“And when you’re alone, there’s a very good chance you’ll meet things that scare you right out of your pants. There are some, down the road between hither and yon, that can scare you so much you won’t want to go on. But on you will go though the weather be foul. On you will go though your enemies prowl. On you will go though the Hakken-Kraks howl. Onward up many a frightening creek, though your arms may get sore and your sneakers may leak.

On and on you will hike, and I know you’ll hike far and face up to your problems whatever they are.” — Dr. Suess

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Celebrating Canada day is difficult. The last time I did was the year of the accident. When it was just Canada Day. It was not the marker it is now. I remember exactly what we did that day. We have pictures. We were relaxed. We were happy. Chris was away at work. We did not worry. Instead, we celebrated. We felt grateful for what we had. For the world we had created. As we sat in an ocean-side park with the sun shining down on us, enjoying the people around us.

Canada Day does not let us forget the anniversary is coming. Days, after we sat in that park, our lives changed forever. I suppose though, I feel grateful for this journey. It is a strange kind of gratefulness. We have lived through something we would not wish on our worst enemy. Somehow we have found a way to see how it has benefitted us. We would not find ourselves where we are today had we not gone through all we have gone through. We would not be who we are had we not lost who we were back then.

We have come to terms with letting go of who we once were. Embracing our patched and pieced-back-together selves. More vulnerable, but less naive. Aware of all we have to lose. How quickly all we hold dear can slip through our hands. We may do things differently because we know this. At times we are misunderstood. I sometimes wish for simpler times and a mind that does not grasp this concept. But, I am also thankful for it. For the wisdom and empathy and the knowledge that people are often struggling in ways we cannot fathom. Though it was a difficult journey, I am so very thankful that, in most ways, we softened instead of growing harder. We also know better how to protect ourselves. How to protect our family. But, we are not bitter and, for the most part, the anger we felt for so long has left our bodies.

On this sixth year. On this very day, if you were to ask me what I have learned. What advice I have to give. What these years have taught me. I will be honest and say this. I don’t really know what I have learned. I am still learning. It is something I struggle to put into words. It is a feeling. A way of being. A shift from one way of seeing the world to another. With bits of ourselves staying intact while other parts are emptied, then filled in, as the days and months pass.

I often feel more comfortable around those who have experienced a similar journey. The slight difference in their reactions when I tell them. The words they know how to say. The intonation and tone their voices take.  It puts me at ease. Their subtle acknowledgment. Their instant understanding. Their lack of judgment. The way their eyes see me. The same way my eyes see them. We have lived through something. We have seen the darkness. Looked for the light. Those who have experienced it and accepted life in the aftermath. They get it. They know.

I have learned some people try to understand and others do not. Some choose judgment instead of empathy. Denial instead of reality. Trauma is scary for a lot of people. Most of the time. Probably all of the time. The turning of backs says more about them than about those struggling to survive. It is hard to look at your life and see all you could lose. Who you could become. How weak we all are when it comes right down to it. Vulnerable. Fragile. Those who have lived with trauma have no choice but to face it. Turning away is not an option

Chris and I make different choices now. We try to live from our hearts. From the place inside that nudges us toward the lives we want, and not the ones we should lead. Not everyone understands this. We have been on the wrong side of the disapproval of others so many times. This is okay. This is expected. I am beginning to understand their fears and their need to keep things just how they are. So they feel safe and secure. Fighting against change and the unknown. Though I now know that way of living is an illusion. Life can change in a heartbeat.

So, when you are feeling brave, make the changes you have always wanted to. When courage is standing beside you take the leap you have been putting off. When you are feeling strong and capable, push into the spaces that scare you. Face the fears that hold you paralyzed in place. Allow the shifts to happen. Even if it is slow. Though it may be years before you find yourself where you want to be. When you are feeling tired and anxious and angry try to love yourself in this space. Try to understand why your body is sending you these signals. And rest when you are tired and cry when you are sad.

If you are struggling in the aftermath of trauma do no aspire to be “normal.” Because really there is no such thing. We all process things differently. This is okay. Whether we crawl into our beds and turn out the lights, struggle with panic attacks and anxiety, feel like we are losing our mind because the world just does not make sense anymore. If we fall apart and the people in our lives treat us like we are forever broken. Try to remember those who have struggled before us will not judge. And those who have not, simply do not understand our journey. There will come a point in your life. Probably many years later. Where you will find yourself in a place that feels peaceful again. Pure. Real.

You will know you survived. You passed through the storm. Stepped out of the boat. Felt the solid ground upon your feet. Decided on the place you will build your new home. Surrounded by new people who will know you as you are now. And though you will always remember the waves that knocked you off your feet again and again. Though you will always mourn some of the pieces you had to leave along the way. Though you will sometime miss the old you and your old life. You will find that you are grateful for the place you now stand. Stronger, yet somehow more vulnerable. Harder in some ways, but softer in others. Aware of both your weaknesses and your strengths. Wiser in the ways of the world. Less naive. More empathetic. Somehow, maybe even a better version of yourself. Still alive. Still breathing. Shoulders back. Eyes forward.

