“It's so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone.”

I haven't posted in a while, I can only describe it as being lost inside my own head. Apologies to anyone along for the ride, this is going to be a bumpy one.

I attend weekly sessions at the MUSC Trauma Center. The focus of the program is research and treatment for those suffering from PTSD. I dread going and usually leave exhausted from confronting the memories I want nothing more than to forget. What choice do I have?

When most of us think of PTSD, we think military, soldiers returning home, traumatized by what they've seen. The truth is PTSD can affect anyone and for any reason. The brain does not qualify, it only tries to protect. It’s a nifty trick unless you're the one navigating the aftermath.

Grieving the loss of a child would be traumatic under any circumstance. Grieving while suffering from PTSD is impossible to describe. Do I explain that it’s a physical response, that I have crumpled to my knees and vomited after seeing a photograph of my son? How do I tell of the pain and the guilt I feel from being around my other children, that they have become a constant reminder of what I have lost? Do I apologize for telling the same story again and again, confess there are things I no longer remember? Do I tell you the conversations we shared are gone, erased from my memory because something that day was a trigger? The brain tries to protect but in the process it eliminates hours, days, even months. I have become a vault of selective memories. Memories I so desperately wish to keep are forever lost, while the ones I pray to forget remain.

In therapy, I am asked how often I think about the accident and if I try to avoid doing so. How could I not think about it, I wonder? It has come to define my life. The irony, of course, is I wish I could avoid thinking about it. Instead, I see it over and over, a silent film loop, every detail seared into my brain. Lights! Camera! Action! My mind a director of the macabre. Sometimes I hate my brain, forever witnessing an event I did not actually see.

I was not there when my son crashed his motorcycle, but I do remember where I was. I was opening the gallery like I did five days a week, unaware my life was about to change forever. The principal called to say there had been an accident and my son was involved. I remember asking if he was ok, this moment forever etched in my mind. There was a infinitesimal pause. She hesitated because she knew the truth but couldn’t tell us. We didn’t know at the time but the accident was under the jurisdiction of the police, legally they were required to tell us. Standard procedure with a fatality. Silence speaks louder than words. That moment when the principal hesitated, I knew but couldn’t have believed what was true.

There was so much we didn't know and wouldn't have imagined. We didn’t know the accident was witnessed by so many students, including his friends, that even his sister knew before we did. She had received a text message. When we finally arrived at the school to get her, the trauma task force was already in place and she was sequestered. While trying to find out details, thinking we might need to go to the hospital, we received a call from a parent offering prayers for the family of the student killed in the accident, we just didn’t know the prayers were for us. The news had spread so rapidly that even the faculty of the elementary school our youngest attended knew before we did. Their principal met us at the house. Telling my son that his brother wasn't coming home was the most painful thing I have ever done and would have given my life to not have done so.

I'm not alone in this aftermath, my support group is far-reaching. I have an amazing group of friends, particularly my college girlfriends. We’ve known each other long enough, have been through enough shit together that we support without hesitation. In the early weeks and months, when I was afraid to sleep, my girlfriends would take turns staying up with me. The moment I closed my eyes and the loop started to play, one of them would magically text or call. I can’t begin to imagine the conversations behind the scenes, how they managed to rally the troops. What I do know is I would not be here without them. They have weathered my outbursts, calmed my anguish when I've wondered if he had been in pain, helped to stop that loop. To these friends, I owe my life and for this, I am forever grateful.

I came across a quote recently, "I have learned that friendship isn't about who you've known the longest, it's about who came and never left your side".

To all of these friends, the ones who came new, old and in between, I thank you. Thank you for helping me find my way out of my own head.