The Haunt
Trauma is like being haunted.
It ebbs and flows. Comes and goes.
It’s seemingly invisible until it’s there, once again making your pain crash over you like a sudden hurricane. It lines your eyes with sorrow and distrust. It surrounds your heart and crushes your mind. You crawl into your favorite over-stuffed chair in your living room or the mess of covers on your bed – and let it drown you.
And just when your sobs have wracked your ribcage or tightened the depths of your stomach, when your lips crack from dryness or your eyes burn with tears, it slowly slips away like a ghost with the breaking of dawn. And you wonder when you will see it again.
Sometimes you spend days hiding from the haunt. Expecting to see it, sometimes you’ll catch a glimpse in the mirror, in the brush of remembrance, or the face of a stranger. And you’ll have a hiccup of the pain creep back in.
But oftentimes, it won’t return when you’re expecting it to. It will rush in like a gale-force wind and knock the breath out of you. Or slip in behind you, like a frightened bird when you’ve opened the door. You’ll chase it around with a broom and a sheet, finally collapsing in exhaustion when it escapes back out the open door into the shadows and darkness.
But. Then you realize…
That haunt is not a memory but a person. He steals into the back of the room and sits down. He seems to be waiting patiently for… something? Or someone? It’s when you acknowledge him that you realize who He is. And you recognize He’s waiting for you. Waiting for you to seek Him. He’s been there all this time, and you grasp that the haunt has been a distraction. A misguided memory. All distracting you from this man who came to take your pain, if you’ll just let Him.
So, you release your grip. Drop the pain at his feet. Tell Him you’re sorry for not noticing Him sooner. Now that your hands are empty, He can take your hand in His. He squeezes it, and you see your pain filling His eyes.
Healing comes like the dawn. At first, there’s still darkness everywhere, but you can begin to see the features on your face when you glance in the mirror. A steady, slight warmth creeps, just like that haunt, but quicker along the horizon line, outlining the hills and valleys the light begins to touch. It grows as your heart begins to breathe again – trust again – and laugh again as pink begins to tint the easternmost skyline. Soon, fuchsia blazes forth, and shreds of orange strike through your heart, causing a giggle in the midst of a sob, hard laughter amid deep sorrow. This strange, intertwined joy/sorrow breaks through, spilling light onto every spectrum of your heart. It is blindingly hot now, the light tracing every tree, leaf, branch, trunk, and rooftop as far as your eye can see.
A still soft whisper of hope anew begins to bleed its light – until every single, glorious color is illuminated afresh. Searing that haunt into the far recesses of the farthest shadows of the universe.
Until it’s just light. And you. And Him. And full, unbridled hope.