“If ever there is a tomorrow when we’re not together…there is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is even if we’re apart…I’ll always be with you.” A. A. Milne (Winnie the Pooh)

In the times they will remember, our children will always live in the after. They will not know the mother I was before the accident. They will not know the father Chris would have been. Their world won’t feel as safe and secure as it did in the days prior to it all falling apart. In those carefree days. Before the worry and the stress entered our lives. Before things fundamentally changed. Instead, they both understand what trauma means. They have seen how it affects those who inhabit its world. They have lived in it with us. Though we have tried to shelter them as best we could, there is only so much one can do. We had to live it. We had no choice. Neither did they.

Through the years that have followed, we have worried about them. We have always known it would touch them. We are not robots. We are people who feel. Though this is a good thing. Though I would not want to live any other way. Watching their parents struggle through the hard times is tough on little minds. They cannot intellectualize it. They cannot rationalize it. They can only feel it and try to make sense of it in the ways of a child.

When the accident happened our two children were very young. Our son had just turned three and our daughter had recently celebrated her first birthday. Now they are seven and nine. They are big kids, finding their way through school. Making friends and figuring out their place in the world. They are able to express big ideas and more fully grasp the idea of almost losing their father. They know about many of the losses and they, in many ways, grieve them with us.

Our kids have done incredibly well, considering. Considering their mother struggled with anxiety in the years after the accident. I was so afraid of losing them somewhere in the chaos. Considering their dad had to fight his way back from the bottom. Considering our many failures and our many triumphs. The grief we have felt and the courage we have had to conjure in order to slay the many beasts. A life lived in the aftermath of trauma is a tricky business. It is constantly shifting in a multitude of ways. If one is not adaptable and extremely stubborn it can knock you down and keep you down. Many of our worst nightmares have come true. We ended up living in a different world. We have to acclimatize to it. We have to allow ourselves to be moulded into something new. Change has to be accepted. We cannot dig in our heals.

E and C have been there for all of it. And in so many ways it breaks my heart. I wish I could wish it all away sometimes. Alter the past. Make it easier. Less chaotic. Less trauma filled. Less complicated. Unfortunately, I do not have that power. I cannot change that which cannot be changed. We can only try to do right by them. To empower them. To give them the tools to deal with their lives touched by trauma. Showing them it is okay to struggle and though life is not always easy, it is still worth living. That striving to do better and be better is worth it, though at times it does not feel like it. That some days may feel like they can not be conquered, but with one foot in front of the other, they will eventually find themselves laying their heads upon their pillows readying for a new day the next morning. Another chance to grow and to become.

I hope that at least they have learned from us. To never give up. To always get up. To look for beauty even when the skies are dark and ominous. To know there is life after trauma. For sure, I wish they did not have to learn these tough lessons at such a young age. I wish I could have protected them better. Been affected less. Been able to play at a higher level. To play a different game. But, in the end, I have to accept how things have transpired and accept myself within that world. I hope in the end it will strengthen them. Secure in the fact that their family is in it together. Knowing how much they are loved. How strong they are. How resilient and brave and inspiring. When we watch them play we are awed by their strength and their capacity to find happiness and joy in difficult times. I suppose really they are the leaders in all of this. Carrying on. Finding their way. Leading us into the light. Keeping us there. Showing us that starting over is not an ending, but instead a new beginning. Another chance. Another opportunity to live.

“That which does not kill us makes us stronger.” — Nietzshe

I am starting to feel even more like myself these days. I know I have said this before, but it seems to be a part of the process. The healing. The finding of oneself a little at a time. During those tough years, a part of me was missing. Perhaps without realizing it, I created a safe little place inside for that part of me. The part I have been missing for too long. I built it a sanctuary. A place with warm feelings, and tender hands. Soft words and blue skies. She lived there. The part of me I wanted to keep. Pieces of me from the pre. From the days I lived in before the accident. The world I inhabited before it all changed. The soft parts of me. The innocent and childlike ones. The most pure and fragile pieces.

After the accident. After a trauma. Our eyes shift focus. We realize that in so many ways, we have been living blindly. Missing out on many of the details moving around us. Not only do we see more clearly, we feel more fully as well. Things are not muted. We are not numb. At least I wasn’t. It was like in a matter of days, I found myself a very different person, living in a very different world. Seeing reality for the very first time.

The world around me became too much, because suddenly, I could see and feel all of the sadness and suffering that surrounded. When someone was mean, it felt ten times stronger than before the accident. If I saw someone suffering, or heard a tragic story, I felt their pain so much more intensely. So much more than I ever had. It was like all the defences I had built up over my life time, slowly, as the days passed, slipped away. Leaving me there naked and defenceless. If someone spoke harshly, or treated me with disdain, my body felt it like a child feels sharp words. It felt unfair. Wrong. Crushing.

