I spent the majority of last week in a state of constant panic. No matter what I did, I couldn’t shake the anxiety in my body and my mind. Friday ended up being a mad dash from beginning to end, as I ran through the airports in Nashville and Denver, only to arrive in western Colorado with no luggage. My coworkers had big plans for entire weekend, so by the time I unlocked my tiny cabin last night, I felt utterly and completely exhausted.

But, as soon as I closed my eyes, my brain kicked into panic mode again. I looked at the clock, and sure enough, it was shortly before midnight, meaning it was between midnight and 1:00 am back home. I knew what my body was doing, because it’s done it almost every single month since October. It was “keeping the score.”

This is Your Brain on Trauma

If you know anything about my past, then you know I’m no stranger to trauma. I’ve shared stories about how sirens used to send me into a panic and the way Emily was always able to comfort me when I would experience a trauma response. I spent the majority of 2020 processing all of the demons from my past with my therapist, and during that time I learned a lot about the way my brain had learned to cope with trauma over the course of my lifetime.

However, I never thought that all of those trauma responses and maladaptive coping skills would come flooding back so quickly.

But, that’s your brain on trauma.

I think there is trauma attached to the death of any loved one. However, there’s a difference between losing a grandmother after her five-year battle with cancer and watching your soulmate completely crash with your own two eyes.

Our brains are wired to protect us. When they can’t, or when they fail at doing so, they will store those painful memories with the hope that, the next time a similar event occurs, you will be better prepared. This is why many trauma survivors blame themselves, because it’s the brain’s way of trying to reclaim control in a situation that, most of the time, leaves you feeling powerless.

Dreams and Nightmares, It’s All The Same

Another thing our brains try to do after we experience trauma is rationalize the situation and process it. Unfortunately, most people’s brains do a lot of processing and memory storage at night, which means that these attempts to “make sense” of an otherwise nonsensical situation (like Emily’s death) can spill over into that person’s dreams.

Personally, I’ve experienced a combination of dreams and nightmares since October. Some nights, like Sunday, I can completely replay every moment of those final hours when I close my eyes. That final moment we shared haunts me because I couldn’t save her. And, instead of holding her hand and comforting her, I turned to get the doctor’s attention, hoping that if I told them she said she was about to have another “episode,” they could determine what was causing them and keep her alive.

Other nights, I enjoy these magnificent dreams where Emily is still alive. We’ve gone wedding dress shopping, skipped through massive airports, and sat on the beach (but not the Grey’s Anatomy beach). Sometimes, I swear I can hear her, touch her, smell her. And then, something happens and I wake up to discover that it wasn’t real.

Honestly, I’m not sure which is worse: watching her die over and over again inside my mind, or waking up to the realization that there’s no rewinding the tape here — she’s gone for good.

At Least The Dreams Are Better Than Reality

As I sat at a table with my boss’s husband (he’s a widower) Friday evening, we talked about Emily for a while. He said several profound things during our chat, but one of them was this: the finality of death is almost too much for our brains to comprehend. And, honestly? He’s right.

I think the hardest part of all of this for me is the fact that I wake up every morning and have to remind myself that she’s never coming back. She’s not at work, she’s not visiting her parents for the weekend without me, she’s not out somewhere helping a friend. She’s dead. Emily is dead, and she has been for eight months now.

But, no matter where I am, and no matter what kind of day I’m having, there’s one place I can find her from time to time, and that’s in my dreams.

And, here’s the thing: it doesn’t matter if I’m back there in the ICU, standing in the corning silently screaming while I hear them say they can’t feel a femoral pulse and watch them start CPR or if I’m tickling her in bed, because any dream with Emily means that, for however long it lasts, I get to experience her again. I just hope that I’ve done something good enough so that someday I can close my eyes, take one last breath, and be reunited with her for good.