KBTV

KBTV::Speaking of Trauma

I just got home from a busy but wonderful night. I ran out the door for my for my usual pick-up at the halfway house. Then I dropped the girls at St. Gregory’s, as per usual. Then I had to hustle down to The Trauma Clinic – a private facility associated with Lifeskills of Boca Raton, where I completed my year of trauma therapy.

Dr. Huttman, my former trauma therapist, asked me to speak to a night group of about 30 people. Speaking basically means just telling them my story, my experience, strength and hope and how I give back today, etc.

I spoke for about 45 minutes – and the time just flew. I don’t know how to explain it. I just was in some kind of a groove and whoa! Wow! The response was incredible. I must have had a some kind of an impact, as the Q & A went on until 10 p.m. (I started speaking around 7:30 p.m.)

When I walked in to the house just now, I caught my own image in the mirror. I stepped forward to take a closer look and saw all these black smudges on the right shoulder of my blouse. I now recognize that it was mascara that had run off the eyes of a woman who hugged me at the end of my talk. Her husband and two sons were killed last year down here in a boating accident. She came to the TC because, as she says, she’s got all the money in the world but before tonight had nothing to live for.

Another 19-year-old kid was there because he was told he had a terminal illness, was given two months to live and was then told they had made a mistake. He’s fine. He had had a rare bacterial infection. He’s going to live for as long as he was supposed to, but he just can’t quite get his life back on track.

It must be the language of the heart, which makes it so difficult to communicate now with writing. But there is that moment – I can’t really explain it – when I’m standing and speaking and staring out at an audience of dull, grey, sad, sagging eyes, and I say something. It doesn’t even have to be about my experience in downtown Manhattan on 9/11. It can be anything. It doesn’t really matter what part of my story it is. But immediately I see a light bulb go on, and the person makes eye contact. I see the brightness, the shine and the sparkle light up their eyes. I know what the light is – it’s hope.

I saw that tonight. And it made me feel that familiar grip in my chest like my heart protecting itself. It made me cry because of my own hope, but also because I know I touched that person tonight, and I might have actually helped save their life – like someone had touched me and helped save mine.

posted by rjoyner @ 11:35 PM