6/26/24

I’m a leaf on a windy day

Pretty soon I’ll be blown away

How long will the wind blow?

How long will the wind blow?

There’s an incredible book by Dr. Bessel van der Kolk called The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma. It’s an exploration of our capacity for carrying and moving beyond trauma.

I highly recommend reading it.

I’ve been thinking about that book today because one of the truly fascinating ways our bodies holds onto trauma is through the recognition of anniversaries of harmful events. You might not even be aware at a conscious level that the anniversary is coming up, but your body knows and reacts accordingly.

This past week, I’ve been in a heightened state almost constantly. There’s a lot going on, and I need a break badly. But it was more than that. More than just tired.

I’m raw. Near tears. Nerves are beyond frayed.

Yesterday I figured out part of that edginess. Far from the whole thing, but definitely part of it. This Friday is the five-year anniversary of my Grandpa’s death.

Grandpa’s dying was an up close and personal experience. Sitting with him, holding his hands during his final days, talking with him during moments of lucidity, holding space in silence when he was still there but not. Watching the physical and mental form of what was, to me, a giant of a man, just cease to be.

This afternoon I heard from a buddy of mine, a really truly great guy. His grandmother passed away. I wish I could give him a hug. I wish he could give me a hug.

The last little while, I’ve had Brian Wilson’s ‘Til I Die playing on a loop in my weary brain. Not because of the death theme, but because of the metaphors he uses in his lyrics.

A cork floating on the ocean, at the mercy of the currents and waves. A rock tumbling down a mountain, uncontrollable as it is surrounded by other rocks and rubble. A leaf caught up in the wind, blowing God knows where.

And in each case, there is so much uncertainty. The depth of the ocean and the valley. The length of the windstorm.

Then there’s that voice of Brian’s. Filled with a lifetime of anguish and abuse, weariness and determination. Powerful.

I don’t know. I feel like I lost the thread here a bit. Maybe. I don’t know.

A cork. A rock. A leaf.

The ocean. The valley. The wind.

Uncertainty.