“When one’s life has been shattered into a million pieces, most set out to pick up the pieces and rebuild. Others look at those broken pieces and decide this is their opportunity to start anew, the bigger picture comes into view. They see more, and want better so they leave those pieces scattered as a memorial to who they used to be.”
— Sanjo Jendayi
So, it does actually happen. Trauma does, eventually, release us. The body does start to relax. The mind does start to forget. The colours of the world do change. Again. The trauma that hung around for so long. Reminding. Holding. Teaching. Molding. Finally, let’s go. It falls away without us really noticing it has gone. We don’t really know the moment it will decide we have had enough. Survived enough. Lost enough. Gained enough. Grew enough. Or maybe simply, held enough. Slowly, our hands are no longer held in fists. Our necks are no longer held in knots. Our stomachs no longer dance, full of butterflies that long for freedom. With the quietest closing of a door, the trauma slips away, and we are left to marvel at the world it has left in its wake. Aware of its absence. Altered by its touch.
Five, is where we sit. Five years have passed since that day. The day that changed our lives. The day that changed us. These passed five years have been epic. Full of too much. So much. Not only have we learned to live with the trauma caused by the accident, we have also learned to live with what comes after. After the trauma. What comes after a world is flattened. I did not know life after a trauma would be so complicated. I did not know how much my eyes would see. How many times my heart would break. How different our world would become. How much we would change.
Five, does feel better though. So much better. I prayed for a place like this. On my worst days. When I was dealing with panic attacks. When my stomach wouldn’t let me eat. When I felt more alone that I have ever felt. When I did not understand what was happening around me. When my heart shattered into a thousand pieces. Over and over again. When I did not know if I could make it through a day. I prayed for days like today. I prayed, and I pushed forward. Hoping that one day, it would get better. That we would turn a corner, and when we looked back, the trauma that seemed to always follow us, would have taken a different route. And then, it happened. We found ourselves alone. Trauma had moved on.
We no longer live in trauma’s world. We no longer live in the shadow of the accident. In the shadow of the aftermath of the accident. I actually laugh these days. Like, really laugh. At something that is funny. My heart opens. It allows me to feel the power of joy. Peace is creeping back into my life. My walls, are ever so slowly, being lowered. Fear does not spend every moment by my side. Sometimes I even feel happy. Like peaceful happy. Normal happy. Relaxed happy. There are moments. Many, many moments, when the accident does not even cross my mind. Maybe even days. Though it has not been easy, I have started making peace with those who we have lost along the way. Accepted that this is who we are now. And who we are, is not so bad. In fact, I am proud of us. We kept on walking. Kept on moving. Kept on hoping, even when hope was in short supply.
So, I suppose maybe we are almost a success story. A family who beat the odds. Though I still think about the things that could happen to us. Be taken from us. Though my heart beats more quickly than others sometimes, and “safety first'” has become our family motto, we are all starting to relax into the family we are becoming. A family that would not exist, had the accident not happened that day. We would have become different people. A different family. And I love the family we are today. Sure, life is less than perfect. I still struggle with things I do not want to struggle with. My body and my mind are still healing. I still question things I should not have to question. And I still pray that life moves us into even more peaceful and joyful settings. I can say though, five feels better. Five feels like a beautiful summer day, when compared to one, two, or three. Four was getting better. Five, one step closer. To it all becoming nothing more than a memory. A reminder. To live life. To the fullest. Once we have reached the place we need to reach. When trauma has let us go. When it is possible to do so. Dare. Dare to live. To be. To see. Hope. Love. Be courageous. Live.
Trauma takes us on the craziest of journeys. It opens up parts of ourselves we did not know existed. It finds both the light spots and the darks spots. The places in ourselves we might not even know were there. It shows us the world as it actually is. Not how we want it to be. At five years, I do not know yet, whether to be thankful for this journey. I do know that we have learned a lot though. I feel we are so much wiser in so many ways, but so much more aware of what we don’t know. Of how quickly things can change. How much we ourselves can change, when put in the certain circumstances. Sometimes, it still scares me. Other times, I am grateful for this knowledge. We, humans, are malleable if we let ourselves be. We are not etched in stone. The world around us is forever changing, just as we are. So, five years. On this anniversary. We sit here. Aware of the darkness, but leaning toward all that is beautiful in the world. The accident has given us a certain sort of clarity. I suppose this is what it is like for all trauma survivors. We see the world differently. Without the rose coloured glasses. Because somewhere along the way, we lost them. And, we eventually realize we don’t need them anymore. Because we can see the amazing things the world holds, without them. And that makes it all the more beautiful.
Search for Solid Ground 