As Long As I Remember, He'll Always Be Here

I met with my therapist yesterday.  I still felt numb but over the years I've learned the value of keeping therapy appointments and not canceling them.  I would cancel them because the numbness I was feeling would suddenly burst forth at the thought of sitting in an office, door shut, their eyes on me, waiting for me to say something.

I've faked illness to avoid showing sadness because I couldn't stop crying
I've faked illness to avoid showing fear because at that time I didn't have the tools to bring myself to a safe person or apply the tools to keep myself safe.
I've walked out of therapy sessions when I've felt overwhelmed or my thoughts are racing and I can't get control of them.
I've walked out of therapy sessions when I feel hurt by something she says and instead of talking to her, she just keeps on talking so I tell her I'm leaving.  Then I take a break, cancel all future appointments and remind myself that I am in control of who and how often I see them.

I no longer fake my illness.
I no longer walk out of sessions.
I search inside myself when asked a question.
I talk about my hurts for as long as need to.

I speak up if there's a misunderstanding.
I listen to new ideas and exercises.
I make sure I am kind when in distress.
I bring anything I've worked on, like this blog.

It was hard to talk but I drove to therapy.  I was asked how I was feeling - sad.  Then I talked about the gift I received on Sunday. Sunday I was able to tell the entire story of the last week with Aaron plus all the other details. to my friend.  I hadn't done that in a long, long time if ever. Yesterday, I was having the feelings of sadness and tender.  For myself, my family and Aaron's family.

I remember Aaron in two sets of clothes that week:
Same person, different clothes.
One in a hospital gown, his Spirit and body are here.
One in a hospital gown, his Spirit is gone, his body is here.
One in a long sleeve black shirt, black pants and neon green neck tie.
His Spirit gone but his body is here.
He was cremated.
His Spirit gone, his body now ashes, the two urns at each parents home.

My Aaron.
My tall and strong,
Bright blue eyes,
Running at me for hugs,
Creative ingenuity (exploding plastic pop bottles),
Helper to Tina, Grandma and the Aunties (Amy & Tracy),
Monopoly player with me and his brothers,
Horror movies,
Trying to rebuild a TransAm with Dad,
Going to 4-H with the family,
Loving his mom,
Taking girlfriend Alex to all dances,
Wrestling with oldest brother, Joe
Walking the neighborhood with younger brother, Jonny,
Bouncing on trampoline with youngest brother, Ryan,
Hunting for eggs on Easter 2008 with sisters Hope, Sammi and Alicia.

Still Grieving Aaron

I've wanted to tell her about Aaron since last week but I believed an old lie from another time in my life.  I decided, if she had the time, I would tell her.  Turns out she did.

After listening to me tell her the entire week of Aaron in the hospital six years ago, God prompting me to baptize him, being asked to sit with him by his mom until it was time for him to die, announcing to Aaron's mom and dad that it was time, sitting in the room with his parents, brother and other aunts and uncles when he passed away, the details of the funeral and the days that followed, I shared that I've never cried.

Not when placed my hands on his forehead and heart the first night.
Not when I found out his death was eminent.
Not when I baptized him.
Not when I sat in his room and people asked how he was.
Not when we surrounded him and he died.
Not at the funeral.
Not when I was alone at home.
Not on any of the anniversaries.
I haven't cried.

It was a long story.  Instead of saying something quickly and rushing off, she took my hands in hers and we were eyeball to eyeball.  She said, "Maybe you don't need to grieve so much because you brought him into restoration with God.  God gave you that assignment and the one to sit in his room, watching over him, then getting everyone when his heartbeat started going down.  You were able to hear the Holy Spirit and do what was being asked of you."

I never think of obedience as a reason for God removing pain.

I still might be blocking some grief because I sink into a deep depression a few days before that week begins and days after.  Truth be told, I'm still in it.  Sleeping a lot.  Saw my psych and he made an adjustment.  He was trying to get me to laugh but I wasn't finding anything funny.  I wasn't angry - just not in a funny mood.

This is the t-shirt I made while the Alateens were at the hospital.  Like I said before, I needed to be with my own people.

Thanks for listening.

My Writings and Some Videos of Aaron Michael Hunt

When someone you loved dies, it's hard to move forward with preparations for the final day you will ever see them again.  These are the words I penned for those experiences plus the days and years that followed.


Click to read: The Days After Aaron's Death


Click to read: Aaron's Death by 2015


Click to read: Aaron's Anniversary Years


Aaron Michael Hunt Put To Rest

Being Numb On Aaron's Final Day of Life

If ever there was a day to be teary and sad with no ability to see,
That day would be this day, because six years ago tonight Aaron died and all he left us was an empty shell of his body.

