patient, as they did with Kevin and his accident. So that is a relief, knowing I can share with my therapist.

    I’m hoping it will help to relieve the noise.

    But Kevin and I recently celebrated our wedding anniversary, and in true Kevin fashion, I got what I love most: a letter he’d written to me. I love these, they are something tangible I can read over and over again. And he said something that really hit me this time. He was talking about the accident and how I “carried the fear so” he could survive it. I know that doesn’t make a lot of sense but if you think about it, it’s still true. Stress and fear have a way of hindering physical healing.

    I’ve always been the one to manage our family, handle the difficult situations, plan for the best and worst times (even while fervently hoping those never came). And in this particular instance, it was more true than ever and to have him acknowledge that, it hit something deep in my soul. And I hope, this other family, that everyone going through their worst moments, have someone to carry that fear for them, too.

  • Another nightmare

    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.

    Because that could have happened to any of us.

    And we can only be there when it does.

  • A little grace.

    Well…I made it through the holiday season; I think I kept my grinch held to a minimum but only just. People forget sometimes that just because a person is happy and friendly, it doesn’t necessarily mean they enjoy the holidays. I used to, and I am slowly getting back to it, but I’m not there yet. Maybe next year.

    Anyways, I ended the year seeing my therapist. I wasn’t really talking about anything in particular. I took those cutting words from that awful person and reclaimed them. What I mean is, they have no idea who I am, what we went through, and they certainly don’t know anything about the state of my relationship with Kevin. Their callousness is a reflection of who they are, not me. It was empowering taking that back. But it didn’t quite hit me that way until I was on a run.

    I’ve mentioned I’ve been doing the gym thing as a means to help with the anxiety and it also helps me sleep a little better, occasionally. I also just want to feel better physically, so I’ve been setting little goals throughout the year, just to keep up my motivation. The biggest one I had set for myself, was to break 60 minutes running 5 miles. And I finally did!

    This run came after a trying day, a couple of them, actually. I was still finding my footing after what that person said; I’d had a few angry encounters at work, justifiably so, but it’s still trying being on the receiving end of someone’s ire when all you’re trying to do is help.

    Initially, I didn’t even want to go to the gym; the holidays had been keeping my mood muted and my interests and things I had been doing took a hit. But I told myself I needed to go; that I feel better when I do. That I just had to walk in the door and get started. And I compromised with myself, too; just run for 20 minutes and then call it if you want. But do something, get out of this rut.

    So that’s what I did. My playlist was hitting tunes with enough energy to keep me going. I noticed that I passed the two-and-a-half-mile mark in just under 30 minutes, and I was still hitting my stride. I kept going.

    I started struggling as I neared the four-mile mark, but I told myself to keep going. I could do this. I had already run 5 miles before when I thought I couldn’t make it. And then, then I really started to own those thoughts. To take pride in them and let them become a part of my being. And they kept coming.

    So when my breathing started to come rougher and my legs started to burn, I kept up my silent pep talk.

    Look at how far you’ve come. You can break that 60 minutes and keep going, if you wanted. Look what you’ve overcome. Look at how much stronger you are. You keep setting these goals and then seeing it through, this is just the next on the list.

    And when I hit 5 miles and checked my time, to see that I had met the goal I wanted, I started crying. Not recommended by the way, especially if you still have 5 minutes and 15 something seconds to go before your run and cool down are complete. So I pulled it back a bit. But I had done it. And I remembered reading about something related to trauma that I understood but didn’t really absorb until then.

    What I read said the one thing people who’ve been through a trauma want is to go back to the way things were before it happened, but that it wasn’t possible return to that. And when I really started thinking about it, I realized, that while I miss the way things were before the accident, I wouldn’t want to go back to who I was then.

    I am a better person now, stronger.

    I set boundaries.

    I’m patient with myself.

    I take better care of my mental health now.

    And most importantly, I give myself a little grace. A little leeway to crumble when days are hard and then a little more when it takes a minute to get back up. This version of me is probably the best yet. This is the version of me who knows her imperfections are living reminders of her experiences and loves herself anyways.

  • I don’t know what to say…

    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.

  • Ugh…

    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?

  • I just miss her

    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.

    Man do I miss her.

  • A good reminder

    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.

    I really needed that.