Trips, Trees, and Triggers

 I think growing up Baptist has me inclined to use alliteration every time I get an opportunity to write. Patrick and I would always joke about this because he did the same! But in this blog post, I will share some insight into our lives in each of these three categories: Trips, Trees & Triggers

Trips

I may be overshooting it, but it seems like Patrick, and I spent 70% of our time together in the car. Whether we were carpooling as we did for many years taking him to back and forth to work or hitting the road for a family trip-some of our best memories and conversations were in the car.  One of the most infamous was our first trip as "boyfriend and girlfriend" to Atlanta.  His oldest brother and his family invited me to their home for the holiday while we were in college, and I was happy to meet the big bro whom I had heard so many stories about and Patrick's niece and nephews whom he bragged about all the time.  He later told me that on the drive to Atlanta, he knew that I was the one because he didn't have to turn on the radio once, we talked the entire ride. 

In this season of loss, we have taken two trips. The first one was for Father's Day and even booking it, I was consumed with anxiety. One thing that many people don't tell you about this type of trauma, is that it affects your ability to commit...to press "go" on anything. When we got there, I knew he would have been proud at the place I chose. The fact that it was nice, safe, clean and close to the beach worked out well. But Patrick, was Patrick. So, although we had a good time, the gaping hole seemed to swallow us up.  We spent many quiet moments enjoying all of the things that we had enjoyed together when our family was whole. On the second trip, also about an hour away as I cannot do long road trips, things went well also but the meltdown was on the horizon. We were celebrating the first boy birthday of the year, and I found myself thinking, "Why are we even here? Where is Patrick? What are people thinking when they see me with these million kids, solo?" As the kids enjoyed the water park, I sobbed nearby. I just couldn't believe that my other half, the helicopter dad wasn't with us. 

One of the first things that I thought while driving after our loss was, "How is it that none of these roads, none of these streets will lead me to Patrick?"

Trees

Patrick loved, LOVED mature trees. There would never be a time when we would drive by large, beautiful trees without commenting, "Gosh look at these trees. I just love 'em." I was never really into trees growing up, but I learned to have an appreciation for them when he started to point out their beauty.  A few years ago, I remember going back to our place, the place where we first met: Tallahassee.  What I thought was a familiar corner, no longer seemed recognizable.  I had to check the street signs to confirm that yes, it was Tennessee and White Drive. It was the "we're almost home" intersection. But something about it looked different. What I noticed was that, when we were there over 15 years ago, the trees were tiny little struggly shrubs. On our trip back, more than a decade later, the trees had overtaken the corner. They had come into their own.  For years I've tried to unpack the meaning of that, but even still I cannot.  

One of the first things that I thought after our loss as I pulled up to our home was, "How are these trees still living and moving, and Patrick is not?"

Triggers

In the last eight months, the kids and I have experienced more sickness that we had in the previous decade as a whole! It has been unrelenting, and also very triggering.  It started with Max having to have oral surgery. Up until this, Patrick had been the only person in our family to have to be put under. Then a little later, Elijah and I ended up in urgent care with sinus infections.  However, his heart rate and oxygenation levels were concerning so they repeatedly asked if he had asthma (does not) and sent him home with an albuterol pump. So I spent 12 hours barely sleeping while monitoring his heart rate and oxygenation levels...the same two numbers that I was complete fixated on during Patrick's time in the ICU before his passing.  

Then most recently, as we were in the nursery at church and I noticed Amira seeming to struggle to catch her breath. She had a runny nose a few days before, but nothing major. After battling with myself for about an hour, I reached out to an excellent friend and asked her to help with a breathing treatment. I had called my pediatrician and had enough experience to know that this was the normal go to with the rest of her symptoms. After we gave her the treatment, it didn't improve so nervously I took her to Urgent Care.  The doctor came in, tested her for everything with no positive results. But she was definitely wheezing.  I watched as my two-year-old, held it together until the medical staff left the room, then she said quietly, "Mommy, I want to go to the car." She cooperated with everything they asked her to do, she was even cordial and said, "thank you" and "bye." But even my baby knew that something was off. She didn't' feel good or safe in that space. She sensed something.  Thankfully we were sent home with treatment, and she improved overnight.

In each of these cases I thought, "What if they send me to the hospital? What if I missed something? What if I don't bring them home?" Those thoughts rattled me as I tried to decide whether I was being paranoid or potentially negligent.  I can say that looking back on it, I'm thankful for God's peace.  I handled it like a boss, although I felt like anything but. It was all too reminiscent, even making the call to my friend (who had come over to watch the kids every single day that Pat was in the ICU) to come over to watch them while Max was being put under. I paced and cried in the waiting room while he was having the short procedure done.  When they called me back and said, "we're just waiting on him to wake up", my heart dropped. I sat next to the little cot and waited for him to wake up. As soon as he came to, he motioned for his iPad. I gave it to him, and he typed "Thank you for taking care of me Mommy." 

When we pulled into the driveway following Max's procedure, I walked up to my friend and said, " I brought him home." Without either of us realizing it in that moment, I think we both knew what I was saying.