Unavoidable Triggers

What the fuck?

I’m at work.  I shouldn’t have to hear anything that may trigger me.  Nothing.  We talk about our lives somewhat but the workplace… well, we’re supposed to keep private lives out of it.

So I’m sitting here and two co-workers are gabbing at the desks across from mine.  Clearly in my hearing range.  Neither knows my story.  Neither knows what I went through other than my husband was sick, in ICU for 159 days and died.

One co-worker is talking about her husband’s ICU experience.

I’m listening to her.  I can’t help it.  I can’t NOT hear her.  There’s no where for me to go.

She’s talking about how her husband was hooked up to life support.  How he would squeeze her hand.  And how he’d respond when she talked about boobs.

FUCK ME.

Way back when – the story I told everyone was about how when Mark first came out of his coma – he would only respond to me when I asked him if he wants to see my boobs.

I am sitting here, frozen, trying desperately to get some of this emotion out before I fall apart completely.

Can’t breath.  Tears pricking against my eyes.  Mouth shut tightly against the grief that wants to burst forth.   Nose starting to run because I get snotty when I cry.

And all I want to do is un-hear, un-remember, un-feel what I’m feeling right now.

Lunch isn’t for another hour.  I have to hold it together until then.

I have to pull my focus out of the memories and the fog that has enveloped me and try to concentrate on the job at hand.

I wish I could go back to that time.  I wish I could hug him one more time.  I wish I could kiss him one more time. I wish, just for a minute, that I could hold him and hear his voice and see the look on his face when I kiss him senseless…

I wish he could Beam Me Up.

January 2010 036

 

I dreamed about him the other day.  Woke up in a very unstable mood.  I don’t know what the dream was about but I know he was there.  I wish I could remember it more clearly.

 

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