The Videotape

It’s June. For most that means the start of summer. Warm temperatures that finally let you be outside after a long winter (especially for those of us that live in Colorado). For me, it is the anniversary of one of the very worst experiences of my life, one that will haunt me forever. I try to get into the hope and renewal that comes from early summer, but in the midst of it, the videotape in my mind starts up again, set to repeat, walking me through that night. The night. The night that I had to sit helplessly by in an emergency room, watching my son slip slowly and surely away from me. It hits me without warning. Parts of it that I don’t want to remember. I can’t help it. It’s just there, throwing me through a loop and rattling my senses. I know from other parents that have done this longer than me that the video will eventually play itself out as years pass, but it takes a while. I am four years in, and it still goes. Without warning, my heart, mind and body know what time of year it is, and it starts back up again. I don’t have to look at a calendar. Somehow, inherently I know. I am raw, short-tempered, and anxious. I have to work harder to take care of myself and use the tools that I have learned over the years. I am fighting to stay on top of what I need to get through. I just miss him. Terribly. I wish my life were different. I wish I didn’t have to experience these flashbacks at random times constantly. Trying to hang on and just get through this month.