“The
babysitter’s coming tomorrow.” I say as we shuffle back and forth in the bathroom getting ready for bed. “I have to
see my Psychiatrist,” I add, drawing out the word in a way that makes it sound
fancy.
Even now,
seven months after hospitalization, I’m still uncomfortable with the idea of
being one of those people.
“When was
your last appointment?” my husband asks from his seat on the radiator, speaking
over and around the toothbrush in his mouth.
“Um, I’m not
sure. Maybe February?”
At the sink,
I pull my toothbrush from the cup and squeeze out a daub of toothpaste. “It’s kinda silly, I still have prescriptions
I haven’t filled because I’m not going through them as quickly as I could.” In fact I’d been tempted to cancel the
appointment this week – it felt inconvenient, coming on my kids’ first day of
spring break and unnecessary as I really didn’t need any refills.
After
a pause, I add, “I think it’s important, though, to help me remember.” Then, in case he doesn’t know what I mean, I
continue, “I was in the hospital, ya
know? It was a big deal. It is
a big deal. I don’t want to forget how
hard it was, how close we were to the edge.”
The edge of
what, I do not say, but I feel it. The
edge of darkness, the edge of all-consuming fear.
“Do you feel
like you forget?” he asked.
“Yes, I do.”
I forget
because I don’t want to remember. I
forget because no one wants to talk about it, hardly anyone asks. I forget
because I’m afraid – afraid that it happened in the first place, afraid it
could happen again.
The pill
bottles help me to remember. Pulling the
two red bottles from the cabinet, putting in the extra time to cut pills down to
size for the days and weeks ahead, feels like a welcome humility.
I continue
to see a counselor, perhaps more often than she thinks I need. Those
hours set aside on the calendar remind me to look at myself, to come up for air
and do a systems’ check.
And the
appointments with the psychiatrist who listens briefly before handing out her
scripts, they help too. Driving up to
the building, I enter the same door I excited that bright August day. Every time I face that place, I face the
past; I face a part of myself that paid a price for being neglected for far too
long and I remember.
I don’t want to
forget again.
It may seem
counter-intuitive or self-punishing in some strange way, but in the Christian
tradition we acknowledge remembrance as a necessary part of the journey toward
healing, toward resurrection. This is what we do in Lent and
Holy Week. We re-walk the steps, re-read
the texts, take, break and eat the wine and the bread. We re-enact the suffering and saving so that
we will remember.
We don’t want to
forget.
We tell the story of our own
bondage and salvation; we return to the tomb if only to remember how
cold and deep the darkness was before we saw the first piercing shaft of
light.
May your
remembering be blessed. May you find the
courage to not forget.
This is holiness, right here, Kelly. Sacred space. An important re-tracing of steps on your journey. And I don't even have words for all the ways this strikes a deep, resonant chord in me. But in some small, small way, I'm remembering with you, the recounting of your steps last August. I have not forgotten. And I've appreciated the ways you have had the courage to tell it, to remember it, to give us permission to do the same with the dark edges of our own journeys. Thank you, friend.
stunning, Kelly. And important. Thank you for remembering and for helping us to do so. Happy Easter, dear friend.
I always know something is up when someone asks how I'm doing and I say, "I don't know."
Yes. I am finding that the road to healing must be marked with those stones. Praying for you are you remember, Kelly. xoxo
Thank you for being so open and vulnerable here, Kelly! Wishing you peace this week.
Stirring and sacred. We do need to remember so we don't go back. We revisit our desert of wandering, need to place ourselves in the upper room, need to feel the darkness of Good Friday – so we can fully appreciate the celebration of Easter and never forget why it's important.
Thanks so much, everyone for reading and commenting and joining our journeys together.