af·ter·shock | \ -ˌshäk
Definition of aftershock
1: an aftereffect of a distressing or traumatic event.
2: a minor shock following the main shock of an earthquake
Merriam-Webster Dictionary
It is what you feel after a life altering event. It is when you go to work and expect to return home after your shift to resume YOUR life. Then a horrific event occurs on shift, and now your life has been altered forever. You were a witness, no, a participant in an event you had no real control over. You never wanted to see that. You knew it could happen, but you could never truly prepare yourself for it.
You are a little bit dazed. A little bit disoriented. A little bit out of sorts.
Write the report and submit it. Get programs back to normal. Finish the shift and get back to NORMAL life. Set your emotions and thoughts aside; you are going back to YOUR life.
My mind keeps racing back to what occurred. What if I did this or that, or did something else? Would the outcome have been the same? Why do I feel so cold? Why do I have so many questions in my head?
Home at last. My sanctuary. I am quiet. “My day was fine. Can I get a few minutes to relax? I will be out in a minute.” I am tired. The adrenaline crash is hitting me. But I am home. That other world is far away. I AM tired. A nap would be nice. Nope, it’s time for family time.
Dinner time. We all sit down for dinner. I am grateful for my family and all being together. This is why I wake up and go to work every day. The kids are talking about their day at school and their time with friends. I begin to zone out to supervising chow at work. Oh yeah, I try to focus on what my family is talking about. But I am not a great participant in the conversation; I wish I was. “How was everyone’s day?” I ask. I will keep mine to myself.
Bedtime. The time I fear, the time I know I will have to relive my fitful fears over and over in my constantly fitful sleep. I tuck my children in and wish them a good night and kiss their forehead. Goodnight, my love. Daddy loves you. Sleep well and have sweet dreams.
I can’t remember the last time I didn’t wake up in a heavy sweat and trying to forget my nightmares. Sometimes they scare me. The truth is, they always scare me.
It is dark. The twitches, the kicks, the shrugs, the mumblings, the flailing, the sweating, the swearing, the punching, the wandering about the room.
I am asleep. I know not that these things occur, I have no memories of these events. I wake up for another day of work. I am rested, but a little tired. “You look a little tired.”
I wake up for work; time to do it again.
What will I see today?
“My sleep, I try to rest. Your restlessness prevents my sleep. I worry. Are you okay? You’re making weird grunting sounds and grinding your teeth in your sleep. You wake me up. What are you saying? Why? Not again. I want you to rest, but your rest never comes. My love, I want you to rest, I want to rest, yet I worry. What happened to you to cause this restlessness? I want to know. I want to be there for you. What are you not telling me? What is happening to you? I am scared. But, I love you and I care. I am here for you, but I am growing tired with each night.”
How do we find rest?
