by Julie Overlease, July 8, 2020
Whoever you love – hug them, or kiss them, and tell them how important they are to you!
Life. Is. A. Gift. This morning I took a long walk through wooded trails with an old friend who lost her beloved mom to cancer. She spoke of the waves of grief that sometimes crash upon her, sometimes covering her as though she’ll drown. As she shared her sorrow, I thought about how living through trauma is similar since powerful waves of emotion may unexpectedly slam us when we recall life events.
Today I stood in a local grocery store, Price Chopper, and signed copies of Hope Upon Impact. As I finished with the last book, a man from a fire department approached and jokingly asked me why I was writing in those books. I asked him if the cover looked familiar. For anyone who has read my book and understands my dramatic and enraging ambulance ride, you will grasp the courage it took to pose the question. He was with two young fire fighters and one could have been the driver of Evelyn’s ambulance! We struck up a conversation and I gave him a two-sentence summary of Evelyn’s accident. Human eyes are amazing in their ability to convey so much, and I watched the concern rise in his eyes with the unspoken, hesitant question, “Did your daughter survive?” I quickly shared the news of our joyous outcome, Evelyn’s full recovery, and I saw relief wash over the unmasked part of his face. He then shared the story of an unforgettable, terrible call in which a tree limb fell forty feet and struck a man doing utility work. When everyone screamed, “Run!” his attempts to reach safety failed. He died.
Trauma is challenging in the way that it plays relentlessly like a video reel in one’s mind. I’ve heard the “CRACK!” and watched my daughter’s accident scene unfold five hundred times. I’ve watched it as though from a drone, looking down upon the terror and chaos. However, I do not allow myself to enter into the darkness in which we instantly had a different outcome, one in which Evelyn’s lifeless heap in the yard remained forever lifeless. There is no point in such terrible imaginings. However, today, the fireman’s story hit me in the heart.
He left the store. I grabbed a shopping basket. I made it through the produce section, then stood numb and motionless, staring at every variety of bread, thoughts galloping, eyes brimming with tears, and I had to will myself not to break down in shaking sobs. My mind was back in “the yard,” only I heard the fireman’s words about the man, “He didn’t survive,” and I imagined my despair had that been our reality for my little girl. I’m crying as I write this. I tried my best to snap myself out of it and squelch the intrusive thoughts, yet aisle after aisle as my mama heart felt relief and gratitude for survival and full healing, I still struggled to get my head to exit the backyard. Luckily, such episodes rarely occur. I wondered with embarrassment if people would find it odd that my COVID mask was wet at the top, where my tears soaked the material. I felt a strong urge to make haste to return home to hug Evelyn and my other children, and that’s what I soon did. She was a sight to behold! I bee-lined to the patio, wrapped her in my arms, squeezed tightly, breathed deeply, and uttered my love.
Life is a gift. Each day is a blessing. We have no guarantees about the next minute. We must aim to live with gratitude and cherish the relationships that bless our lives.
Have faith. Hope on! God is good.