Triggers

I’ve gotten used to, as much as I can, I guess, not knowing what will trigger me when it comes to grief. I’m no longer crying in the supermarket, which I would do at first, often taking myself by surprise when I would pass something I no longer needed to buy, since it’s just me now. It can still make me sad, but it’s not as intense.

But today was unexpected, although I guess it shouldn’t have been. I was looking for a place to drop off a toy donation for Christmas (harder to find this year, oddly). I checked online and then called my local fire station. I don’t think it’s the one that usually responded to our 911 calls, but it didn’t really matter. When I called and the fireman who answered said yes, they were accepting toys, I thanked him, hung up the phone and burst into tears.

For all of the 911 calls, many for community assist (helping us at home, usually after a fall, that didn’t require a hospital visit), we got to know just about every paramedic in our area. They were unfailingly kind. So I don’t know if it was more of the same kindness, or just the fact that now I’m associating fire departments with Jim, but I don’t think this one will pass as quickly.

And I know it’s wrapped up in something else, another story of his childhood that I can’t get past, that makes my heart break for him. When he was about 8 years old, he joined the Cub Scouts. He wanted his dad to see him in his uniform. His father’s reaction? Mercilessly and cruelly mocking him, because he was an abusive asshole. In a letter Jim wrote to his mom, remembering that day… “I don’t want to be a Cub Scout anymore”…. He never put the uniform on again, or joined the scouts. There are some days crying just isn’t enough.