A few years ago, I was headed to church with my 5-year-old daughter. I had been volunteering at this church for several years, so the drive was very typical, and I knew everyone who attended this church. Usually, my wife goes with us, but she had a few errands that prevented her from going. I’m an even-tempered person, so I wasn’t excited or dreading the evening.
Approximately one mile from the church, I get a huge adrenaline dump. I’m not sure if you guys recognize what it is but due to my upbringing and my previous profession, I knew exactly what it was. Out of nowhere, I get this rush of cool tingly sensation down in the pit of my stomach. My fight or flight response quickly engaged. That is, my flight response engages. I’d never had a flight response. As a kid, I had a freeze response. It later became a fight response, but I never felt an instinct to run. It’s not who I am.
I knew something was wrong. I didn’t know what, but it wasn’t good. I literally felt as if I was seconds away from death. My brain was vibrating like it was in overload and was looking to self-combust at any moment. I was starting to see in tunnel vision. My skin seem to get tight and my nerves were on end, but I only had one concern…my daughter. I needed to get to the church as fast as I can. Thank God, it only took me half a minute to pull into the church parking lot.
As soon as I pulled in, I stopped the truck and let my daughter unbuckle. Without hesitation, I told her to go to her friends. Apparently, I looked distressed. A woman I recognized asked me if I was ok. All I could do was stare at her. I knew who she was. That is, I knew I should know who she was. After repeatedly asking me if I was ok, she tells me to call “Sierra”. I recognized that sound, but I had no idea who that was or what a “Sierra” was. After enough pause, she repeated except she said my wife. I guess I wasn’t answering fast enough because she called my wife for me. When my wife gets me on the phone, she asks me if Mark was there. I thought that was a strange question, because I don’t know a Mark. Sierra then said his full name, Dr. Mark Sherwood. It sounded like I should know that name, but it wasn’t clicking. That’s when she said she was headed to get me. While I was waiting, I looked up Dr. Mark Sherwood. I did feel like I should know him, but I didn’t know how. I must add, I never once forgot my daughter’s name.
Time passed very quickly, and my wife arrived at the church. She ordered me to get into the passenger seat and asked me if I needed to go to the hospital. My response was “What?”. Apparently, that wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She drove me straight to the nearest hospital. When we arrived, she told me to go check in. I asked her what for. She tells me that I need to be seen. I ask what for again. She said, in wife voice, “just go”. So, I go inside and tell them that I need to be seen. They kindly ask me “what for?”. I said, “I don’t know”. They then asked me my name and date of birth. Thank God my wife walked in, because I didn’t know that either.
It didn’t take long before we were seen by the doctor. He ran a bunch of tests, from a brain scan to blood work. They didn’t find anything wrong or out of “normal” range. They recommended a neurologist and suggested that I stay overnight for observation and an MRI in the morning. By morning, I slowly gained my memory. However, the feeling of impending death never left me.
Typically speaking, a neurologist appointment can take three to four months to get in. It only took us three days. There was a “random” cancelation in his office. When we go in, he asks the usual questions about my days and lifestyle and then he suggests a home test. He wants to hook my head up to a bunch of sensors and see what my brainwaves do.
The test took 4 days and then the results took two weeks. However, I thought it was worth it to find out why I suddenly got dementia. I needed to find out why I feel as if death was knocking on my door. Throughout my whole life’s experiences and the years of blackening depression, I had never been suicidal. I wasn’t suicidal now. I was pissed that I couldn’t be. I wanted nothing more than to die and be back home, so I could end this suffering. I couldn’t though. My daughter depended on me. I will not let her live without me…without a father.
When we went back in to see the neurologist, I was full of hope and dread. However, nothing prepared me for what he said. “Mr. Hayes, the scans showed that nothing is wrong with you.” What the hell does that mean? He then suggests that I could have minor seizures that aren’t being detected by any equipment. What I heard in my head was “I don’t know what is wrong, but I’m going to make something up”. He wrote me a prescription and told me to come back in six months. I was devastated. I really believed this doctor would give me the answers I so desperately needed.
A couple days later, I found myself sitting at my best friend’s grandmother’s house celebrating Independence Day. I didn’t really want to go, but we don’t have anywhere else to go and I know I want my daughter to experience holidays. Now, me and my best friend Jon talk about a lot of things. However, “feelings” is not usually one of them. This was not a usual day. Jon looks at me and asks what happened to me as a child. I laugh and ask which time. Not realizing the scope of the question, he narrows it to the first time. I say, sort of off-handedly, that would be when my father tried killing my mother while I was still in her womb. He then paused for a moment. That’s when he asks me a question that tore open my world. “What happened when you were your daughters age?” I never really put much thought into it. My past, that is. I never really saw the use in it. I’m not a “poor me” type of guy. That being said, I felt I needed to walk this out.
When I was approximately five or six years old, I lived in an old, abandoned farmhouse with my mom, stepdad, older sister, and baby brother. What is important about this farmhouse is we had no close neighbors and the barn and silo were infested with snakes. We did have electricity and a working well. I remember one day, there was a very foul odor and taste coming from the sink. My stepdad takes me to the well, ties a rope around me, and lowers me into this black hole. I recall reaching into the cold wet darkness and searching for death, and hoping nothing was still living in there. Apparently, I wasn’t looking hard enough because my stepdad was yelling at me to keep looking. Thankfully, I found the culprit. It was a dead rat. I grabbed the carcass and then my stepdad slowly pulled me out of the darkness and into the light.
I remember another time, soon after that. I didn’t receive gifts very often, but on this day my stepdad brought me a rifle. I won’t lie. I was pretty excited about it. I’d always imagined myself hunting outlaws like Clint Eastwood in his famous spaghetti westerns. However, I didn’t quite imagine the reality of that dream. That very day, I found myself hiding on top of the hay loft surrounded by hay and endless snakes. I was trying not to be seen or heard. I was always really good at hiding. Apparently, I wasn’t as good as he was at seeking. I felt a crushing piercing blow to my right ankle. My cover had been blown and he shot me with my own sling shot. Without hesitation, I lowered the rifle. It was far too big to shoulder it. I aimed and I shot. Shooting my stepdad in his thigh. After the dust had settled, from him kicking the ground, he called me down to him. It was time for us to switch weapons and me to search for him. I’d like to say I found him first. I’d like to say I was strong enough to pull the sling shot back. While running across the yard, my stepdad shot me in the right thigh. It’s the last gift he gave me. I still carry that scar today. If I’m honest, that little boy is still running in my nightmares every night.
The moment I told Jon this “childhood memory” a weight lifted off my soul. I’m talking instantly. I know longer had the vibration in my brain or the impending death approaching me. I felt hope. I knew life was going to get better. I knew I have a happy daughter who has never known evil or the darkness of man. I almost felt whole again.
We often relive our childhood through our children. It’s what parents do. My mind was trying to stop that from happening. I knew that I couldn’t allow my daughter to relive my childhood and I couldn’t handle seeing her in that pain and sadness. People like to say love lasts forever and they’re right. Love is energy. However, so is pain, sadness, and trauma. They will last forever, unless you transmute them into something positive. I’ve learned to change all that trauma into a lesson plan for other people. How can my life, save you from yours?