There was a period of time when I could not watch the news or read a newspaper. I could not listen to sad or tragic stories. I had to protect myself from people who couldn’t empathize with me, because I could not deal with their harshness. Their rough way of interacting with the world. Their weapons cut me like never before in my adult life. I had nothing left to fight back with. No weapons of my own to pull. So, like I said. I put the most precious parts of myself away in a box. Like hidden treasures. To be kept from view. So as not to be tainted or tarnished by the weapons of people whose defences had not yet fallen.

Those days were some of the hardest I have ever lived. And I have lived through some pretty crappy crap. Those days were hard, but they helped me to see more clearly who I am and what I stand for. I understand what matters to me, and I am learning to stand up for myself again. I am strong enough to put myself out there in ways I never have. To be thankful for who I am, and who I have become. I am not interested in taking shit from other people, and though some might think I am unfair, I am honest enough with myself to move forward and make decisions confidently. The piece of myself I hid away, is no longer interested in hiding. I am ready to take on the world. To enjoy the life I have fought for. To be proud of myself and of Chris and of our kids for being able to still see the shiny, positive side of life, though we have been surrounded by tremendous amounts of negative energy.

Being in a vulnerable state often brings the worst out in the people around us. Being unable to fight back as one normally would, makes some people believe they have been given carte blanche in our lives. That they can say what they like and treat us as they choose, because we will not call them on their behaviour. For awhile, for a long time, we were not as fierce as we would like to be. We were surviving, and survivors are busy making it through the day. They do not have extra energy for the petty. But then, suddenly, we find ourselves on the other side of it. We no longer have to hide ourselves away in a protective box. We are whole again. We are stronger than those who have never had to survive a trauma. We have fortified ourselves with a new kind of self worth and self love. We are less affected by outside interference. We want to live an honest life facing forward, though we know we are not perfect. Though we know we will make mistakes. Though we know there will be times we are not always at our best. We love ourselves regardless. We have accepted ourselves, blemishes and all. We see the true value of owning our journey. And there is a tremendous power in that. In knowing that strength comes from the inside. From a place so deep that most will never find it. And though others may judge us, we have stopped judging ourselves. For doing what it takes to survive. To be survivors. Unapologetic. Fierce. Pieced back together. Stronger than ever.

 

 

“Anything that’s human is mentionable, and anything that is mentionable can be more manageable. When we can talk about our feelings, they become less overwhelming, less upsetting, and less scary. The people we trust with that important talk can help us know that we are not alone.” ― Fred Rogers

After the accident, Chris and I found ourselves in a very vulnerable place. The trauma weakened us. We did not have the strength we normally had. We needed the kindness of others, because we did not have the same ability to protect ourselves. People often talk about the power of vulnerability, as though we are strong in such places. We are told that coming from a place of vulnerability is a good thing. Being open is considered the positive ideal. Vulnerability though, is just that, vulnerability. When one is truly vulnerable, they are coming from a place of fragility. And sure, I suppose there is certain beauty in fragility, but still, all the same, fragile things are more easily broken. When Chris and I were at our most vulnerable, our most fragile, it was then we had to fight the hardest to protect ourselves. To survive. Because, appearing vulnerable. Being fragile, makes others uncomfortable. Angry. Aggressive. It often brings out the worst in people. Like a chicken in a hen house that appears weaker than the rest. Its feathers are picked out one by one.

I have come to believe there is a certain danger in saying we celebrate vulnerability. Because, in truth, one is only really celebrated after they are not vulnerable anymore. After they have passed the test, and survived. Before that, the vulnerable are not celebrated. No one aspires to be vulnerable. That is simply not reality. No one wishes to be the child in foster care with no one to turn to. Or the single mother who can barely pay her bills. No one wants to be the addict. Or the one struggling with “mental illness.” No one wants to be the victim of sexual assault. No one wants to be the mother of young children, suffering from panic attacks. No one wants to be the parents on the life boat, holding their baby between them, as they flee poverty and/or war. No one wants to live with PTSD. You will never convince me anyone would choose to be vulnerable, in the true sense of the word. This is why when we are not vulnerable we turn away from it. Why we pretend we don’t feel their shaky hands grasping our sleeves. Why we often cannot look the suffering in their eyes. Why we blame the vulnerable for being vulnerable at all. It frightens us. Subconsciously, we see ourselves in their journey.

In truth, we do not celebrate the one who is surviving. The one who is in the dirt. Reaching up. Struggling. If we are honest, we know this. We do not celebrate those who are surviving. We celebrate the survivor. Sure, I get this. This seems inspirational. To honour those who overcome the odds. The resilient. The lucky. Its how we want all of our stories to end. Happily ever after. It makes us feel safer. However, having felt truly vulnerable. Understanding why drastic choices are made. Why people give up. Because broken feels broken. Weak feels weak. Ugly feels ugly. Less than feels less than. Frightened feels frightened. Alone feels alone. Having been vulnerable, I see the truth. It is a place we never want to be.

