By C Kerwick
Like most, I have experienced joy and peace, gratitude and fulfillment, fear and insecurity, numbness and pain, grief and despair- just to touch the surface. All my personal experiences have contributed to who I am but none more so than the day my husband, Noel, lost his battle with depression and died by suicide. Life and death battles within myself began that day and death came dangerously close to winning the war.
Life and death battles within myself began that day and death came dangerously close to winning the war.
I was forced into an unfamiliar and unwelcome life. My brain and body went into shock. There’s a lot of discussion about the fight or flight response and very little about freeze- something I knew nothing about but grew familiar with when I was diagnosed with PTSD. I had no hope for a future, or for even the most basic life- that of survival. I froze- knowing I couldn’t fight or outrun this gaping hole in my life that threatened to swallow me up. Twice, I suffered stress-induced cardiomyopathy episodes and realized that even when your heart hurts so bad that you’re not sure how it continues to beat, it will continue to beat. I had thoughts of suicide and prayed every night for nine months that I wouldn’t wake up the next morning because that would be an easy way out of the pain.
Yet, every day I woke up, and every day for a long time, I’d say, “F**%, this really is my life.” The flashbacks were constant and uncontrollable- especially the taste and smell of that day- it was raw and real. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat, my hair was falling out, and my body would go into short bursts of convulsions like it was trying to shake everything off, but it couldn’t. I sobbed unrecognizable bone-chilling sounds that must have come from a place so deep within my soul that I didn’t even realize they were coming from me. My mind kept replaying the events of that day hoping for a different outcome.
My mind kept replaying the events of that day hoping for a different outcome.
Then I met Eleanor, a trauma counselor. The scent of chamomile tea from the earthen mug she had waiting for me every session automatically relaxed me. Snuggled up on one end of the soft dark blue leather couch, I sipped the hot tea and we talked. There in her little office with a window overlooking downtown Charlottesville, I found my resiliency and a wisdom that only comes from the intimate experience of grief and loss. With her, I learned to integrate my grief into a life of purpose with a newly restored balance. This is where my new journey begins.
I have learned steps that guide me through a flashback to silence the alarm system in my brain. It isn’t easy but it’s getting easier as I practice it. Observe that I’ve been triggered, recognize that I am safe, and focus on things I am grateful for.
I am reminded of the quote by philosopher Albert Camus, “In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.”
I didn’t choose this path of personal and spiritual growth in my life and the price to pay was way too dear. What I lost will never be restored. There is clearly a before and an after. Who I am today is so different from the woman, wife, mother, and friend I was five years ago. Many things about me are much better, in a way. I am more grateful and recognize even the smallest blessings, I give more, I listen more and speak less, I hold my family and friends closer, I like to be alone in my own company, I allow myself to be more vulnerable, I’m okay not being okay all the time, and I am patient as my story reveals itself.