They say that when a trauma occurs, it’s like a part of you gets stuck, remains frozen
in that moment. I spent six months doing Eye-Movement Desensitization and
Reprocessing so I could heal from a pile of traumas I still can’t fully put into words.
The risk of dissociation at certain triggers (like Nissans and certain scents) was
incalculably high, but the full-blown panic that I’d spring into otherwise is palpable
just thinking about it. I was asked to assess “the pain level”. The symptoms started at
a 9: I’d start tearing up and I’d feel my face tingle a little and my heart would start
skipping beats and racing as the lump in my throat would get so big I could hardly
breathe. So then we began treatment. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth,
my mind running through what happened that cold month (the worst month), that
stupid holiday (the worst day), that cruel instant (a moment that still haunts me). And
then I’m digging up the blame and the shame and the alienation and the loneliness.
And then I’m telling her, “it’s not your fault. You did what you could. He took
advantage of your kindness. He took advantage of you. Your response to it was to do
what you needed to survive. But that survival response isn’t serving us now. You can
stop now. You can rest now. We’re safe now.” By the time I was done with the EMDR
sessions, the symptoms were reduced to a 3 or 4. Weird science made massive
progress. At the end, I closed my eyes and I meditated and imagined myself hugging
her and I said aloud, “the frozen little one has caught up to the rest of me.”
Now I’m twice as old as I was when The Haunting Moment from The Worst Day in The
Worst Month happened. The anniversary punched me in the gut and laid me out for a
week. Remembering what came after is sometimes the worst part. Because even
though he threatened to kill me if I didn’t have an abortion, I’ll never really know
whether or not I’d been pregnant. I know now that I have a gene mutation that can
cause miscarriage, if left untreated. So it’s entirely possible I miscarried then... But
now I’m in my thirties and I’ve been trying to have a baby with my husband for almost
9 years now, but we both have the damned MTHFR mutations (yes, I definitely call
them “M*th*rF****r”). Doctors say that perhaps not even IVF would work (that being
said, IVF is off the table for us anyway: ethical concerns about commoditizing children
and then of course the whole “being Catholic” thing is there, too). So then we’re
praying and mulling on embryo adoption. “Snowflake babies” was the term of choice
back in the era of W. And I think about you: thousands and thousands and thousands
of tiny, defenseless humans, stuck in freezers, at risk of dying any moment if the
power goes out. (F*ck. It just occurred to me: I wonder how many of you died during
the power outages in Texas and Louisiana this week. Ugh.) You’re too small and too
young and too defenseless to even know what’s going on, but nonetheless you are members of our human family. But your most immediate family perhaps “didn’t want
any more babies.” Maybe they decided they were “done having kids,” even though
you were there, already existing, waiting for them. Not a “potential human”, a tiny
human whose life has huge potential.
But still, you’re stuck there, frozen in that moment. Literally. All of what you’re going
through is a pile of trauma you may never be able to put into words. It occurs to me
that I might be the same age as some of you — conceived around the same time, that
is. But I was given a chance to grow and have a family and a home, to struggle and
survive, and live and thrive—! You’re alive, but… stuck... arrested development
(literally) at just around 4-14 days past conception, frozen in time. You’re not yet
grown enough to know what it feels like to have a heart that could skip beats. You
don’t even have a throat yet for lumps to get stuck in. And maybe it sounds cruel, but I
want you to have the chance to experience these things. I want you to be able to grow
and struggle and survive and be cared for and have a home and a family…! And then I
think, “Could it be our family? Could it be our home?” And I go back and forth, back
and forth, back and forth, my mind running through what it could take and what it
could mean for us to adopt you — at least one of you. I think about what it would mean
to prepare for you (it’d be a month filled with anticipation), and bring you home in my
womb (it would be a truly joyous day), and cherish any time that we’d get with you
(those moments would be precious to us, no matter how long your life). And then I’m
trying to dig up the courage and the boldness I’d need to even try. And then I’m telling
myself, “Sure it’s not your fault they’re there. But it’s not their fault either. And they
deserve care, a home, a family. Babies don’t belong in freezers. Take advantage of this
time you have now, while you’re young enough. You can help them to survive. You can
serve their needs. It’s no time to rest now, because they’re not safe yet.” By the time
I’m done mulling it over again and again (and again), I want to adopt 3 or 4 of you
“snowflakes” right this instant. Still, I roll my eyes at all of this “scientific progress”:
it’s brought us more dehumanization: only, more high-tech! At the end, I close my
eyes and imagine myself hugging you, and I wish aloud, Little Frozen One, that I could
catch you up in my arms.