The long arm of trauma

Either our life is not as tumultuous as some families  whose children have been touched by trauma, or I have a pretty thick skin.  I suspect it is most likely a combination of the two.  But every once in a while, I am reminded that Trauma is still there.  It may squish down and hide.  But.it.is.still.there.

It is usually seemingly innocent things that bring Trauma back out of his hiding place.  Last night was one such time.  Rob had wanted to watch the hockey game on TV.  It is playoff time and I was okay with it.  At nearly 15 I am trying to let him have opportunities when he is up later.  I was doing piece work in a room two rooms removed from the living room, but I found reasons periodically to come in and check the score and chat.  He was cuddled on the couch with the dog.

At 10 when I went in, he was asleep with the dog curled at one end of the couch and he at the other.  One of those sweet pictures that touch your heart and make you go "awww" inside.  Except that I have never been able to wake Rob without scaring him.  Not ever.  No matter how gently I stroke him, no matter how softly I speak, he always wakes slightly wild eyed, with his  heart racing, his body stiffened.  And that is what happened last night.

I know there has been improvement.  My son used to hide when he heard sirens for instance. He doesn't do that any more. But healing takes a long time.  Maybe, a life time.