I contemplate going back to bed. Crawling under the covers, still warm from earlier, until the day gets warmer, yet knowing that it will be days before it gets warm enough that it would entice me out of bed if I did that. A hot shower might help, but then again, I need to wash my hair and cold wet hair will only make me feel colder.
Mike cleans out the fireplace ashes from last night’s fire and relays it, ready for the next fire wearing a short sleeve T, not seeming to feel the cold that envelops me, as he pours another cup of tea which I greedily cup my hands around to warm them.
I know the cold is necessary. I remember well the years in Miami, where bugs flourished and tulips and daffodils didn’t exist because they needed the cold to set the bulbs before they could bloom. The years elsewhere when the insects and germs flourished and were bothersome because their natural enemy cold, never got harsh enough or hung around long enough to break their cycle of life.
There are those that say the bad things that happen to us in our circle of life events are to test us and make us stronger, that God won’t send anything our way that we cannot handle. Having recently been part of a conversation with other Veterans about PTSD AND Sexual Trauma and Suicides, that rings false in my ears. Some survive, others don’t and others, like many WWI and WWII veterans simply bury it in layers so deep that their families and friends have no idea what they endured. Some do survive, and while none thrive, use their trauma as a means to reach others and help those they can. For some their faith is strengthened, others shattered. Some return, others struggle to find new meaning to lives upended and devoured by what has happened to them.
While the cycle of life moves on, it passes them by as they live in a world apart from others and at times apart from reality. Struggling to make sense of what has happened to them, of what they’ve seen and endured. Often forgotten and marginalized by the world around them. While some seek counseling, others fear it. Afraid to dredge memories to the surface and start talking about what happened, would cause it to be relived. Afraid that letting others in would cause them to become more vulnerable than they already are. Ashamed and deep down believing that what happened is somehow their fault, or that they could have, should have done something that would have changed the outcome.
It is hard to know what to do. Well meaning efforts on our part are often wrong, so often we do nothing. Ashamed of our own inaction, yet worried that misguided steps will cause more pain and suffering. Believing that each person’s journey is their own and cannot be shared. Instead, losing track of the person they were, and the person they are now. We may help out at food pantries or serving food at shelter, delivering blankets in the winter, but these are not really addressing the root problems, only the symptoms.
There are safe places, programs that can help, but the starting point is often to just be there. Listen, sit in silence, sit beside them, hugs when allowed and gentle encouragement to seek the help they need from the many programs the VA and others have available. But first be there, acknowledge that their path is difficult, but they are loved for the person they not only were, but are.
Dale Weir
No comments:
Post a Comment