Medical PTSD…Gratitude?

On the evenings I am not working Kevin and I put our son John to bed together. It is always filled with laughing, hugs and kisses. John takes a dose of melatonin every night right before bed that allows him to relax enough to fall asleep on his own. He is a happy boy, especially when he is home.

Daddy takes him into the bathroom for P and teeth cleaning while I go into the bedroom and set up the night light and sheets. Some nights I chase him into the bed pinching his little butt while he laughs and swats my hands away. He throws himself into the bed laughing hysterically, so much so his lips turn blue.

“Johnny stop laughing so hard, your lips are blue, breathe!” as Kevin and I look at each other nodding our heads with the look of “Wow, can you believe this kid”.

Kevin and I lay in the bed with John between us. We laugh at the silliness of John and usually mention how handsome or grown up he looks. Tonight, we mentioned how straight his teeth are and how beautiful his smile is. He has Kevin’s teeth, I had braces.

We say the Our Father Prayer with Kevin’s hand across us both. Tonight, Kevin was rubbing my back. John took Kevin’s hand and moved it away and began rubbing my back himself. We all laughed and kissed good night.

Sobriety brought me here….I am forever grateful for these moments that I do not rush and adore so much.

However, sometimes my mind goes to a dark place. For literally a second, my mind imagines the space between Kevin and I in that bed empty, without John. It gives me a knot in my stomach with a weakness I cannot explain. I shake it off quickly.

Death is something I think of a lot. I don’t do it on purpose. My mind just goes there. Sometimes I wonder if it’s my brain preparing me for the “what ifs”. But, my smarter brain tells me not to think of the ‘what ifs’ and to live in the present. I am not sure how to make these thoughts stop. I feel like it’s a symptom of medical PTSD, from all the years of watching him almost die or struggle to breathe.

I just don’t know how to make it stop…

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The Hubs: 2017 Edition

My hubs…

Some days I refer to him as my BFF, others not so much. If you are going to have a child like John, the trifecta of disabilities (CDH, Epilepsy & Autism), you better like who you live with because you will be spending a lot of time with them.

Some days we are all we have. No one is inviting us over to BBQ’s and people surely aren’t bringing their kids over to play with my son. At the end of the day he is the only person I can vent to, tell how I feel or just sit in silence with. It’s comfortable, its safe, somedays it’s hard and somedays it’s just perfect.

We separated for two years in 2012 (I think, maybe 2011). That separation is what saved our relationship. Before we separated I was almost 2 years sober, he was an active alcoholic. He left me telling me that I was doing great things and he was holding me back. I made sure he knew that was a great excuse but it’s really because he’s too scared to grow with me.

The first year we lived under the same roof, the second year he moved out into his own condo a few blocks away. I started dating in the second year. Nothing great to talk about. It’s amazing how many men my age live in their mom’s basement apartment, hate their ex’s and just are so lost in who they are. I had literally no success, obviously. I eventually just focused on me and building a business.

During those two years Kevin always treated me well. He treated me better while we were separated then he ever did while we were together. He stopped by the house every night to see his son, he fixed what needed to be fixed, he cooked, cleaned and was an amazing example for who a father should be, except for the part about sticking around in a marriage.

John became ill in 2014 with the flu. He ended up in the Intensive Care Unit (ICU) of Children’s Memorial for one month. At that time, we didn’t know if John was going to survive. They were using words that would prepare us for incubation and what happens if he didn’t start breathing on his own. After about 3 weeks John turned the corner. He started sitting up, breathing and laughing. We were amazed and so grateful for everyone involved in saving our son. It wasn’t the first time and wouldn’t be the last.

During those 4 weeks Kevin and I were carpooling to avoid the $15.00 a day parking fee at the hospital garage. He would drive over after work texting me when he arrived and I would go down and take his truck home while he went up with John. Some days we would go home together, clean up and head back to the hospital. We would sit and chat about John’s past and how strong he is. We gave each other huge praises for keeping him alive. We talked about the good times and the hard times. During this time I was in the process of opening up my shop. Kevin was right there helping with the build out, getting permits, supplies and contracts. He was amazing.  I asked him one day on the way back to the hospital, “Why are you being so good to me? We are not together anymore, you can just move on”. He said, “This is for all of us. Just because we aren’t together doesn’t mean we aren’t a family”.

