Unaccustomed

The things that evoke memories are random. Why, at my therapist's office, had I picked up a novel, asked about it because of its cover (of course, there was an image of water on it), and then after taking it home, realize the first short story was about a stay-at-home young mother who had just lost her own mother?

Like the songs that my father loved or that reminded me of him, playing instantly after his death in every supermarket I visited, the memories that flood my mind are more vivid than anything in my lifetime thus far. I know now that when the memories first rushed in, during the first days and weeks after he died, I pushed them away. It was unbearable, even with all the good, feel-good memories. I pushed them away. Now I let myself remember, and cry, which I have not done in weeks. I let myself talk about him, talk about my immense sadness, let my children hug me when I cry out of the blue. This morning, River gave me his magnetic drawing board and said I could draw myself a new Dad. I wish it was that easy to bring my old Dad back.

I am learning to deal with the anxiety attacks that have come since his death. Foreign feelings and physical waves of anxiety and panic that I have never had in any of my 36-years. Like the memories, the attacks come out of the blue. A sudden surge of adrenaline-like power in my chest that overtakes my breathing and calmness. It's like I have been running and became out of breath, only I never actually moved, never even jumped up. I have had a bad attack on and off for the past two days, today will make it three days. My heart will race, skip beats at a time, and it's like I am having a heart attack behind my heart or drowning in my own breath. I don't want to take pills for it. Being mindful of deep breathing helps, but hard to do on my own it seems. Being around people takes my mind off the attacks, distracts me, I guess. Maybe I just need closeness in ways I haven't known before. Damian got worried last night when I told him how bad the attack was Sunday night. I told him I never get them when I'm with him and it's been noticeably true.

I wish coping, wish life, was just easier, right now. For now I will drink my pretend tea and remind myself to breathe.