It was a long and quiet day, it did not go like it was supposed,
For Aaron was wheeled down to donate his organs but he did not die...
No, he did not die like he was supposed to.

They brought him back to his room, did not reconnect the ventilator,
His heart beat strong, his blood flowed throughout his body, his brain was dead.
His mom asked me to stay with him and to come get her when it starts.

Hour after
Hour after
Hour after
Hour.
His heart beat for almost twelve more hours and then it started to be like it was supposed to be.

A steady 125 beats.
Then 122.
Then 121.
Then 118.
And down it kept going.  I went and got everyone.

I kept watching it because soon it would happen.
The 90's.
The 80's.
The 70's.
The 60's.
He was prepared through everyone who had spoken to him all five days.

His heart rate kept going down.
The 50's.
The 40's.
The 30's.
The 20's.
The finality of his life was almost here.

I watched until the end.
The 10's.
Then the nurse turned off the volume before it reached 0.
Grace.

Aaron was gone.
His heart stopped, his blood stopped, his brain eased, he wasn't with us anymore.
By God's grace, He's in Heaven.
Everyone was crying, crying loudly.
I did not feel sadness - I felt nothing.
I felt numb.  I talked to my therapist and that didn't surprise her.
I sat there with the others, asking God what I could do.
"Just be silent and don't move until I tell you to."
I wanted to flee.

There's was nothing more to do.
Aaron would never come back to us.
That much I knew was true.
I stayed with his parents until the very end.
I made sure they were able to drive home.
Aaron, no longer alive, his body stayed in that room until it was brought to the funeral home.
I'd have one final good-bye.
All of us would.

The fifth and final day of Aaron's life:  Aaron's Final Day

The Fellowship of Abuse

The Fellowship of Abuse starts with one person - the one who has been abused. The secret of the abuse is hidden where no one can find it - deep inside their spirit where no one is allowed to go.  Only the secret holder knows it's there.  But soon, everyone will see and hear the shadow that lurks inside.  For the abuse has to recover and the only way to recover is to expose the ugliness that looms inside.

The Abused One survives abuse many cannot see.  In the hand of the Abuser, the Abused One is hit and bruised and shoved against walls and sexually bound to the Abuser.  I wouldn't say it if it were not so.  The Abused One is not allowed to cry or express emotions but the rage wells up.  Even then, thoughts of murder take over the Abused One's mind and the days are counted when that can become a reality.

There are so many opinions about how to heal from childhood abuse.  I (Abused One) have learned to use several of them in different lands of recovery.  Some sound a bit odd, some sound like they came from the wizards of old, some originated from the Bible, some are from the ancient ruins and some I've discovered along my journey walking on the side of the road.

What looked like a weed transformed my troubled self into someone who could continue walking no matter how slow the pace or how muddy the path.  The cloak that covered me from danger also kept me warm when the sun hid behind the clouds.  The Elven bread that had no taste at all gave my body nourishment.

And I think well meaning folk forget that sort of thing.  My recovery began early - age 14.  I gave my life to Jesus - age 20.  I attempted suicide and ended up in the hospital several times, I was in three different inpatient and outpatient hospitals, I've had six therapists and three psychiatrists (the last therapist and psychiatrist for over three years).  I self-injure but I don't cut anymore, I'll have 7  years of sobriety in July, I've had two major back surgeries, my highest weight was 247 and now it's 222, I've lost 10 pounds since changing my meds and what I eat.

It's not easy to be or become my friend.  It's not easy to stay my friend.  My mom puts it this way, "It's hard to be Amy's friend because of all she goes through."  Mental Illness is not easy.  What I have is beyond challenging.  I don't talk easily and when I do I usually shake.  I like to live alone with my cats.  I take my direction from God and only consider other things from people I trust.  Even then it's a maybe.  One friend said, "You suffer in silence, don't you?"  Yes I do and I prefer it stay that way.

The people at inpatient are my people.
We understand each other on a deep and personal level that doesn't require many words.
We love Jello.
We participate in Groups.
There's a level of acceptance.

If I were feeling sad and drifted into oncoming traffic and died, they'd understand.  Sometimes, you just get tired of life.  But since I haven't done that or any other wacko ideas, I'd have to say when God said to me, "Amy, it's not time for you to come home yet," I believed Him.

He's my Heavenly Father.
He's the one I trust the most.
He has my whole heart.

He's never been one of my Abusers.

This is Aaron's fourth day:  Day 4 of Aaron's Death