Hi All,
No, not that F word...the other one. FEAR. Tonite, I am going to write about a unique kind of fear. The fear that happens after unexpected loss. I think the clinical word is traumatic loss.
Tonite it is Saturday night. The weather here was not so good, light snow, freezing rain, and general yuck. I had plans but decided to stay in. My husband had plans and decided to go. I was looking forward to a quiet night at home, hunkered down, with my babies (now age 4 and almost 6) when something else went down. The kids were tucked in. The fire was crackling and it started. The fear. My daughter so ridiculously tuned in says it is too quiet tonite, it feels scary. I am not scared in the monster way that she is so I can confidently assure her that we're ok and she should sleep. This works, for her.
Meanwhile, I am in my own place. I start remembering how Thanksgiving night was really quiet. I start remembering how the house was clean and the kids were asleep and then the phone rang. I begin to go there to that place of remembering and also imagining. I am there but here. Another night, tonite, another phone call...it could happen I think to myself. Powerlessness. Loss. I almost cannot move. I clean. I keep cleaning until nothing in my house is even a little dirty. Powerlessness. Loss. The phone is not ringing, but it could. I begin to imagine the worst kinds of car accidents and the worst kinds of phone calls. I finally step outside my door to listen just in case I might here sirens. I dont. It is quiet outside and sharp and cold and heavy. I am alone.
I tell myself that this is my imagination and that it is probably even normal. It is only 3 months since my Dad's death. Only 3 months since the phone call.
I stand still and try to breathe in and out, slow, in and out, slow. I look out the window at the dark snow and yard. I try to stay here and not go there to that night, that place. I am half successful. I go there briefly and come back. I do this often. I go just for a spilt second into the bad and then come back to the good. I am stuck in between. I want to both remember and forget. Remember the good and forget the bad. I tell myself this. I will myself to erase the phone call. Erase. Even while I am trying to forget I know I never will. This pain it is in my body the same way my children's birth is. It is physical this loss. No one tells you that but I will.
I will tell you that the this loss, this intentional death is seared into my body and mind and I am like a cattle--branded. This loss is like that. Burning. I always before thought of loss as cold and empty but not this. This suicide, this killing, is hot and burning.
I tell you this because I know it is ok. I know it needs to come out. And the fear of losing others it is real and an after shock that I hope someday will subside. Maybe it never will or maybe I'll learn to ignore it and move on. It is hard to know. Maybe, or I guess definitely, it was always hard to know...I thought I knew something and I was wrong. So all of the knowing now it is different, and conditional, and shaky. I sit with my new shaky conditional unsureness and I am aware of how it was always this way. How I just thought I knew things but none of us really do. These thoughts make me uncomfortable. Various anesthectics run thru my mind. Alcohol. Food. Shopping. TV.
I sit here. Quiet. Feeling the fear. It is real and not imagined but the ideas that got me here are not real and I need to stop and I do. I am sitting at my kitchen table writing my blog on my computer. My husband is on his way home and as I write this I look up and I see the headlights of his car. xxK
No, not that F word...the other one. FEAR. Tonite, I am going to write about a unique kind of fear. The fear that happens after unexpected loss. I think the clinical word is traumatic loss.
Tonite it is Saturday night. The weather here was not so good, light snow, freezing rain, and general yuck. I had plans but decided to stay in. My husband had plans and decided to go. I was looking forward to a quiet night at home, hunkered down, with my babies (now age 4 and almost 6) when something else went down. The kids were tucked in. The fire was crackling and it started. The fear. My daughter so ridiculously tuned in says it is too quiet tonite, it feels scary. I am not scared in the monster way that she is so I can confidently assure her that we're ok and she should sleep. This works, for her.
Meanwhile, I am in my own place. I start remembering how Thanksgiving night was really quiet. I start remembering how the house was clean and the kids were asleep and then the phone rang. I begin to go there to that place of remembering and also imagining. I am there but here. Another night, tonite, another phone call...it could happen I think to myself. Powerlessness. Loss. I almost cannot move. I clean. I keep cleaning until nothing in my house is even a little dirty. Powerlessness. Loss. The phone is not ringing, but it could. I begin to imagine the worst kinds of car accidents and the worst kinds of phone calls. I finally step outside my door to listen just in case I might here sirens. I dont. It is quiet outside and sharp and cold and heavy. I am alone.
I tell myself that this is my imagination and that it is probably even normal. It is only 3 months since my Dad's death. Only 3 months since the phone call.
I stand still and try to breathe in and out, slow, in and out, slow. I look out the window at the dark snow and yard. I try to stay here and not go there to that night, that place. I am half successful. I go there briefly and come back. I do this often. I go just for a spilt second into the bad and then come back to the good. I am stuck in between. I want to both remember and forget. Remember the good and forget the bad. I tell myself this. I will myself to erase the phone call. Erase. Even while I am trying to forget I know I never will. This pain it is in my body the same way my children's birth is. It is physical this loss. No one tells you that but I will.
I will tell you that the this loss, this intentional death is seared into my body and mind and I am like a cattle--branded. This loss is like that. Burning. I always before thought of loss as cold and empty but not this. This suicide, this killing, is hot and burning.
I tell you this because I know it is ok. I know it needs to come out. And the fear of losing others it is real and an after shock that I hope someday will subside. Maybe it never will or maybe I'll learn to ignore it and move on. It is hard to know. Maybe, or I guess definitely, it was always hard to know...I thought I knew something and I was wrong. So all of the knowing now it is different, and conditional, and shaky. I sit with my new shaky conditional unsureness and I am aware of how it was always this way. How I just thought I knew things but none of us really do. These thoughts make me uncomfortable. Various anesthectics run thru my mind. Alcohol. Food. Shopping. TV.
I sit here. Quiet. Feeling the fear. It is real and not imagined but the ideas that got me here are not real and I need to stop and I do. I am sitting at my kitchen table writing my blog on my computer. My husband is on his way home and as I write this I look up and I see the headlights of his car. xxK