We need to start to honouring those in the thick of it. The ones doing battle. The ones fighting to survive. Instead of seeing their weaknesses, we focus on their strengths. Surviving after trauma is unbelievably difficult. When making it through each day feels next to impossible. Not knowing how much longer it will go on. Before the tides turn. The cuts become scars. The blood stops flowing. Or if it will ever stop at all, because when someone is struggling to survive, there are two possible outcomes. When one is struggling to survive, there is always a chance that they won’t. Survive. Those in the midst of surviving they know this. Every second of every day, they know this. There is a tremendous amount of fear in that knowledge. An adding to the weight. An additional burden. Recognition and acknowledgment of trauma helps to take some of that burden away.

In my life I know there are people I could be there for more, and having been through what we have been through, I know better. Supporting is not usually an easy thing to do, though. But, if we, as a society could acknowledge even that. If we could acknowledge the simple fact that we don’ t always know what is the right thing to do to make it better. That most of us have not been taught how to reach out without feeling overwhelmed. That looking vulnerability in the face is scary, so it is easier to pretend we don’t see it. Facing our own fears is hard. We are all afraid of loss. Of our own weaknesses. Of our own fragility. Some of us are also struggling to make it through each day. Some of us are also surviving.

But, if we could take out the judgment that often seems to go hand in hand with trauma. With being vulnerable. If we could resist the urge to shame those who are struggling. To take out the need to blame. To see someone suffering and not make them feel less than. To not condemn. Instead, to show compassion. To listen for not so subtle cries for help. To watch for signs of hidden suffering.  To respond with kindness. To not avoid eye contact. To not throw out an easy, “it will get better,” or “you are strong,” but instead to sit with it. To sit with it. To sit with them. To not necessarily try to fix it, but to honour. To show compassion. To acknowledge. Because pain is pain. All pain is valid. And for some of us, that is all we need to hear.

I honour your story. I honour your suffering. I acknowledge your struggle. I will meet you where you need me to meet you. I will sit with you as you sit with your pain. While it might not be my place to take it from you. To carry it for you. I do honour it. I do honour your pain. I do honour your journey. I might not understand, but still, I honour your surviving. I honour you. Tell me your story. Tell me your fears. I will not abandon you. I will not shame you. I will listen, and when the time comes, I will tell you mine.

 

“But still, like dust, I rise.” — Maya Angelou

Writing this blog is hard lately. The accident still affects us, but in a very different way. There is a part of me that does not want to think about it anymore. Though there are daily reminders all around me. The life we now lead has grown more comfortable. The feelings I have aren’t quite as strong. They are less visceral. Less frightening. Less confronting. But I can still easily conjure up the time around the accident. The years that followed. The memories are still close by but I no longer think about them on a regular basis. Writing this blog brings them back. It brings it all back, and as I feel us moving forward, remembering the hard days is the last thing I want to do.

Upon refection, though, I should probably not stop telling our story here. Writing this blog, now, perhaps is more important than ever. Because it shows it is possible. We are proof. There is a place on the other side of trauma. There is an end to that road. Or, at the very least, a very sharp turn. So, when we look back, we no longer see the wasteland created by trauma. Instead, we look forward. Finally realizing trauma will not walk with us forever. Hope. Acceptance. Courage. They tell trauma to follow a different path. To leave us alone. Because we are no longer stuck in its grasp. We have escaped its hold. So, one day we look around, and see it  has finally left our side.

In the early days following the accident. And by early days, I mean the first few years. I wish I had someone to tell me. Someone to tell me without a hint of doubt in their voice. Without a look of hidden fear on their face. I so needed someone to tell me. To take ahold of my hand, and to look me straight in the eyes, and say with conviction,

“You are going to be alright. What you are going through is normal. What you are feeling is normal. It is normal to feel scared. It is normal to feel angry. It is normal to feel more alone than you have ever felt. It is normal to feel like you cannot make it through. It is normal to feel abandoned. It is normal to have panic attacks. It is normal to question everything. It is normal to feel like you don’t recognize the world around you. The people around you. It is normal to feel like you are losing your mind. That is all normal. But it is going to be okay. I promise you, if you just keep moving forward. If you just make it through one day at a time. I promise you, it will get easier. You will get stronger. The fear, it will lessen. The trauma, it will soften. There will be a day when you are able to look back on it, and know that you have survived. Because what you are experiencing is normal. How you are feeling is normal. You, are normal. Do not let the people who do not understand what you are going through dictate how you see yourself. Every single day you make it through shows your strength. Every single mountain you climb shows your determination. Every time you look fear in the face shows your bravery. Keep moving forward. You will survive.

So, if you are struggling today. If you feel you will not make it. If you feel you cannot walk through one more day. If you are having a hard time looking in the mirror because we have been taught there should be shame in trauma. If you are surviving what feels unsurvivable, I say this to you.

