Landmines, Pitfalls and Boobytraps

People who know me have heard the "Lowell-ism"--"Panic is overrated."  I'm usually very calm, even in the face of crisis.  Often, the worse things get, the more calm I become.  That was even true as Anne lay dying.  In this grieving process, however, that is sometimes not the case--especially when it comes to the health of people I love.  I am learning that panic may be overrated, but that doesn't mean it is always avoidable.

Anne's death began with what seemed to be a simple case of the flu--sneezes, coughs and body aches.  She was so very tired for several days.  From there it spiralled into a fatal staph infection that had triumphed before we even had a diagnosis.  The origins of the infection remain undetermined.  Her attacker materialized out of the darkness, invisible and anonymous almost to the end.  Her killer was stealthy and silent, masked and camouflaged.  I didn't see it coming.  I couldn't see it coming.

Several times now, someone I love has coughed or been over-tired or had body aches.  Someone I love has sneezed or sniffled or had a headache.  And I have felt the tightness of panic in my chest.  What if it is happening again to someone else I love?  What if I miss the signs again and there is a catastrophe?  Where does the enemy lurk this time--hidden and waiting to spring?  I can't see it, and at some moments I am terrified.

I know these are not quite rational feelings.  Most of the time, a cough really is just a cough.  I know that I am responding to events that made deep grooves and ruts in my unconscious brain.  It will take some time for those grooves and ruts to smooth out and be replaced by more normal pathways.  I am reacting below the thinking level to inputs and experiences that had horrifying results in Anne's case.  This is as close to pure reflex perhaps as one can get.  I know these things, and knowing doesn't keep the panic away.  But at least the knowing helps me to respond in ways that don't cripple me--not for long anyway.

A few times I've had to pick up the phone just to hear a voice...just to make sure that my family member or friend was all right...just to make sure that nobody else was going to die on me in the next days.  I imagine I will need to do that many times in the future, until I can really believe that the hidden enemy is not about to take another casualty.  But it will take time indeed.  And until then I'll have to do a lot of deep breathing.

Landmines, pitfalls and boobytraps--this process is filled with them.  They can't all be removed.  I step into some and just have to go through them.  It does help, however, to learn to detect at least some of them in advance and to be ready when I meet them.

At a deeper level, this is life in its reality.  Anne's death illustrates the fragile nature of existence.  It is a sign of how close our mortality lies at hand all the time.  It is a moment to remember how much effort we exert to ignore that pending mortality, or at least to ignore it most of the time.  If we didn't suppress that fear of death, we would be debilitated as I have been for brief moments, with fear and panic.  I find that I must breathe deeply to get through it.  I breathe some simple words: "Lord Jesus, have mercy and save us."  Over and over that is my breath prayer, and then I can go on.

Perhaps that needs to be a breath prayer for us all at every moment in this life lived under threat.  When I pray that prayer, the gift of trust returns to me.  I remember that Anne is in Jesus' arms...and that I and all I love are there as well.  Panic, in the end, is indeed overrated.