WHAM. BAM. Reliving. Over and over and over.

One of the things that comes with putting yourself out in the world is that you are tested. If you've gone through a traumatic experience the tests become really hard. Beyond anything you've ever experienced before. Early on as a grieving widow, you are raw. Every nerve ending is open non-stop. You're offended by everything and nothing. You're sensitive to things you've never been sensitive about before. Everything revolves around your loss and what's happened. Then you start healing. You feel a bit more normal. You feel like you are recovering and turning corners, making progress, learning to live with it. There are days you actually feel happy and hopeful. Then, WHAM. BAM. Something happens and you feel like you haven't made any progress. That you haven't really recovered at all. That you will never live a normal, happy life again.

There is one trigger for me that can still send me reeling. It always involves being part of a social situation that I can't control. Do you have any idea how often people in general talk about accidents? Or, throw around the phrase "like a deer in the headlights"? For the most part, I've learned how to deal with these conversations. I don't acknowledge or participate in the conversation. Or I try to change the subject. But the reality is I am always jolted out of being in the moment and back to July 1st, 2004 with these topics and comments.

Then there is the mother of all topics. Accidents or near-accidents involving deer. Believe it or not, it's a pretty common topic. Maybe animals are a common, socially acceptable topic. I mean, it's amazing how simple, ordinary conversation can roll around to some story about some accident. Or some movie scene that involved an accident. Or, some replay of seeing a deer near the road the other day. Maybe the cosmic forces come together to torture just me. When these conversations take place, or conversations about accidents get into the nitty gritty, my entire being is screaming at me to RUN. GET UP NOW AND GET THE H*LL OUT OF HERE. But I don't. Social ettiquete usually has me glued in place. Or, I wait for an appopriate moment to excuse myself. I mean it's not anyone's fault. But in one fell swoop I am another person. I am the Heidi from 2004. I am the Heidi who wants to throw up. I am the Heidi who is reliving the most traumatic event of her life. In order to preserve myself, I go inside. I stop talking. I don't make eye contact. I try not to listen (but of course I can't put my fingers in my ears and go, la, la, la, I can't hear you...). I shut down. I am toast. I am done. When these conversations happen, my entire mood changes and I know it will be changed for at least a few days. Whatever social activity I've been participating in is ruined. I just want to go home where I feel safe and can recover.

These incidents force me to remember. It turns on the running video tape. The tap to all the feelings is on wide open. They force me to relive and then try to recover. Again. On top of remembering and visualizing the details from the accident and hearing the news, I am also forced to remember I am not normal. My life is not normal. I am not one of these people. I feel like I have this secret internal life that I can't talk about in situations like this. My husband died. In a pretty ugly way. And, yes. It's still shocking even to me. Somehow I must learn how to handle these situations differently. Maybe I must learn to take care of myself and my needs instead of worrying about ruining everyone else's lunch or dinner or fun time. Maybe I just need to remove myself from the situation regardless of how tacky or disrespectful it may seem.

In moments like this it seems like my life is a never ending cycle. Relive, endure, recover. Relive, endure, recover.