What you are feeling is normal. It is normal when dealing with trauma to feel like you are losing your mind. It is normal to feel like the world has shifted and there is no solid ground upon which to place your feet. Feeling anxious is normal. Feeling angry is normal. Feeling disappointed in those we love is normal. Feeling weak is normal. Feeling scared is normal. Feeling alone is normal. Feeling devastated is normal. Feeling broken is normal. All of those horrible and scary feelings that run through your head. That run through your body. Those feelings are normal. You are going to be okay. One foot in front of the other is sometimes the only thing you have going for you. So, just keep moving forward. Take it a day at a time. Thinking ahead will feel overwhelming. One day. One step. Seek out any support you can. Most of it will fall through. Keep reaching. Even if they are few and far between, there are good people out there. Any support is good support. But most of all don’t give up on yourself. Do not feel shame for surviving what people fear most in this world. Experiencing a trauma changes everything. Do not listen to those who do not understand. Seek out those who do. Keep moving forward until you have outpaced it. But always remember, you are a normal person. You are a normal person living in the shadow of trauma. You are normal. And you are going to survive this. You are going to be okay. One day, you too will look back and realize you are stronger than you ever thought you could be. You are a survivor. A warrior. And you will wear your scars proudly. Because they show the beauty of someone who has faced trauma and lived to tell your story.

“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.

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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.

 

 

Yes, there were times, I’m sure you knew
When I bit off more than I could chew
But through it all, when there was doubt
I ate it up and spit it out
I faced it all and I stood tall
And did it my way

— Frank Sinatra

One of the scariest things we face in life is losing someone we love. Someone whose soul we know. Whose soul we love and cherish. Someone who helps to steady us as we wobble through this world. One of our people. In just over two weeks from now, it will be five years since I almost lost Chris. The man who makes me feel safe. Who loves me. Who fills in my empty spaces. The man who raises my most precious people with me. The man who stood beside me on a beach as we pledged our lives to one another. Promising forever. Ten years ago.

The past five years has not been easy on this family. We have had to fight to be here. On this day. In the days that come. We have created a circle. A bond. We know this family is precious. Golden. Fragile. We held hands, as the storm raged around us. We pushed back against the wind that has threatened to blow us away. We held each other, when sadness enveloped us. We searched out goodness, and tried to stay pure and innocent, even when surrounded by things that are not. We learned love is the only way forward. That it can, indeed, conquer the darkness. Even when it feels like it is surrendering, it is not. Love is powerful. Love is courage. Love is everything.

There have been days, in the past five years, when I thought we weren’t going to make it. When our grip felt like it was slipping. When we forgot we were each others forever. When we let ourselves believe our children would be better off with us apart. When we forgot how we felt. That day on the beach. Once, when I almost lost him. The other when we became each others home. As the days go by, I am starting to realize. To marvel at the fact we are still standing. Together. As a family. Still holding one anothers hands. In so many ways, the odds were stacked against us. The storms almost tore us apart. Still, we are not broken.

Since the moment on the beach. When I got the call. When I found out it was a miracle this family still exists in tact. Since that moment, I have not forgotten. Not for a day. How lucky we are. That does not always mean my days are filled with sunshine. It does not mean I have not shed a thousand tears. That I have not mourned because of what happened after. How Chris and I have had to stand strong against all of the fallout. All of the clarity. All of the truths. It means we don’t take being alive lightly. Every single day. Every single moment. This is not always an easy way to live. I put so much pressure on myself to stand in my truth. To be the best version of me in each moment. To grow beyond. To be better. To pay back the debts I owe. For the prayers that were answered. When the powers that be chose to not leave me alone. Our kids without a father.  Because if I am honest, I am not sure I could have weathered the storm. That I could have kept this family together. That I would have been strong enough. Had I lost him that day.

Even with Chris beside me. These years have been tough. I have had to find strength I did not know I had. To be courageous when I was more afraid than I have ever been. When I really just wanted to hide under the covers and never come out. To curl up into a ball, and let the world fall away from me. To give up on myself. Declare myself lost. Broken.

Instead, we worked together. As a team. We picked one another up after each fall. We tried to empathize. Knowing survival was our only option. Our children needed us, so we kept moving forward. Protecting them from everything we could protect them from. And we were as brave as we could be. We were as strong as we could be. We were as kind as we could be. As honest as we could be. As true to ourselves. As true to each other as we could be.

And now we have become true bad asses. Warriors. Survivors. A family that did not give up on one another. Our children still innocent. Still believing in the future, and though their Dad almost left us, they do not live in fear. They know they are loved. They know they are precious. They still know what it is like to feel safe, even though a storm often raged around us. Within us. They are being raised in a family that knows the value of life. That knows even though there will be days that feel impossible. Days that feel dark. Life is still a gift. A privilege. Something we should not take for granted. So, we should, as much as is possible, live our truth. Follow our passions. Dream our dreams.

The days leading up to the anniversary of the accident are always a little strange for me. Even if I do not realize it right away, my mood starts to change just a little. I start counting the days without even knowing I am doing it. Remembering what life was like just before it all changed. When the accident was not on our radar. When we believed life would always be good. That people in the end would come through. I can remember the days leading up to it. Training for the marathon with my sister. Planning a move to Victoria. Enrolling our son in preschool. Celebrating Canada Day. Feeling a lightness I have not felt since the call. Not knowing, just around the corner, trauma lurked. Waiting for us to enter its realm. So we could be tested. Reminded. Taught. That life is more than meets the eye. Love, really is all that matters. And kindness is ever important, because we never really know what wars the people around us are fighting. What storms they have fought. What adversities they have overcome. The respect we should have. Because we might be in the presence of a total bad ass. A warrior. A survivor. And one day, it might be us standing in their place. Wondering what just happened. As they hold our hand in the darkness. Showing us the paths they learned along their way.

