Too Many Sirens

The flashbacks bring back the horror of what I saw, but they also bring back that out of control, helpless feeling.  There is no worse feeling than being unable to help your child, except maybe the realization that the people who know how to help her aren't helping her, either.  She laid there, facedown, twisted and slumped while they walked around.  It seemed like an hour went by before they finally turned her over, two of them working together at the task, so slowly, so carefully, maybe even reverently, revealing her face an inch at a time, and when I saw her lips were blue, my mind just failed.  That moment.  I've been living it all weekend.

"Paddles!  Get the paddles!"  I wanted to scream.  I wanted to direct.  I wanted to boss them around. I wanted to get them in motion, for God's sake, someone had to, but I couldn't seem to speak.  I could hear someone screaming and it took the longest time to realize that was me.

 Back then, on the scene, I didn't understand why they weren't doing anything and my confusion slowly, over a period of months, developed into fury.  Now, I know- intellectually, at least- that nothing could be done.  Somehow, the fury remains.

The man told me the six words no mother ever wants to hear, and then I fell down- to my knees, then to my face.   In every movie I've watched, the mother screams up at the sky so you'd think there has to be someone in charge up there who could do something in such a situation, but sadly, no.

Thank goodness for smartphones because fine motor truly does go out the window during trauma and I couldn't dial my mother's number for anything.  Or even remember it.  Someone else took care of that.
My parents were there within minutes and once I saw my horror reflected on my dear mother's face, it began to be true.  I didn't wake up.  No one woke me up.  They still haven't.  Maybe that makes me angry, too. What good is anyone who claims to love you if they can't wake you from a nightmare?

Time marched on.  All the way to three years, five months, and nine days.  Some people say I'm not doing very well, haven't made much progress.  To that, I say, I'm alive.  I don't really want to be.  But I am, and that's way more than I thought I'd be able to accomplish that day after he told me she was gone.  I just wanted to die, too.