Invisible Scars

Veteran’s Day made me think of something that had happened recently.  I was recently with someone that is an active member of our armed services.  He’s done a few tours already and been in the throes of things over the years.  He is a happy, well-adjusted family man that has a carefree smile and the warm personality to go with all of that.  His service came up and he readily talked about it, answering questions and speaking how he truly is happy and feels lucky to serve his country.  At one point though, the conversation shifted and there was a perceptible change.  And to some it may just have seemed as though he was somber due to what he was talking about. The thing is though, I know where he went; I’ve been to that place myself many times.

I am by no means comparing myself or my struggle to that of a service member that has been in combat but I too have been through a battle, and I too carry the invisible scars that it left me with. 

After I could barely drag myself from bed and had stopped sleeping, I began seeing a psychiatrist.  I was skeptical to begin with and more so when she had diagnosed me with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  I remember thinking, ‘that’s ridiculous, I’m just grieving.’  But after tossing it around in my mind and recalling all of the background information I have from my counseling psych degrees I couldn’t deny that it fit: agitation, hyper-vigilance, social isolation, severe anxiety and vivid recall or flashbacks triggered by everything or nothing at all; all of it was what I had been experiencing regularly since Jack had died. I think it felt to me then like I didn’t have the right to have something like this assigned to me when there were people protecting our country and other countries from atrocities-seeing and experiencing the unimaginable that were coming home with this baggage. But really, hadn’t I been through something unfathomable myself?  I went to the hospital hoping to get some treatment for my unborn son and within thirty-six hours was being told that there was no scenario in which I would be taking him home with me.  He was born quickly and was gone almost as quickly. It was traumatic; there is no other way to classify it.

So I may not have the same triggers, loud noises and ceiling fans are not what take me back there; for me it’s bright overhead lights, hospitals and certain sounds and smells.  But I get it. There are times where something happens and I am right back in Philadelphia, unable to breathe.  I know what it is like to be present and in the moment one minute and then back in the worst moments of my life the next.  I know what it’s like to lie awake at night, not because I’m not tired-in fact quite the opposite, the exhaustion sometimes crushing-but because I am running through each second of that day over and over; wanting to forget and fearing I’d forget all at the same time.  I know what it is like to look completely fine on the outside to everyone around you and feel like you’ve completely fallen apart on the inside.  

So what do you do with this?  How do you move forward when sometimes you feel completely stuck in one day?  I guess it depends on the person but, for me, I try my best to stay as rooted in my present as I can; take in every single moment and will my heart and mind to absorb those.  I surround myself with people that I know love me, root for me, and are there waiting patiently if I get stuck in January 25th, 2015 every so often. I smile and laugh when I can and allow myself some grace when I can’t.  

It’s been a long while since I’ve written.  I’ve felt bad about it but I’ve been busy living and that isn’t something that has always come easy over the last three and a half years.  I will carry these wounds in my heart for as long as I live and it will not always be pretty.  There is no expiration for PTSD; there is no magic cure. If you know someone with these invisible scars-love them, care for them, let them have the moments they need to find their footing again and give them a hand if they can’t find their balance on their own.  

To the men and women of this country that have sacrificed so much, especially their peace of mind, I thank you.

It's a ONEderful Life

Getting back to normal after the summer always proves difficult. It seems like in the summer months we settle into this laziness where every day may as well be a Saturday and our sense of urgency is nowhere to be found.  What’s for dinner? Who knows.  What are we doing today? No plans, really.  Didn’t get the to-do list done? Who cares-we’ll try tomorrow.  And so when it was time to get back to business with work and school it is all we can do to get our acts together and be up and ready to go on time and without coming apart at the seams.  On top of that my work schedule has changed and I am in early (and out early), leaving Sean to get the kids ready for the day. Throw in a first birthday party and you’d think it would be a recipe for a chaotic, epic disaster- at the very least a mama meltdown, right?  Normally, yes.  

However three weeks ago (I’m late-I get it-I told you we are trying to get our acts together!), for a lady that is usually her worst self right before a party, I was a pretty cool customer. There was no crying, and yelling (well except when my darling husband decided to weed-whack the overgrown garden thirty minutes before the party was starting.... listen, everyone has limits) and everything was ready to go before the first guests arrived.  Carter’s First Birthday Party had arrived and the fact of the matter is the whole world could have been crashing down around me and I don’t think I would have cared.  I was celebrating my sweet rainbow baby’s first birthday; my very own Harry Potter-the boy that lived.  There was nothing that could take away from the happiness that it was bringing me.

I had spent the weeks leading up to it planning all the little details-the ones I’m constantly reminded that the kids wouldn’t notice anyway. I think my hope is when they grown up and sift through the artifacts of our past they will see how much love I put into their celebrations.  That to me, their birthdays were so much more than cake and paper plates; that it was a day for me to try and reciprocate the joy they brought to me and their dad every other day of the year.  And so I glued sticks to frames, and moss to letters and all of the other little things that would turn the backyard into a little woodland party.  

And because I have some of the best family and most talented people to call my friends my big guy had delicious treats, a gorgeous cake and some of the cutest little cookies you ever did see.  

So many of the people that have followed along with Sean and I over the last year, sharing in the joy of becoming parents again after so much heartache; many of the people that have loved watching this baby boy grow over the last year and change our world for the better came to celebrate this happy day with us.  That was the part that meant everything.  These were the same people that stood by us in the darkness and have been there waiting patiently when we found the light again.  

Watching Carter follow around his big friends, and point to all of the things that blow his little mind, seeing him push his cake around but not into trying it, sitting with him and my grandma as she sang the same song to him she has sung to all of her grand and great-grandchildren: these were all of the moments I had felt so robbed of these last three and a half years; the secondary losses.  And so though I tried my damnedest to make this only about Carter, his big brother was never far from my mind, with my heart wishing I had gotten those moments with Jack too.  

There was one point where my sister was taking a photo of us, that this boy touched my face and looked at me square in the eye and all I could think was, ‘thank you.’  I don’t know who it was directed to, Carter- for being everything I needed so badly, Jack- for picking this little guy out for us, Sean-for giving us this beautiful life and hanging on unwaveringly while we made it through the worst of it, or maybe even the universe.  In any case, my heart was full of gratitude and love. 

My life will never feel perfect again, the naivety of that notion died with my first son, but there is a sense of peace in my heart again that has been missing for a long time; and it’s a pretty wonderful feeling. And I’ll take that any day of the year and twice on the day of a party.