|
Page 3 of 9
THE TRAUMAS OF ADULTHOOD
"A wounded deer leaps highest" Emily Dickinson
By the time we reach middle age we recognize all too well that we'll never grow big enough, strong enough, or old enough to be protected from trauma. A crisis can occur at any time. It may build gradually or strike swiftly and unexpectedly.
Thirty-nine-year-old James shares his experience with acute trauma, following the death of his twin brother:
"When I first was told that my brother had died, I was numb. I didn't really believe it. My wife was telling me what happened, and I could hear her voice, but I wasn't really hearing her words. I caught a phrase here and there but it was mostly gibberish to me. I just kept thinking, "No! No! No!"
I couldn't sleep that night. I just kept seeing John's face. My heart started pounding, I was sweaty and shaking. I got up to watch TV but I couldn't concentrate. For two days I couldn't eat, sleep, or cry.
I helped my sister-in-law with the funeral arrangements and with the kids. I fixed things around his house and started working a lot of overtime. I wasn't really there though. I was like a remote control racecar. I was speeding around with no one behind the wheel. I was getting smashed almost every night.
I was having chest pains and thinking, "Great, I'm gonna die of a heart attack too, just like Johnny." One weekend, it was rainy, I was sick and couldn't work, and so I just stayed in bed and cried. God, I missed my brother so much! It kind of went down hill from there. I got really depressed. I started getting warnings at work, I was screaming at my wife and kids for nothing, I wanted to smash things.
I ended up in the emergency room one afternoon. I thought for sure it was all over for me, that my heart was giving out too. My wife held my hand and kept telling me over and over that she loved me and that she was there for me. I looked at her and realized that I had put her through hell. It was like she had been a widow too since John's death. The doctor told me that my heart was fine and that my body was reacting to stress. He warned me that if I didn't make some changes though, I probably would be joining my brother at some point. I decided, 'That's it. John and I did everything together but dying is where I draw the line.' Little by little, I started making changes in my life. I have never stopped missing John, it still hurts, but I started noticing what he left behind, and what I would leave behind if I kept the smoking and drinking up. I saw how beautiful my wife and kids are, I started seeing a lot of things, and I appreciate my life in a way I never did before. I haven't drank a drop of alcohol in three years. I gave up smoking. I exercise. I play more with my kids, and now I flirt with my wife."
For James, it took the loss of his brother's life to prompt him to truly recognize the wonder of his own. For others, it may be an illness, a financial crisis, a divorce or some other event that forces us to re-evaluate our present life style-- the choices we've have made, and our current needs. A Birthquake is an ordinary process yielding extraordinary results. It occurs in the life of an ordinary individual like yourself who is one day confronted with the fact that your life isn't working. Not only does it offer far less then you had hoped for, it hurts!
I wept when I first read about Jason, and the pain intensified after making contact with his extraordinary mother, Judy Fuller Harper. I would like to share with you now an excerpt from our correspondence.
Tammie: Will you tell me about Jason? What was he like?
Judy: Jason was almost 10 pounds at birth, a big happy baby. When he was three months old, we discovered he had serious asthma. His health was frail for years, but Jason was a typical little boy, bright, kind and very inquisitive. He had big, blue, piercing eyes, he always drew people to him. He could look at you as if he understood everything and accepted everyone. He had a wonderful contagious laugh. He loved people and had a warm accepting way about him. Jason was a joyful child even when he was sick, he often continued to play and laugh. He learned to read at age three and was fascinated by Science fiction. He loved robots and those transformer toys, and he had hundreds of them. He was almost 5' 9" when he died, and he was going to be a big man. He had just surpassed his older brother who is only 5' 7" at 18, and he got a real kick out of that. He always hugged me hard as though he might not get to again; that part still rips my heart out when I realize that he had hugged me so hard the last time I saw him.
Tammie: Can you share with me what happened the day Jason died?
Judy: February 12, 1987, a Thursday. Jason died around 7:00 p.m. that day. Jason was at his father's house (we were divorced). His Dad and his stepmother had gone to have her hair done. Jason was left alone at home until they returned around 7:30 p.m. My ex-husband found him. All of the details of the actual incident are what I've been told or what the coroner's investigation indicated happened.
Jason was found sitting in a recliner just inside the door of the house, in the living room. He had a gunshot wound to his right temple. The weapon was found in his lap, butt up. No fingerprints were distinguishable on the weapon. Jason did have powder burns on one of his hands. The police found that several of the weapons in the house had been fired recently and/or handled by Jason. At the coroner's inquest Jason's death was ruled an "accident", self-inflicted. The conjecture was that he was playing with the gun and the cat jumped in his lap and it must have caused the weapon to be discharged. The weapon in question was a 38-special, with chrome plating and scrolling. All the guns in the house (there were many types, handguns, rifles, a shotgun, etc.) were loaded. I have asked my ex-husband and his wife several times if I could have the gun to destroy it, but they could not do that. My ex-husband gave no explanation, he just said, "they could not do that."
|
