“Sometimes when I say ‘I’m okay’ I want someone to look me in the eyes, hug me tight and say ‘I know you are not.” – Uncontrollably Fond
Yet another “as inspired” segment I’m trying, for life events/stories that don’t really fit into my new moon updates or I don’t desire to convert into a fictional adventure, I’d like to just simply share them. As I said forever ago- “if it means something to you, it is meaningful.” These are events in my life that are meaningful enough to me that I want to share them.
CW: Mentions of death, animals in pain
Returning from grocery shopping the other day, I noticed there was a small black bird pecking at something on the side of the road, likely a piece of trash or scrap of food stuck in the snowy icy mix along the road. As I got closer my heart sank as I saw they were pecking another small black bird like themselves, motionless.
Thankfully, just as I was approaching, both birds suddenly took flight, playfully jousting and darting through the reflection of my rear view mirror.
Everyone was okay.
But this simple moment of no consequence transported me back to a numb memory. It hadn’t been forgotten, it was remembered just as vividly, but there were no emotions attached to it. No pain, no sadness, it was simply an event in my life that occurred.
An event that occurred twenty-five years ago on a rural road in Maine.
My father was driving us home from Biddeford to Sanford along a rural road. We loved this road over the highway, in addition to enjoying the flora and fauna, the many hills also gave my dad a chance to see just how far his car could coast before needing to hit the gas, it was our favorite game. Could we get to the bottom of this hill and up over the next with just our momentum carrying us?
We had traveled this road a hundred times. Despite our rocky relationship at the time, these trips were one of the few times we felt okay with each other. They are some of the best memories of my young life.
On one such trip, we saw a family of ducks crossing the road as we approached the bottom of a hill, my dad slowed down, sacrificing this one round of our game, to ensure they were safe.
Barreling down the other hill towards us however, was an 18-wheeler. There was zero chance they could safely stop in time. There was nothing to be done.
The impact surprisingly didn’t stun me, time had slowed and I accepted and processed what was about to occur before it happened. For by the time some of the ducks were struck, I had already braced for the shock.
But nothing could have prepared me for what I saw looking out the back window.
The mother duck, furiously pecking at her young now lying lifeless in the road, trying to get them back on their feet, to rejoin the family on the other side of the road. Her agony was so raw, the pain so undeniable, even at my young age, her suffering was understood.
Three members of her family, three of her children were gone. A horrible accident that showcased life’s indifferent cruelty. Did she have a mate she was returning to? Did she have friends or other family to lean on? Or did she now have to face this new reality bravely to protect her remaining young?
As we cleared the next hill, a few moments of silence later, my dad asked if I was alright. He asked if I needed to talk about anything, if I could believe we unfortunately just witnessed this tragic accident. I thought deeply before responding.
I wasn’t okay. The world had just given me yet another reminder that life is fleeting. That life doesn’t care if you are a good or a bad person, if you are a policeman or a bird. The world does not care.
I also believed my father didn’t care. He was never good at listening to bad emotions. When I’d tried to express similar struggles they were always misunderstood and returned with anger. These drives were our reprieve from our struggles, the time we could relax and have fun enjoying the road together.
I didn’t want to lose this reprieve. I didn’t want to risk a misunderstanding. I said the only safe thing I could.
“I’m okay.”
He didn’t believe me, he pressed saying there was no possible way.
“I’m okay. I’m really sad for the mama duck and her family, but it was an accident. I’m okay.”
He remarked on my maturity while I stewed in my suffering. Now that I’ve learned more about me and my neurodivergence, I recognize this event as one of the first I can remember where I masked.
The rest of our ride home was silent, both of us likely processing our own reactions. I’d grown entirely numb before we even entered the driveway. My father will still mention the event occasionally and there was never a moment where I would call this a repressed memory.
But they were covered up. They were hidden beneath “I’m okay”. That mask was what really kept things numb.
The heartbreak that I felt seeing the small black bird pecking at his friend or family member. That sudden emotional pain. It ripped the mask off the memory, it let me return to that day as if it were yesterday and experience all of those feelings fully once more.
And I feel so much better for the experience.
It is odd, it’s an event that would cross my mind often, still remembered in great detail. Yet in all the remembering, my fathers mentions, the few times I’ve driven that same road as an adult: I never felt the associated emotions. They just weren’t there. It was an event that occurred in my life.
This new event returned me though, and I gave myself the permission I sought from others long ago to feel the event honestly and confront the associated emotions. I’m so grateful for this, as being able to sit in those emotions for a little bit, commiserating with my younger self, completely changed how this unfortunate event feels, in the best possible way.
It is no longer a numb memory, it is a memory. A memory with thoughts and feelings tied to it as strongly as any other, yet still just a memory. It couldn’t negatively impact me, it was in the past, it was over and now? Instead of a numbness inside when the memory crosses my mind, I feel the sadness, I feel the anguish, I feel.
Just like the two little birds fluttering off the road to play in the sky, I feel the beauty of life and I feel okay.
Z's Grimoire 