 

“When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it,”

— Paulo Coelho

Trauma changes a person. It changes how they move through the world. It changes how they see the world. The darkness is darker. The light is brighter. It cracks the psyche. The ego destroyed, as we realize the world can, in fact, touch us. Hurt us. Bend us. Decide our fate. Some things we do not have control of. Most things, if we are truly honest. This is not always an easy realization. We believe if we are surrounded by friends and family. If we have a good job. A place to call home. We believe we can hide from the shadows. That our doors will not be darkened. That we will be the lucky ones. The chosen ones. The ones life favours.

But, I am learning, at some point, we will all be touched by trauma. Our loved ones will die. People we love will be diagnosed with cancer. Get sick. Get in accidents. Our houses might burn down. Our bodies will all falter as we age. It is likely, at some point in our lives, we will get depressed. Many of us will have panic attacks. Some will consider taking their own lives. Life is fucking hard. Even for those who are dealt the best hands. Still, life is difficult. Trauma touches us all. Trauma changes us all.

For awhile, if I am honest, I did not want to admit how much trauma changed my view of the world. It is not easy to live in a world, once the colours have been altered. My bullshit meter is so sensitive that sometimes it is difficult to exist. So many of the things I used to care about seem stupid to me now. Pointless. Unimportant. It is so hard for me to pretend I care. I guess that is because I don’t. At least enough to bother with it. Some things. Most things. Really do not matter as much as we think they do.

I want to enjoy life, as much as I can while I am still here. On this beautiful planet. While my children still spend their days with me. While my body still allows me to do so. I want to eat amazing food. Spend time with interesting people. Travel to far away lands. Become friends with strangers. Do something I love. Follow my heart and build my dreams. As the days go by, I am realizing more and more, the only way forward is to live in my truth. To do the things I enjoy. To share the world with my kids. Showing them all of its beauty. Teaching them that we have been given more than our share.

I wonder, had the accident never happened. Had life gone by unchecked. No trauma. Less fear. Less doubt. Less overcoming. Less change. Would we still be in this place? Trying to find a way to be normal, when normal is no longer possible. Learning to embrace this new reality. Accepting change. Chris and I, to the best of our abilities, have tried to live this trauma honestly. We have tried to allow it to move through our bodies. To become familiar with it. To allow it to be. To open to it. This was not easy. It was brutal. It was raw. It was visceral. It was living with fear. Sitting with it.  Holding its hand. And maybe. Maybe because of this, we have been fundamentally changed. We have grown into people we can be proud of. We both know we are not perfect, but we are learning to accept ourselves anyways.

So, now it is time to dream. We are in the early moments of living a life we could only imagine. It is time to become the people we are becoming. To embrace life as a butterfly does, as we leave the chrysalis, opening our eyes to the beauty of the sky. To test our wings, and follow our hearts. I get this sounds cheesy. I have been through enough to know that. But here is the thing. When you have lived through what we have lived through, there are just a few choices. Cheesy survivors who dare to dream is one of the good ones. Thankful for the clarity we have been given. Still full of hope, knowing there is beauty in even the darkest of nights. Sometimes we still struggle. Sure we do. That’s life. But, we are ready to accept that normal is something we will never be again. We have been changed. We are no longer willing to take less than the extraordinary. Because, another day is not promised to any of us. Things can change in an instance. We belong to the group who knows. Who understands. Life is fragile. Life is a gift. So, why not dare to dream?

“Be brave. Take risks. Nothing can substitute experience.”

–Paulo Coelho

Sometimes. Somehow. I still get lost. I still get caught up in the things. Things that do not matter. Things we have been taught are important. Things we are supposed to care about. Sometimes. Somehow. I still feel lost. Torn. I learned, though. I do know better. When I got the phone call. When I waited for Chris to come through surgery. While I waited to take him home. I knew. I would have given up everything. Every single shiny object. Every single dollar. My home. My car. The clothes on my back. When faced with death. When faced with loss. The world becomes crystal clear. Our lives, simple. We realize. Immediately. We know. Chris almost died. And I knew. None of it matters. None of the material things we amass around us. The objects filling our homes and adorning our bodies. The things we can buy. In the end, they are worth nothing.

Still. We forget. We get caught up in it. Tangled in the web. Believing if only we had this or that. If only we achieved this or that. If only we were this or that. Then, we would be happy. Satisfied. As we fight for status. For territory. For power in our circles. In our little worlds. We tell ourselves this is the good life. This is necessary to be happy. To fit in. So we put on a show. We put on a show for those around us. For those around us who are only really worrying about their own show. About their own status. About their own accomplishments. We spend our time worrying about things, that when faced with lose, we would let slip away in an instance. If I am true to myself,  I know it is ridiculous. Silly. Inane. Insanity.