Kevin is a man of few words but sometimes he amazes me with the words he speaks.

I know he struggles with his own demons, I have seen them. But, he really has the best intentions for his family.

Today, I can’t imagine being with any other man. When I am angry at him I imagine what it would be like. I let my crazy mind travel into places, imagining myself with another man or running away by myself to a deserted island. The scenarios I create in my mind always end with me thinking Kevin would treat me kinder. Or Kevin wouldn’t judge me like that, Kevin would have made it all OK.

Every Sunday morning he brings me breakfast in bed. Every night he tucks his son in to bed. Every day he tells me he loves me. He is humble. He is kind. These are the things I need to remember when times get tough.

#GoodNightSweetWorld

People that cry

My son John has been in the hospital.  He has the flu which means he needs ventilator support and drugs that open his airway and more drugs to counter the side effects of those drugs.  It’s a vicious cycle with the drugs, scares me to think the damage it’s doing to his body.  But, extremely grateful for the good it does.  Wednesday and Thursday night I never left the hospital.  I closed the store Thursday night because no one could cover my shift.  The kids that work for me seem too busy to work at times between college, family and social obligations.  Friday morning, I had to go into the shop to clean a machine.  I figured while I was out I would catch lunch with Nora and her daughter Zoe. 

Zoe is a feisty, bossy little lady that is descend for great things.  She’s a princess on some days with her Frozen princess Ella dress and a regular little girl on other days with her Pajama wearing style. She loves to make people smile but she has to be fed first.  She’s a girl after my own heart.  Nora and I arrived at Fannies, our favorite BLT hot spot, at the same time.  She was walking from her car with little Zoe trotting beside her chatting while I crossed the street to meet them at the front door.  Something about Zoe’s spark made me emotional.  I started thinking about Johnny and how he loves to make people smile.  My heart was broken watching him struggle in the hospital.  The last three days he hasn’t smiled at all.  When Zoe seen me she walked right up to me and hugged my legs.  The top of her head reaches just above my knees.  Her skinny little arms grabbed hold of my knees and gave a big squeeze.  Then she looked up at me and handed me two stickers.  Nora explained that she wanted to share her stickers to make me happy while I am so sad. The water works came on so much so that I couldn’t bring myself to sit down and eat lunch. 

This scene lasted less than a minute but has forever been engraved in my mind.  It reminded me of my own childhood and how we dealt with tears and sadness.  As a child, if I saw someone cry I was like a deer in headlights.  I didn’t know what to do.  The thought of providing a sad person with a hug or pat on the back was completely awkward to me.  It still is sometimes today. 

My father never cried, other than when his mother died and my son was born. I believe the fact that he didn’t cry was a life accomplishment for him.  While my dad was dying from cancer I set up his bedroom in our living room, Sunshine Rehab he called it.  I was forced to enroll John back in school instead of homeschooling because I knew I couldn’t handle the pressures of caring for Dad and John at the same time.  The first day of John’s school I came home crying because I felt they didn’t want him there, I was almost 5years sober at this time so crying wasn’t a weakness anymore, it was my strength.  My dad just stared at me like a deer in headlights.  A few days later he confessed to me that when he seen me like that, crying and all, “I almost cried”.  Imagine that.  He said it like it was an accomplishment that he didn’t cry.  As if crying would have been a bad thing. 

The last time my dad cried was with me.  He told me he was sorry I had to go through this.  I asked, “This?  Go through what?”.  He said, “Having to watch me die. You had to watch your mother die and now you are watching me die and I’m sorry for that”.  I said, “Thank you for allowing me to be here to take care of you, I love you”. Then we cried with our foreheads touching each other. 

Dad said, “Im gonna miss you”

I said, “You’ll be gone, Im gonna miss you more”

And I do ❤