“Trauma is not what happens to us, but what we hold inside in the absence of an empathetic witness.” –Peter A. Levine

Every day on the anniversary, I spend time thinking about the accident. I go through the events of the day. Where I was. What I was doing. Who I was with. The phone call. Saying goodbye to my babies. The hours it took to get to him. The plane. His coworker, as we drove toward the hospital. Walking alone through the Emergency Room doors. His boss and coworkers. The room. Him broken on the bed, bruised and battered. Relief as he recognized me. Holding his hand. The nurses’ expressions. The doctor’s tone. The sense of urgency. The sounds of the people suffering around us. The complete lack of control. The pain. The uncertainty. The prayers. Minute by minute. Hour by hour. Day by day. Week by week. Month by month. Year by year.

So much has happened since that day, eight years ago. In many ways, it feels as though a lifetime has passed us by, but in other ways it seems like it was just yesterday. When I think about that day, I can elicit those feelings without much effort, it will always live alongside of me. It will live with all of us. The ones who cannot help but remember that day. Who cannot forget it, no matter how hard we may try.

When we hear about accidents, or instances of trauma, we often think about it in the short term. We think about the moment, and the aftermath in terms of days and weeks. Some of us may think of it in terms of months. Rarely though, do we think about it in terms of years. But, it is the years that matter. The years of lost fathers. Lost mothers. Loved ones we may never see again. The injuries, both mental and physical, that may never truly heal. The pain that stays with us. Some in the body, some in the mind, some in both. While we may learn to live with it. To function within it. To ignore it, and rebel against it. To accept it, and inspire those around us. To be the strongest among the strong. It is something we would rather not live with. Chronic pain is not good for anyone.

On the day of the anniversary, when I think about the accident, I start with remembering the day. But from that first day,t I follow its line. The trauma line. I picture all of the branches, and the places it has travelled. Its stubborn refusal to be relegated to just one day. One month. One year. I follow the years and how they have changed not only us, but many of the people around us. I am sure there are people it touched that I have not considered. Not contemplated. I sometimes wonder at the others who may be remembering this day with us. Marking this anniversary. Thinking of the tragedy of the day, and the tragedy in the days that followed.

And while I may wish this blog could be more inspirational, I cannot pretend that this trauma has any kind of meaning beyond what it really is. Sure, we may have grown in ways we may not have otherwise. Of course, there are wonderful days we would not have had, had we never met Trauma. Yes, we have grown into the people we are today. In some ways more resilient than we would have been. Stronger in ways we may not have known. More aware of the pain of others. Understanding of the fragility of life. But, I would never choose it. Never ever would I have chosen this path. I will not pretend that it was worth it. That it hasn’t taken more than it has given. And though the human condition wants us to wrap trauma up in a neat little bow, acting as though we have become better people because of it, to me, that is not the reality of trauma. Or at the very least, that has not been my experience with it. Trauma takes. Trauma does not give.

On this day eight years later, we have made our way back to the city where it all began. My children spent the day with their father, on a beach not far from the beach we were at when I got the call. I sit at a desk, attached to the room where my children sleep, listening to my classmates discuss the lessons of the day. And in many senses, yes, life does go on. But, not for all of us. Where there once was eight, now there are seven. One of us is no longer here. A child has lost their father. So on this day, eight years later, as I think of the accident. As I think of the eight of us, I think of how a helicopter accident actually impacts a family. A community. How it rips everything apart, leaving devastation in its wake. And I am aware that in reality, no matter how hard we try to convince ourselves otherwise there is no silver lining.

I chose to mark this day remembering who we were before, who we were after and who we are now. I acknowledge the suffering that trauma creates, and the fact that though, as humans we want to believe there is a happy ending, this is not always the case. Sometimes there is just trauma, and the paths that flow out of that trauma. While some roads may be beautiful and full of meaning, others are sad, leading to nowhere good. I have lived both, and sure this makes for a life experience felt more fully, pain is never an easy thing to live with, no matter how strong we may be.

If you happen to know someone who is affected by something traumatic. If it happens to be you. Remember if you can, that trauma does not take place in a day or a month or a year. Trauma stays with us. Like a scar on the knee from a childhood bike crash, or a surgery that saved a life. It does not leave just because we want it to. Trauma stays as long as it feels like it, and takes what it does. And while we may have control over our response to it, at least theoretically, it impacts us in ways we cannot not even imagine. So, when you know someone who has been impacted by trauma, don’t wonder why, months or years later they are still ‘not over it.’ If you care, educate yourself to do and be better, when it comes to supporting someone you purport to love and care for.

And for those struggling under the weight of it, know there are others fighting this battle alongside you. We may not personally know you, we may not now know your circumstances, or how you found yourself here among us, but know that you are not alone. There are millions out there just like you. Fighting to make it through the day. To sleep at night. To get out of bed. And when by chance we find another survivor, we will find that we speak a similar language and that we, in many ways understand each other’s challenges. We will never see one another as weak, or disappointing, or less than, but instead will see the strength we all have in common, and the battles we have all fought along the way.

And to those who are no longer among us, we will not forget you or your formidable strength and courage. We understand how hopeless things can feel, and how cold the darkness gets. We have met isolation, hopelessness and loneliness. We honour you and remember how hard you fought. We remember you as father, mother, sister, friend, child, loved one. We remember you always.