From the vortex of grief: The aftermath of trauma

 It was a Tuesday night just like any other. Actually, it was better than many others. It was around 9.30pm, and I'd gotten through all my tasks early, and was feeling quite relaxed. I sought happiness in small things that night. All I wanted was to take a long hot bath before turning in, and I was greedy about how much water I wanted. The geyser gave me one full bucket of hot water, and I wanted two. So I went about this silly and elaborate procedure- turned on the geyser, let out a full bucket of steaming hot water, and turned it back on again, while I sat and waited. Feeling utterly serene and relaxed, I called up an old friend. We spoke, laughed, and reminisced. Then, at 10pm came the call that shattered my world and turned everything topsy-turvy. My father was battling for his life. After an entire night spent in the corridor of the ICU, I came back home to that bucket of water. Cold and lifeless, just like the way I felt.

If you're a regular reader of my blog, by now, you've read so many descriptions of this incident. You might wonder, Why is she ranting about this now? Wasn't that almost 5 months ago? I have an answer, Reader, but please spare me a little patience.

I have relived that moment a zillion times in my head. Utter peace, and in a moment, disaster. The transition was so abrupt. Shouldn't there have been some sign? Something to warn me of the storm? As they say, there was nothing but calm, and that realization broke me. What it did to me was take away the assurance that I tread on solid ground. Of course, I have known that life is ephemeral ever since I was a toddler. But knowing that and coming face to face with it are two very different beasts. This realization lives on in me, and it haunts me in different ways.

In the early days, I would constantly be on high alert for more tragedy. Every ring of the phone would send my heart racing. At night, I'd be jolted awake from sleep every few minutes. One day, I called my Mom, and she didn't pick up. I imagined that she had died, and I called her again and again. 10 times. 20 times. 30 times. She did not pick up. I was near tears, and in such a frenzy. I could not even think straight. I was about to start to the hospital when she called me back. She did not understand my anger, I just went to the cafeteria to have lunch, and I didn't take my phone with me. Why are you yelling at me? I was relieved and furious at the same time. I demanded that she always carry her phone with her. 

This sort of reaction is understandable in the initial times. But I was always under the impression that this would pass, that I would get back to normal once the traumatic phase was over. I have learnt now that this is not the case. I continue to have this feeling of living on the edge, and it makes life so more haunting and beautiful at the same time. 

Last week, my Mom called in the middle of a class to say that the front door of the house collapsed, and it just missed landing on her. For half an hour, I could not function. I felt numb, frozen. Nothing really registered. Last night, I woke up from a nightmare that my Dad had died. My heart was racing, and I felt a pain that I had never felt before. Whether it was physical or psychological is something I can only speculate about.

Ironically, I am writing this in the middle of yet another episode. My husband was supposed to be flying back home from Chennai tonight. He was supposed to have landed half hour ago. The last message I got from him was Boarding seems to be delayed. Normally, I'd have assumed that it was just a delay. Nothing more, nothing less. But now, before I even notice my thoughts, I notice the physical signs. My breathing speeds up. I feel sweaty and cold. I check the messaging app a dozen times in 5 minutes. And then, I decide to look at a live flight tracking site to reassure myself. Once I'd see the green path of the flight, I'd feel better. But I open it, and it says: Tracking information not available. Out of range. My breathing quickens even more, and I feel terrified. I imagine plane crashes. A life without him. All kinds of nightmares. I try to tell myself that things will be fine. This is just a figment of my imagination, not reality. What are the odds of the plane crashing? Earlier, I'd have felt confident in this- that the odds were very low. But now, that was no longer enough to soothe me. My world could come crashing down no matter how unlikely, at any moment. After all, most tragedies are black swan events. I could do nothing except wait, trapped in that state of limbo. Not knowing. Anxious. A wreck.

And so you find me here. I type this out, in an attempt to quell the terrifying uncertainty of inhabiting this agonizing moment. And to tell you that trauma is not a short-term thing. It is not something we get over as soon as life seems to get to some stable state. It lives on within us, in our memories, in our reactions, in our everyday life. All it needs is another trigger to come surfacing up. I am not saying this to scare you, Reader. Instead, I'm hoping this helps you if you ever need it. I've realized this after an arduous and perplexing journey, and I wish to spare you that. If you're going through experiences like these, something that suddenly takes over in the middle of a seemingly normal day, know that they are normal. This could be your body and mind dealing with some traumatic experience from the past (that you may think you have long forgotten). Be kind to yourself, and keep this in mind. It is an uncomfortable awareness no doubt, but it is still worth knowing in my opinion. And if you'd like to understand more, I recommend this book. 

I know that when my husband comes home tonight, I'll hug him tight and sigh in relief. Because that 'when' was an 'if' in my head. And that makes every moment of life so achingly beautiful.