Sometimes, I forget to be grateful. To be as grateful as I should be. For the gifts we have been given. For the beats of our hearts and the breath in our lungs. For the feeling of my feet upon the earth and the sunshine on my face. I forget the clarity. I forget the reality, and I get lost in the illusion. Of how we have been taught to live. To strive. To consume. To feed the hunger we feel. Every day. As our souls starve. Waiting for us to remember. The things we knew in childhood. Before we became tarnished. Socialized. Tamed. Domesticated.

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November. 2013. Four months after the accident. Not long after the double vision had cleared. The pain killers recently retired. Chris. Still in an incredible amount of pain. Still recovering. Trying to heal. With less support than necessary. Still strong. Still moving forward. It was the time when healing his body was priority. When maintaining positivity was key. Family support pivotal. Being with his kids mandatory. We needed people. We needed each other. But as it has often been on our journey. There were other mountains to climb. Rivers to cross and walls to break down. Battles to fight.

Chris was finally cleared for physiotherapy. Months after the accident. We had flown to Edmonton, where he saw the surgeon. The surgeon gave his okay. Finally, he would get some professional help to heal. It wouldn’t just be on him. Or, so we thought. The insurance company did agree to physiotherapy. Twice a week. But ideally, he needed so much more. It’s a long story, but in the long run he got nothing more. Physiotherapy for a few months, and then intermittently here and there as the years passed. That’s it. That’s all. Everything else he did was on his own. Through healers and trainers that we found.

So, back to November. The insurance company wanted Chris to fly to Edmonton, stay in a hotel for six weeks, and go to their rehabilitation centre there. He would not have a car, and would be on his own to get groceries. Cook his own food. He was still in a lot of pain, and even the idea of him lugging his bags seemed ridiculous to us. He could not pick them up. He could not carry them. It all seemed ludicrous. Completely insane. To take a man who a few months earlier had been in a crash that had almost taken his life. Broken his back. Who was still healing. To take him away from the family who loved him. Who supported him. And put him in a hotel room in the middle of winter. To spend his days in a rehabilitation centre, and then go back to an empty hotel room. Alone.

I believe that healing mentally at that point was just as important as healing physically. The insurance company said Chris could fly back every weekend. Again. As far as I was concerned. Ludicrous. He had an spinal cord injury among other things. Who would have helped with his luggage? As he flew back and forth each week. Me, being the fixer I am, called around the Vancouver area. Trying to find similar rehabilitation centres. Of course being in a big city, there was more than one to choose from. I called them. I suggested it to Chris’ case worker. We got a lawyer involved. All to no avail. It was pretty much, Edmonton or nothing. I promised Chris when they suggested it, that in no way would he be left alone in a hotel room. For six weeks. Over the Christmas holidays (he could have been home for Christmas), in the dead of a northern Canadian winter. Without a vehicle. Without proper support. It was never going to happen. Remaining in a positive headspace was beyond important. I knew that. He knew that. So we fought.

They suggested we switch to the insurance company in our province. Which would have meant a considerable drop in his monthly payments. Or go to Edmonton. Those were the two options. We said no to both. Which meant Chris never did get that rehabilitation. In the whole course of Chris’ time under the insurance company, they paid for a few months of physiotherapy. We pushed for even kinesiology. We got his doctor involved. He pushed for it also. As did the physiotherapist he was working with. Again to no avail. The worker played games until we gave up. So like I said above. In the five years since the accident, the insurance company covered some physiotherapy. The rest. We searched it out. We paid for it. Thousands of dollars out of pocket. How this is acceptable is beyond me. But even with a lawyer involved, Chris got very little support in his recovery. So. His recovery. It is on him. It is on us. He did it. We did it. And, doctor after doctor. Specialist after specialist has been surprised by his recovery. By his perseverance. By his ability to heal himself. By how far he has come.

---

When a bomb gets dropped. When something happens in our lives. We are, in most ways, on our own to deal with the repercussions. The people and the institutions we believe will take care of us. Will support us. For the most part, they will not. Do not. We are left to our own devices. We have no choice but to take care of ourselves. This is not always an easy task. But in many instances it is the only option we have. We are, in many ways, on our own in this life. So, we have to learn to become our own heroes. There aren’t always arms to catch us. Somehow, we have to find a way to catch ourselves. To use our own voices. To find our own strength. To follow our own dreams. No matter how crazy they may seem sometimes.

Maybe there is something in that, though. When it feels like we have lost almost everything, and we fight our way back to standing. We start to realize we are the true directors of our own lives. We are the writers of our own story. No one else decides our destiny for us. Understanding that is both  frightening and empowering. Understanding that is liberating. Freeing. Understanding that is living with true clarity. Because, in the end, we are the only ones who can truly find our way. Who can live the lives we need to live.

 

 

 

 

“An abnormal reaction to an abnormal situation is normal behavior.”

