I check everyday to see if The Compassionate Friends has opened up registration for the 2014 National Conference, it has to be soon. I just downloaded and perused the conference talks and speakers, some are familiar, many are different. My eye caught under the “Circumstances of our Loss” category that the panel on Sudden Death – Vehicular will be offered again. We went to that session at last year’s conference and as hard as it was to attend, it is one of the stand out sessions in my mind. I go through my conference book and find a single note that I took on that session.
4 – 7 years to just process violent details
If I sit back and close my eyes, I can remember the faces of the panel members and where they were sitting, and I remember their stories. The description of the session had stated that “sensitive topics such as death notification and condition of the loved one’s body may be included as these are often topics many want to discuss with someone but are difficult for others who have not been in a similar situation to hear.” They were true to their word. That is where we learned that it can easily take four to seven years just to process the violent details. What a relief to know that we are normal, that sudden death has its own complications, that it is a long journey.
The details are a dark, thorny wood, and meeting other parents who made it through the most brutal part of that dark wood was humbling and hopeful. Everyone processes details differently, and what I found most helpful is being able to recognize how I was processing the details. Recognizing the “how” didn’t make it any less distressing or painful, but I could step outside of it for a moment to breathe fresh air before entering back into the process.
There has been a running joke between Doug and I for 33 years that I get my best sleep in the car, if he is driving. I could stay awake for thirty minutes and then I would drift off into the most wonderful sleep. Warm sun coming through the car window, white noise from the road, and complete confidence in the driver. I can’t do that anymore. We spent a lot of time in the car this past year from May through September and I don’t sleep anymore. I watch. I watch for retention ponds and other bodies of water. I watch for fencing around ponds. I watch for animals. I watch for other drivers. If my eyes close, the minute the car changes speed or lanes, my body jumps and I ask Doug is everything is okay. Sometimes if the car has to swerve swiftly my mind goes forward, is this how it happened for Justin? I relive his accident, trying to fill in the unknown. What caused him to swerve so sharply? I can’t say that I am afraid of being in the car, but my body doesn’t relax like it used to, it is tense, watching, waiting. Processing. Oh, I didn’t know that it would feel like this, active, somatic, engaging memory and imagination. I am sitting still, but not passive. Processing.
Perhaps that is why it can take years to process, we don’t have the tools or muscles needed at first, the first years are just about survival.
We are usually very quiet in the car, we don’t listen to the radio, rarely do we listen to music, just quiet, each busy with their own thoughts. We can go for a couple of hours without talking if it is a long drive. The brain can’t sort stuff in noise and distraction, only in quiet. If we are still, our brain can shake something out and gently, or not so gently, bring it to our attention. Perhaps that is why it can take years to process, we don’t have the tools or muscles needed at first, the first years are just about survival. Time, it takes so much time. And patient gentleness with our own self as we flex new muscles and try new strategies.
We went for a ride yesterday through farm country encompassing three counties. Beautiful snow covered farms. Stopping at a few and purchasing fresh goods. Taking the time to pet the friendly farm cats warming themselves by a wood stove. Connecting back to the earth and her cycles of peaceful rest before the riotous activity of spring. How much growth is done in fields that seem barren and cold.
Maybe I will find that place of sweet sleep again in the car, maybe not. I may always be tense, waiting, watching, but for now there is an odd peace in that tension. I can just let the process happen, trusting that somewhere down the road my mind will find a place for Justin’s accident to rest. Not shoved away, not locked away, but a gentle place where I am holding him safe.
