OVERWHELMED WITH PAIN AND SORROW

Yesterday, it was officially eleven weeks since Christina took her life and it is not getting much easier. True, I've had some days that felt almost normal; but just below the surface, the pain remains. And, without warning, the images of That Day re-emerge. My mind may forget - for small chunks of time - but my body remembers.

I've been thinking about that a lot these past few weeks - about how the body remembers, even when the mind is otherwise occupied. The memory of this trauma, I've come to realize, is stored primarily in my face, throat, arms, and chest. I know why: as we struggled to take her down, I wanted to scream, but could not. I knew that for the sake of the kids we had to act quickly and quietly. So the screams within my were trapped in my throat. Then, in our physical efforts to take her down, I held her up to take the tension off her neck so that the cord could be loosened and removed. In the process of holding her, I felt the weight of her body in my arms. I held my breath, perhaps because I knew she could not breathe (had she any life left in her), but perhaps also just because of the physical effort. I held her - and my breath - until my chest hurt. And there, the memory of the trauma remains. I fear I will always remember, physically, what it felt like to take her down from that beam. And when those body-based memories surface, I feel it again, almost like re-living the experience, and I fear I will be forever haunted by it.

And so, even while Life goes on, there remains a part of me that is stuck in those moments of struggling so urgently, so desperately, and so overwhelmed with pain and sorrow, as we hurried to release her. Those moments of shock, disbelief, and yet stark realization that my daughter had killed herself - that paradox - remains forever embedded in my mind, body, and soul.

Is it any wonder then that I would suddenly begin to cry, without warning? Can I truly expect to be free of the trauma?? Nothing - nothing has ever traumatized me so greatly and so deeply. I now, as a direct result, fear losing another loved one. I fear tragedy. I know now that anything can happen. I know now that Life can turn quickly to death, happiness to pain. Anything can happen. BAD things can happen - without warning. And even if there IS warning, it can go unrecognized.

Some have said that Christina would not want me to suffer endlessly like this; but I wonder. She resented me so deeply. Was this revenge? Did she do this to me, intentionally, in anger and hatred? Did she laugh to herself before taking that final step off the couch as she envisioned the pain she would inflict upon me for the rest of my life? Or was she simply not thinking at all? Was she thinking only of ending her own misery, as others have concluded? I'll never know. I'll never be quite certain. And in the uncertainty comes more pain.

I want desperately to resolve this. I want to be able to evaluate what has happened, picking it apart, and creating an explanation that I can live with and that will allow me to close that chapter and move on; but I have not been successful in that endeavor. Every time I think I have satisfactorily synthsized all of the events leading up to her action, and subsequently resolved the aftermath, I unearth another aspect of the trauma that I must confront and come to terms with. Most recently, it has been my regret (oh, how I despise regret) for calling 911. We should have instead allowed ourselves time with her right here at home. There was nothing the paramedics could have done. And the police were an unwelcome intrusion. What she did was not a crime. A tragedy, yes. But not a crime.

And so I have felt overwhelmed - not so much by what happened eleven weeks ago, but with Life intruding upon my ability to process what happened on That Day. I resent that Life goes on. I resent that I feel as if Life has not afforded me the opportunity to fully process her death before moving on to yet another day, another week, another month. Time is having its way with me. And I resent Time's intrusion.

TEN WEEKS GONE

Tomorrow it will be ten weeks. Time has become marked by that day: It has either happened before Christina died, or after and the after-time is chronicled in weeks. In spite of all that, it still does not seem true. The fact, "christina died," seems like one big farce; a sad Lifetime movie, a nightmare, an impossibility. And yet, the rational part of my mind knows it is true. The logical, functioning part of my brain continues to inform me that yes, Christina is gone - forever. If ten weeks feels like forever, how will I cope with every single day and upcoming months, years, and decades without her? Forever is way too long.

Tonite, I found myself desperately wishing that I could just believe in religion - any religion - with the promise of a magnificent afterlife where we shall all meet again. What a comfort that would be! But I don't. I can't. I need proof. I want so badly to know without a doubt that I will encounter her again, that some part of her still exists. I want to be convinced that she is somehow aware...of me, of us, of life as we know it. And more than that, I want proof that she is somehow still...somewhere. What we buried was not her. Or was it? Was her body all that was left?? That is so painful - too painful - to comprehend fully. Yet, it could very well be reality. There's just no knowing.

Yes, I spoke with a psychic intuitive. At the time, it seemed possible. At the time, I felt like perhaps the things she said were authentic; now, I'm not so sure. It could've been all wishful thinking and emotionally fed. I needed to believe the things she told me that Christina was supposedly communicating. I still want to believe it; yet, I'm a skeptic. If Christina was able to communicate with Pam, why not directly to me? 

Last night - or perhaps the night before - I dreamed about Christina. I dreamed she was still a child and her father and I had taken her to the doctor regarding her diabetes. The doctor confirmed it and we were told we had saved her life by bringing her in. Now, as I remember the dream, I don't know what to do with that. Ultimately, it triggers more guilt and regret. David and I failed as parents. We did not adequately provide for our kids. Christina needed medical intervention back then, but where were we?? Why weren't we seeing the depth of her trauma and pain?

I'm reading about PTSD and am realizing the multi-faceted nature of the trauma I've endured. Along with flashbacks that continue to occur daily, I am equally traumatized by all the what-ifs. Not just the guilt that comes with thinking about the things I could have / should have done differently that may have kept her alive, but all the other scenarios that could've made this traumatic event even more debilitating. What if the kids had found her? What if she had used a gun? What if the kids will be psychologically damaged beyond repair as they come to terms with her death? What if I die prematurely? What if there is another family calamity? What if I lose another child...or grandchild? My thoughts torture me. But that is the nature of trauma.

Tomorrow I see my doctor for medication refills. I will be asking him about a referral to their psych department or perhaps to Aunt Martha's (if they can do that). I feel like I need some help processing all of this. True, I've had some "good" days recently - days that felt almost normal. I realize I will never be who I was before Christina died; I will simply change and adapt and hopefully learn how to live with the pain. But will I ever be able to release the guilt and regrets?? Isn't the guilt legitimate??

Ten weeks. Ten weeks gone and I am ten weeks into trying to unearth who I am in light of losing her. Ten weeks of magical thinking, feeling not fully present, and wondering about the afterlife. Ten weeks of feeling numb and wanting to hear her voice (what if I forget her voice over the years???). Ten weeks of wishing this wasn't true. Ten weeks of alternating between tears restrained and sobbing uncontrollably. Ten weeks. A microscopic dent into forever.