Friday, March 25, 2011

I keep thinking in a moment that time will take them away

Sometimes something completely unrelated to your life will just punch you in the stomach, knocking all the wind out of you, and bringing old bruises to the surface.

(Um, and if you couldn't tell by that first line, lemme tell you now: if you're looking for sparkly kittens and sunshine, click yourself elsewhere. Or look at yesterday's post - shoes!)

So here's what the disappearance of Emily Hershenson - who I do not even know - did to me.

It dredged up all those feelings of my dad disappearing on us.

And I know she was found, and I presume she's OK. And her story is completely different from mine.

But triggers are triggers, and here's how this one went.

If you've ever been in the position of having someone you love walk out the door, without indicating that they will never come back, and then had them not return, or anyway, not of their own volition, and ultimately, not ever, you know what I mean.

I don't expect you to know what I mean. I don't even expect you to know what to say. Most people don't. And it's OK.

I'm pretty sure that even with immense amounts of therapy, that flame of panic lives somewhere deep inside you forever. And it only takes a small, familiar spark to set it alight.

I suppose these are the splinters and shards. I forget about them until I'm reminded with a sharp jab to an internal organ.

When Emily's friend emailed and asked for help spreading the word about her disappearance, I just couldn't stop thinking about her. And every time I thought about her and her husband, and her baby - the same age as my Jordan! - I would start to cry.

I can still feel the desperation of supplication, of begging God, of the ridiculousness of bartering with a higher power. I will do anything. Just please, please let this person I love be OK.

I know the feeling of calling the police - more than once, and apologizing for calling repeatedly, and yes, of course, you know they'll call you as soon as they hear anything, but you were just hoping...

I know the drill of calling the credit card companies, the cell phone company, looking desperately for clues on location.

Of calling the hospitals, one after another after another...

Of driving around because you can't bear to just sit around not feeling like you're being proactive...

Of calling and calling and wondering where else you could call, and finally, with a tremendous pit in your stomach, wondering if it's time to look up the number for the morgue.


  1. *hugs*

    I wish I could help.


  2. You do, lovey. You always do.

  3. Oof. Definitely a gut punch. Triggers are like fucking terrorists, as far as I'm concerned. They're stealthy and deadly and can take you to hell in an instant.

  4. I'm so sorry that you are reliving that pain.

  5. I cannot even imagine the horror of those feelings. Every time I hear stories about people (particularly children, God forbid) disappearing, I think about how I would react and I honestly think I would go insane.

    I'm so sorry it's opened up old wounds. xoxo

  6. When you posted about her the other day, I wondered what wounds that opened for you.
    I'm so sorry that you have to worry about those triggers.

  7. I want so badly to lessen your pain and bury this trigger for you. Hugs Lisa

  8. I'm so sorry. I can't relate, fortunately, but I know it must be horrible. Sending virtual ((hugs)) your way.

  9. It must have been a harrowing experience - one I can't truly imagine and one you can't forget. Your empathetic reaction to a story like Emily's is understandable. To be honest, I didn't even think until I read this post about what her husband might be going through now, even after she was (thankfully) found. Hugs to you, and to her and her family too.

  10. I have been going though something similar, but by far not as gut wrenching. But I am estranged from my daughter as you know. still. The triggers are endless. Music, dreams, words, signs, people, weddings... The tears and pain come when you least expect it. I wonder, when someone loses a loved one, how do you live? How can you even breath? I guess you just put one foot in front of the other, but some days it's just all so hard. I love you for sharing your life with us Lisa. Your joys and your sorrows. For showing us how you put one foot in front of the other. Even on teh really shitty days. I know I'm not alone, as lonely as it feels. Hugs to you, I'll always be thinking of you and thankful for this blog.

  11. Reliving those memories, especially when they are so raw and still being made sense of, must be really scary. I hope that you can find peace within the panic, and begin to heal - even if it's only by pulling one splinter or shard out a day.
    Take care!

  12. *hugs*

    Somewhere along the way I read the following:

    Some wounds never heal, they just stop bleeding.

    ...and it really struck home. It's not a particularly pleasant thought, but given my past, it struck me as the truth.


  13. And more hugs, Lisa. We grieve with you.

  14. I really can't even begin to imagine how hard this must be for you. How it sneaks up at snatches at you just when you think everything is okay. I'm so sorry my friend, I'm so sorry.

  15. I cannot say how much I wish I had the words to take away your pain. I definitely owe you a drink (and an in-person hug).

  16. I didn't even think about this during our email exchange the other day. I'm so sorry. I hope you are enjoying a beautiful day with your boys.

  17. i'm really sorry. i can only imagine how something like this must hurt... dredging up some old memories. i'm thinking of you.

    and this might be completely random and maybe in no way something you're ready for, but the way you write about your experience with this, i always feel such a sense of compassion and understanding in your writing. i'd imagine you'd make a really wonderful peer counselor or some sort of... hotline answer-er, for people in similar situations. just a thought.

  18. Hopefully like shards of glass in water on a beach the edges will soften and round and become less wounding over time. (hug)

  19. Oh, lady. Big warm hugs to you! Emotional memory? The most vivid, visceral and unbelievably unforgiving at times, in my opin.

    Just keep breathing, LG. Hug your beautiful boys, and breathe...deeply.

  20. I know. I keep getting sucker punched these days, too. On Saturday, I looked at this tall, lanky, beautiful man with grey hair and my heart lurched because he looked just like Jay as I pictured him with a head of grey hair. And then I was off to the races in my head for a good week. I'm sorry.


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