Beautiful Trauma

I was cleaning my car. I was on one side of the car and Graham was on the other. Brady was next to me. A mom bell went off in my head to go check on Graham. I found him face down in the bucket that had very little water and wasn't breathing. He was ten months at the time. The whole episode was kind of like looking through a windshield when it's raining without wipers. I knew there was a lot of commotion. I knew there were people. But the details and faces were indecipherable. Aside from my son who lied in a coma. Him I saw clearly. Tears became a part of who I was. I had serious conversations while I cried. I had lighthearted conversations while I cried. It just who I was. All I could think about was that I had let it happen. My son almost died on my watch. My trauma was sneaky and then violently demanding. It would creep up on me in the middle of the night and startle me from a deep sleep. It jolted me to attention anytime there was an unexpected noise. It was on high alert when driving, always listening for the sound of an ambulance. It made me break into sweats anytime I thought about something disturbing. It kept me from being alone with my boys for a while after. It was daunting. Overwhelming. Intimidating me at every turn. I did not function without it. It blanketed my life. But after months of being encompassed, my trauma delivered an array of beautiful things...my collateral beauty. It brought me to a trauma therapist who has changed my life. It brought me to a company that has forever changed my health and my finances. It brought me to my knees so that I would look at Him instead of me. It brought me closer to my kids, my family, my close friends. It made me a better mom. I won't ever fully understand the impact this event had. But I know that God made my traumatic experience beautiful. I would love to say that it doesn't visit me anymore. But I still have to practice my grounding techniques when I feel overwhelmed or insecure. I still have to breathe deeply and force my body to relax when I hear an ambulance (and try very, very hard not to curse at people who don't get the hell out of the way). I still jump when there is an unexpected sound around my boys. I still hold them tight and am hyper sensitive about where they are and what they're doing. I suppose that part will never go away. But my pain doesn't diminish the beauty.