Hi again.
Apologies for the huge pause in writing.
We’ve had a lot of life changes, which I surely will write more about, but not in this post. However, one of the biggest changes that houses many of the little changes is our move to Nashville. Yes, this western-state-loving, colorado-living, mountain-air-breathing momma made a move across the country with two little blondie boys and a dog in tow to the state of Tennessee. We prayed hard about it, talked to so many loved ones about it, and in the end, found peace in the decision. But that doesn’t make it easy. Once again, we’re forced to remember that just because something is hard, doesn’t mean its wrong. Which brings me to my initial thoughts … trauma is messy and not for the faint of heart.
She comes and she goes, sometimes staying, uninvited and well past her welcome … actually, she was never welcome. She crashed through the door, shattering everything in her wake, and turning three lives completely upside down, leaving holes that are still unfilled 18 months later. Eighteen months later? Has it really been that long and also that short? I’ve talked about my dance with trauma a few times — I haven’t talked about Jackson and Theo’s.
It’s not as easy to say what a three-year-old’s experience with trauma has been like, but toddlers, even if they don’t have words for it, feel trauma deeply. Jackson and Theo both had a close bond with Jeremy and that bond was severed, suddenly and without a chance for goodbye. Let that sink in, because I think it’s missed by some, understandably so. Your sense of safety, the world and how it works, and your very sense of self is wrapped up in those early attachment relationships, aka you’re care givers. That relationship is home base in a game of tag, the safety net when taking a risk, the lifejacket when tubing and feeling out of control. Picture that - trying to play tag with no safe base to take a rest, walking a tight rope without anything to catch you below, a toddler bouncing around on a tube behind a boat and being thrown into the rough waters without a life jacket. Fear, anxiety, helplessness, paralysis, confusion, and anger - with no developed tools to help themselves move through the most difficult of human emotions. Many adults aren’t even good at coping, just look at addiction rates; yet when a child goes through a traumatic life change, we place the same expectations on them as we would any child. Sleep through the night; we don’t have time for your socks to bother you, put your shoes on; tantrums are not okay; no screaming, no losing it, sit down, sit still, cooperate, you may not yell at me, etc, etc, etc.
Meanwhile, I have now suffered from insomnia for 18 months, having night sweats about 50% of the time, waking up with puffy eyes and pale skin. I am over stimulated by many sensory things - music, being touched too much when I’m already anxious or frustrated with life, tight leggings worn too long. I’ve absolutely had tantrums - we just don’t call them that when someone is an adult - but I’ve yelled at my kids, yelled at God, yelled at Jeremy, yelled at nothing in particular. I have thrown my body onto the kitchen floor, into a shower corner, cried on swings at playgrounds, gripped and hit my steering wheel so many times; I have screamed at the top of my lungs just to feel a release. For months I felt paralyzed, moving in slow motion and then for months following, restless, feeling an intense need to “do”. But please, child, pull your shit together and “behave”, okay? When put like that, it’s laughable.
Sudden loss like this has lasting impact. And not only the loss, but witnessing the surviving parent struggle immensely adds to the uncertainty of life, challenges trust, and can be expressed as anxiety, anger outbursts, and more. I can’t count the number of times my kids have asked me, “What if you die?” Their fear of a parent not returning is a lot more real because, well, that exact thing happened and without warning. What’s to say that won’t happen to the other parent? For all they know, that’s how life works, and what trauma has taught them is to be on guard, be ready to survive, the worse can happen. They don’t get to swim in the beautiful naivety of life like many children around them. The fragility and grief they’ve experienced won’t allow it.
And so, these two little boys, whose world changed in just a breath, will continue to carry their trauma and grief in their own ways, feeling it differently than I, but feeling it nonetheless. In life, you can have naivety or depth, but you cannot have both. I wish my boys could have naivety - it’s simple and beautiful in childhood - that’s no longer an option. But in entering the deep, I must believe that they will experience beauties in this world that only those who have suffered such traumatic loss can. And whoever has the privilege of sharing a piece of their lives, may I dare say, you, friend, are lucky.
