In the midst of inexplicable cruelty, we are dog paddling in quicksand.
Rather than grieve, rather than pause, we try to rationalize our way out of the quagmire.
Meanwhile, the situation has only escalated and devastated more of us.
Three years ago, Glenn and I fostered a son in hopes of adoption. Unfortunately our relationship with the foster agency unraveled. We were dog paddling in quicksand. We were exhausted and ineffective, yet dogged.
During our son's worst anxiety attacks, he became volatile and violent. We had been instructed to contact the on-call social worker during these "critical incidents." During one such incident, as he started accumulating heavy objects to wield, Glenn made the prescribed call. Glenn was immediately met with a barrage of questions regarding the causes of his anxiety attack. I heard the subdued irritation in Glenn's voice as he indicated that we called to seek insight on how to de-escalate. We were in the midst of trauma and did not have the time nor the emotional wherewithal to evaluate the sequence of events that led us to that moment. We were dog paddling in quicksand and needed a rope, not a map of every misstep.
The next day, once everyone had stilled, rested, and the threat had passed, we paused as a family. I woke our foster son up early, and we surprised Glenn with breakfast from McDonald's. We reflected over bacon, egg, and cheese biscuits. Honestly, Glenn and I did not garner much clarity, but the pause was a necessary reminder that love is more resilient than other emotions.
Navigating trauma is like counting grains of sand... each grain (trigger) seems inconsequential, but with a single misguided step, there you are once more, dog paddling in the morass of misgivings.
I would sacrifice all I have to count those grains of sand again.
Please do not misunderstand the use of my personal narrative. I am not attempting to compare nor can I comprehend the trauma of those recently affected by gun violence and evil. However, as in our experience with our foster son, it is so tempting as an outsider to map indiscretions, yet quicksand is composed of millions of infinitesimal rock fragments... and we are all subject to our collective faults.
There are others drowning in the refuse, while we debate the politics of their pain. Our intentions are pure-- to prevent further trauma, but perhaps the answer is within our repose.
It is a time to throw in our ropes. It is a time to grieve. It is a time to pause... to feel the wounds and to allow compassion to overwhelm agenda.
