It's coming. I can feel it in my bones. I relive it in my nightmares. The seventh anniversary of the fire is next week. Seven years since I was trapped on the second floor of that burning building. Seven years since my life was turned upside down.
Seven.Long.Years.
My body tends to remember before my mind does. It isn't just the nightmares that leave me restless. All of my senses are on high alert. My eyes water when I'm cooking. My ears hear sirens that are miles away, but make my heart race nonetheless. My nose smells smoke and chemicals almost as well as my dog's cute, little snout. The memory of the toxic fumes that almost suffocated me is imprinted in my brain and I cannot shake it no matter how hard I try. Even seven years later it feels like last night. The details are crystal clear. I can recall everything in an instant. I remember the pajamas I was wearing, the very ones I finally threw away last week, because for some weird reason I could not let them go. I know exactly what I was thinking when I first saw my patio engulfed in flames. I remember my panicked phone call to 911 and the operator telling me I would have to make a run for it. I know what purse I grabbed and I remember deliberately putting my passport, ID, checkbook, and contacts inside before I attempted to escape. I remember a plethora of useless details that do not really matter because they are enmeshed with all of the the fear and emotions of that night. Memory is like that.
When I talk about what happened, it affects me on a deep level and leaves me a bit "off" as I struggle to shift out of the past and back to the present day. Although I cope better now than I did immediately after the fire, or even a few years ago, it still affects me.
I wish I could say that this was the worst thing that ever happened to me. It wasn't. Not even close. Although, in a way only God can orchestrate, it became the catalyst that finally allowed me to see the light in the darkness of my often traumatic childhood. A beautiful display of God exchanging beauty for ashes and giving me a tangible example of his presence in my life. Turning something meant to harm me into something that literally saved me.
I wish I could say that this was the worst thing that ever happened to me. It wasn't. Not even close. Although, in a way only God can orchestrate, it became the catalyst that finally allowed me to see the light in the darkness of my often traumatic childhood. A beautiful display of God exchanging beauty for ashes and giving me a tangible example of his presence in my life. Turning something meant to harm me into something that literally saved me.
In the darkness of the fire, trapped in that stairwell, when I could not see my own burned hand right in front of me, and could not figure out where I was because my brain was scrambled from the toxins; in that moment, when I could not escape the blackness and I desperately needed to be rescued, I was. It mirrored my desperate need for rescue as a child, which never came in the way I wanted. It came in less dramatic ways, ways that I can only identify now as an older, sometimes wiser woman, who, thanks to a foolish neighbor, inadvertently traveled back to the darkness before seeing the light that had been with me my entire life.
It was a powerful moment when I was snatched out of the fire, suffocating and crying out for rescue. My deep, lifelong need to know where God was in the darkness of my past was met when He, the light of the world, became the only thing I could "see" in the moment before I began to black out, certain I was about to meet him face to face. When I was falling, giving in to the inevitable, with my beloved Yorkie in my arms, the firemen literally caught me. And instantly I knew that He was the one who gave me comfort when evil was running rampant in my fragile, young life. He was the one who was present when evil was crushing my soul, assaulting my little body in unimaginable ways. He was the one who saw me frightened and scared, soothed me, and little by little brought me into a deep relationship with him, even as I was unable to fight my abusers. Seeing him in the fire finally helped me see him in my childhood. Only He knows why rescue did not come when I was three, or five, or eight, or twelve, or older. But it does bring me peace to know that he walked with me through the darkness of my childhood, even if rescue was not part of the plan; however, I am extremely grateful that rescue WAS part of His plan seven years ago.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Last year I wrote this post Walking Away from A Miracle: Forgetting to Remember about how easy it is to forget the good stuff. I wonder about that a lot. Why is the negative so much more impactful than the positive? Research about memory shows that negative and positive experiences are processed in different parts of the brain. Negative experiences are inextricably connected to our emotions, and emotions are easier to recall. Even when we have emotions tied to positive experiences, a lot of the details are fuzzier than negative experiences because of how they are processed in our noggins. Maybe that is why God tells us to write down what he has done for us. He knows our tendency to forget the good, and we are going to need those memories, or at least a way to be reminded of them if we are to survive the darkness of this world. Because remembering is painful, but remembering is necessary. And remembering with fresh eyes and faith brings healing.
As I think about trauma and remember the painful things, I am trying to consistently write down the positive experiences so I can balance my memory with all the GOOD, instead of dwelling on the bad. Now I'm going to excuse myself and go write some happy thoughts so I can refer to them during the next crisis. Peace to you on your journey.