–Viktor E. Frankl

One thing that many people do not understand. About life after the accident. Is this. It is not their journey. It has never been their journey. It has never been about them. I am not saying they have not been touched by it. I am not saying they do not have their own journey. I am not saying their paths have not been altered because of it. I am not saying that. I am simply saying. Our journey is not their journey.

When dealing with the aftermath of a trauma. When struggling to survive. Trying to make sense of it all. We know. We always know that a lot of people do not understand. Why we continue to change. Why we continue to talk about our lives post trauma. Why we still rile against it. Why sometimes we are angry. Why sometimes we are at peace. Why we embrace the trauma that almost destroyed us. They do not get why we don’t just cut the cord. Why we don’t just leave it behind us. Stop living in it. Stop becoming. When trauma knocked upon our door. When it called our names. It affected us in a way many do not understand. They will never understand until they hear the knock on their door. Until they take the journey we have taken. When they have walked a path such as ours. We would never. Ever. Wish it upon another. Still. We know. We know something they do not. We are no longer innocent. We are the ones who can see.

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Chris and I look at the accident from many angles. Some days we curse it. We want to shout into the sky. We want to punch our pillows. We ask, why? Why us? Why this family? Why this husband? Why this father? There are those days. The tough ones. The ones we struggle through. There also the complacent days. The passive days. The ones that go by. Then there are the better days. On these days we feel grateful. Because somewhere along the journey. Somewhere along the path. We learned. We learned things you cannot learn unless you have lived through something. Something we would never choose. Something we would take back if we could. Something we would change. But, something nonetheless. Chris and I have lived through something. We are living through something. Trauma has changed us. It is still changing us. Some of the changes we struggle with. Some of the changes we embrace. We embrace them knowing they would not have happened. Had that field not caught my husband that day. Had Chris not lived through a miracle. Had we not almost lost him. Had we not been given the opportunity to find out what really matters. Had the trauma never happened.

I am learning I do not need to apologize for being a person who has survived. Chris. Well, he is learning this too. Because in truth it is not logical. To apologize to those who do not understand our journey. To apologize to those who do not try to understand. Do not try to show empathy. To show compassion. To show they have reflected also. That they have also grown. Because if they are judging the journey of a survivor. Well, they have been surpassed. We are growing while they remain stagnant. Stuck. Living in fear that trauma might one day change them. Certain of the fact they would do it differently.

With  reflection, I am starting to realize I do not need to explain our choices. To defend them. To anyone. Because I now know. Those who have lived through trauma. Those who have lived it. They will not judge our journey. Just as they do not want their journey to be judged. Those who have lived through trauma. Those who actually get it. They have empathy. They show compassion. And those who have not lived through trauma. In truth. Their opinions do not really matter. Because they do not get it. They are not proud of us as they should be. They attempt to minimize our experiences. Because they do not have the capacity. To understand a world they have not lived in. A language they cannot comprehend. Their opinions matter as much as mine would, if I walked into a scientist’s lab and started to judge the scientist his work. It is not logical. It is not mathematical. It does not add up.

When one lives through a trauma. That trauma presses every single button. Every single trigger we have. Hard. We come face to face with our greatest fears. We struggle to overcome our most difficult challenges. Not one at a time. Not at our leisure. Not when we choose. All together. Every day. For a very long time. And, through this process. Upon this road. We often lose ourselves. We get lost. We lose direction. We do not know up from down. Front from back. We do not know which path to take. Which road to follow. We get lost like we have never been lost before. For awhile we spin in circles. We start down paths and then we turn back. We ask strangers for directions. We fall to our knees. We pray. Still, for a very long time we remain there. In that state. Feeling afraid and alone.

But then something starts to happen. Though we may at times still be moving in circles. Some of the paths begin to feel familiar. We learn where the water holes are and where we can go for sustenance. Some of the strangers become friends. They help us to find our bearings. Some even walk along the path with us. Fear begins to fall away. And though we still struggle at times. The struggles feel like less of a burden. We mourn the life we lost. The people we left behind. But eventually, we find a new clearing with fragrant flowers and trees that offer shelter. We build ourselves a new home. A new life. And those who we matter most to. They have walked some of the path with us. They know where to find us. Others, they will look until they do. Find us. The ones that  accept we are gone and move on. Well, I suppose maybe we should not even mourn them. Instead we should celebrate. Leaning into the people we have become.

On this journey, Chris and I have lost parts of ourselves. Some we clung to and some we let go willingly. Almost with relief. We have lost. This is true. And in many ways this has been harder to deal with than the actual trauma. We have lost a certain innocence. We are less naive. But the most important things on this journey. Are the things we have picked up along the way. The things we have found. We are learning who we are in this world. We are deciding who we want to be. What is important to us. What matters. We are making choices. We are creating a life we are proud of. Sure somedays are hard. Somedays we are less than stellar. But most days we stand strong. We live in our truth. We accept the life we have been given. The gifts we have received. We find a way to be grateful. For the lessons we have learned. For the truths we have seen. For the house in the clearing. Because along the way. Somehow. When we were the most lost. We found ourselves. We became Us.