The diagnosis of PTSD surprised me last Wednesday. I just assumed since I was discharged from therapy 7 years ago, it was dealt with. I did two years of intensive CBT along side couples therapy, after Josh died. My flashbacks are no longer controlling me. I can think about that morning myself, they no longer come up unannounced. I don’t ambulance “chase” anymore, seeing if it was the one that took my son away. I was really happy with where I thought I was at. Something changed. Or something wasn’t resolved well enough. But I’m not sure what, or even if things were fine the last 7 years. I’m really good at compartmentalizing – everything!
Lyam’s death was probably the straw that broke the camels back. I never thought I’d hold another dead baby. 31 weeks gestation, and just absolutely beautiful. His glow, his tiny hands laying perfectly on his chest. His little gown with a simple cross decal. I had to think fast on my feet to capture every memory in a photo that I could possibly capture for my bonus daughter. His dad refused to hold him and it boiled a deep anger inside me. A choice he’ll always have to live with. Her bio mom never came to the hospital. I have these photos on my phone that will always be a constant reminder.
Now I’m sitting here thinking, “How am I suppose to raise these kids, and tackle this insurmountable mental health baggage?” My husband begins his job as a tax preparer in a few weeks and his goal is 50-60 hours a week, probably with only one day off, until May. Then he’ll work part time or off completely for 5-6 months. This is just how it goes. I’ve been so spoiled by him being home 100% for the last 3 months. I try not to take it for granted, but it’s nice.
2022 is just around the corner and the signaling of a new year, leads to a list of “gonna do differently” that never come to pass. I know after 3 months a ton of people fall off the resolution wagon. I’m not immune. But I do want 2022 to be better than the last two years. I’m going to read more, cook more, and spend more time with my kids. Or at least I’m gonna try.
Outnumbered Six to One 