Monday, December 17, 2012

Atypical Literal Heartache.

I think back to years ago, when George Harrison played a handful of dates in Japan with Eric Clapton, it was still several years before he developed throat cancer. The above clip is the most appropriate I could find under the recent circumstances.

"Give me hope, help me cope with this heavy load, trying to touch and greet you with heart and soul...OM, my Lord.  Please take my hand, that I might understand you." 

That's right, Lord, help me to understand you and your divine "plan."  God's been allowing innocent children to be slaughtered since as far back as the book of Exodus. 

Many of us are undoubtedly shaken, shocked and horrified from the unfathomable CT mass murders. I spent the day following the coverage online, had to run an errand after I dropped Luke off at school, where I joke that he's lucky I stop the car at all and throw him out because he dilly-dallies way to much, and is always 2 steps late. He called and texted me though, so at least the lines of communication are still open.  I felt so bad Thursday night for being relieved that I had the weekend off. I just wanted to hold my son and tell him how much he is cherished and wonderful to me, but as it turned out, I didn't end up seeing him until Sunday at church. 

My son tends to internalize his grief and fright, and snips off at his dad and other grandma about just about everything. He's not like that with me. Our arguments and disagreements are infrequent. Everyone says he's "wise beyond his years," but that's only because his childhood innocence was stripped away from him at an early age  (at age 7). People say he's my personality wrapped up in a Craig-like body.  Still in all, I was sitting at my desk last night thinking of Wednesday night, when he spontaneously came up,wrapped his arms across me from behind me, and just sort of whispered, "I love you."  Then  I closed my door and started getting choked up.

Luke gave me this Christmas card he'd made for me on Thursday. I keep focusing on the "I love you Mom." 

Saturday was miserable. I think I had an all-day-and-night anxiety attack that my medication didn't help. Chest pain is atypical for me in an anxiety attack, but I felt like I'd been hit in the chest with a baseball at fast speed, a heavy ache in my sternum. It didn't respond to baby aspirin, Tylenol or anxiety drugs. I texted Guy Friend, who encouraged me to stay away from the news yesterday and to not come to the ER. I told him the only way I'd end up at the ER was dead-on-arrival. I texted him again later Saturday night to tell him that the pain hadn't let up, but didn't hear back. I guess I could've died in the meantime, & he'd be none the wiser, but jeepers, Guy. You were on call! Text me a virtual hug, at the very least!

Friday night, I'd been plagued with murderous dreams of Chris, my asshole rapist ex-boyfriend. I was furiously trying to get Luke to safety when Chris and my freshman year at Knox roommate, Christine, whom I can't stand, were both trying to kill Luke and I. I know it was a PTSD reaction, which could've precipitated the chest pain yesterday, though it's atypical of how my body processes stress. I think my grief over what happened in CT was overwhelming my physical body. 

Saturday was no easier in my unconscious. Dreams of drowning, holding onto Luke, trying to swim to the surface of the water, but we were in old-school "Speed Racer" Japanimation. Racer X was nowhere to be found to rescue us at the last moment. That was freaky. Gasping for air with my child, but we were cartoons.

I mustered enough energy to play at Sunday's carols and readings service at church, led by my band, the adult choir, the high school chancel drama club & the Sunday school children. My band did "Oh Come, Oh Come, Emmanuel" and "Go Tell it on the Mountain." It was hard and heartbreaking to watch the preschoolers and younger kids get up and do their Christmas schtick in light of so many children their age dying. I had to try to focus on what I had to play instead of the heartache, because if I let it get to me worse, the chest pain would come back. It came back anyway and lasted all evening.

It's just so weird, because I've never had anxiety like this before in my life. Actual pain. Nervousness, diarrhea, throwing up, rapid heartbeat, sweating, sure. But never chest pain. I guess when they talk about a broken heart, that's what they're talking about.

On a lighter note, there was one good burn and one bad burn during the church service. The joint was packed to the gills--something like 170 people (which, for us, is a lot), and Luke was sitting in back with Craig's girlfriend, who's only about 4 and 1/2 feet tall & couldn't really see my band, who I don't think she realized was playing. Plus I was sitting down playing the djembe, so even more out of the line of sight. Craig's girlfriend said to Luke, "Wow, the drums sound amazing today! Who's playing them???" and Luke answered, "My mom..." which he said made the girlfriend super grumpy and harumphed. (Bwahahaha.)

The bad burn was when the chairman of the Board of Elders got up to thank everyone who participated in the service for their contributions: the adult choir, the Sunday school children, and the chancel drama club. Pretty much everyone except my band, though we're used to that and call ourselves the "bastard child of the music ministry." Unless you come see us on a Saturday night, evidently at St. Paul, you really hate us. We try not to take it personally. Harumph.

We continue to pray for the families of the victims of this senseless violence.

"Give me love, give me love. Give me Peace on Earth."

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