I’m in nursing school. In just over a year I will have finished a diploma program and will have (almost) earned the title “Practical Nurse.”
It is a … therapeutic process for me. Each new thing I learn, each new skill I learn brings up memories from when he was in the hospital.
And each new instructor I have to have a conversation with them.
“So… my husband died. And this is bringing up a LOT of memories and triggers. And if I step back from what I’m doing or what’s being taught, please understand that it’s a matter of trying to get myself under control or minimizing the emotional battering I’m going through. But I AM learning, I just don’t want to be penalized because I have to do it differently at that moment.”
So yeah. My husband died. And I get to talk about it over and over. And maybe as I talk about it, I’ll desensitize more? I don’t know. It doesn’t seem to be happening, but I still talk about it.
Sometimes I don’t want to though.
Today I didn’t want to, but I did want my instructor to understand that I am going through things and working on them.
Because my husband died. And he wouldn’t want me to live life any other way than out loud and as boldly as I am. So I talk. And I learn. And I try to make the world around me a bit better and a bit brighter.
And I will take the lessons learned from him and his death and build a life that is beautiful and bright. And be there for another who is going through the same thing.
It’s part of why I’m becoming a nurse, yanno?