As I rock my way down the hallway toward the bathroom, my husband steadies me by walking backwards, both hands extended, so I can lean my forward-bent body on his arms to help bear some of my weight.

"Mama, do you need me to help?"

"No honey, papa has got it and I want you to go play and have some fun right now."

With this last comment, she inches closer as not to lose sight of me.  All morning, she is just inside my periphery keeping tabs on my every move.

After my husband helps me wipe after using the restroom, he teeters me out to the couch and begins the process of getting my breakfast.  Sunshine slinks over on the ground acting like a snake.

"Hiss...Hiss"

"Oh, are you a snake this morning?"

"Yes.  Just like the criminals."

"What honey?  Why do you think you are just like the criminals?" I ask.

"Because you are going to die and it's all my fault."

*****

In a family of three, when both the females (and sometimes the dog) have full-blown Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, any new wrench in our daily activities makes managing the symptoms that much more problematic.

When Sunshine feels any "threat" to her overall security, she internalizes it by playing a tape that compares any new anxiety inducing situation against what occurred during her trauma.  Yesterday, the "threat" was seeing her mama in a suppressed physical state.  To her, at that moment, the two situations feel like they are both happening at the same time and she mingles the facts together.  An outside observer cannot see the maze my child is trying to get out of.

*****

"Bug, come on up and snug on your mama."  I encourage her further by lifting up a fold of the blanket for her to slip into.

"No!  I don't want to hurt you,” she says with trepidation.

"Baby, you can't hurt me...mama's just having waggies."  This is our name for my MS-like symptoms complete with seizures on the side.

She finally relents and crawls on all fours while purring like a kitten to climb in next to me like a baby who needs her mother's milk.  My body warms her up and she settles in quickly.  She rubs her head over and over again on my outstretched arm.  

I send her all the love I can muster and sit quietly, waiting for her to summon up the courage to ask me what's really on her mind.

*****

Often, people quote trauma as the "gift that keeps on giving."  This moment is no exception. While it has been five years since my daughter suffered abuse at the hands of criminals, she is still paying the consequences.  

This current threat to her security "triggered" this confusion between two stressful periods of her life.  She uses story to attempt to make sense of the separate circumstances.

It is a way to "re-enact" the trauma, allowing her mind room to uncurl the truth of what happened.  Add to that a seven-year old brain complete with magical thinking, and a sense of over-responsibility ensues.  It is my job to get to the roots of how she has connected the dots.  Then, I must recreate a story, which is the truth, and recite it to her so she can lay a new track in her mind that is soothing.  

In times like this, she needs a new perspective to save her from drowning under the weight of the pain and worry.

*****

"Are you going to die, mama?" 

"No Sunshine, I am not going to die."

"Is it my fault?"

"No, it is not your fault."

"Then why do you have the waggies again?" Her eyes well up and she tries to hide under the blanket.

"Baby, I need to see those eyes so I can speak to your soul."  I wait patiently for her to peek her head back out.

"Mama has waggies because my body needs to release a little more of the trauma.  Right now, what is happening may look bad, but it is actually good.  This is how I heal."

Her eyebrows squinch while her mouth turns upward at the center.  I read this as confusion.  I try again...

"You know how you used to think the ambulance sirens were a bad thing?"

"Yes," she says, looking more hopeful.

"Then we helped you realize that the loud siren was actually a noise which indicates someone is getting help?"

"Yeah!" She shouts excitedly showing her recognition of this fact.

"Well, that's how I want you to see the waggies.  Every time something funny happens with my body, I want you to think of it like I'm actually helping myself."

"You are right, you do look funny,” she says with a giggle.

"I know...it's pretty silly looking sometimes, huh?"  I start giggling too.

"Yeah - but I won't laugh if you don't want me to."

"Don't worry about me honey, sometimes laughter is the best medicine."

*****

The number one thing my daughter knows is that in our family we believe we were victims of crime at one time, but that is not an excuse to have a victim mentality.  

In the chaos of recovery, with waggies and all, we always find a reason to have joy.

You can read Part I here.

Other background can be found here, here and here.  Oh, and here.