Fear

Fear is a strange thing.  I have found that over the years, I am one of those people who is pretty good in a crisis.  A friend is in a fearful situation and I can find the calming words to help.  A kid comes into the house with blood dripping and I know just what to do.  And I do it.  And when the crisis has passed and the fear is gone, only then will I quietly fall apart.

I have also found that as I get older, my reaction to the fear in a crisis manifests itself in altogether different ways.  Time was that a few tears would dissolve away the fear, but now, my body betrays me.  This was brought home to me this past weekend.  I thought I was just fine, although my apartment building was on fire.  One of the other tenants was in hysterics and another seemed to deal with the fear by becoming angry.  I was calm.  I had escaped the smoke that had threatened to take away my ability to breathe and had survived to see my grandchildren grow up and I would probably achieve my goal of living long enough to be a problem to my children, although some of them might say that I have already attained that goal.  (I once told my youngest daughter that my goal in life was to live long enough to be a problem to my children.  She replied that my work here was done.  I love her sense of humor.)  And then, while I was standing with a police officer, discussing options should I be unable to return to my apartment, my legs began to shake, uncontrollably.  You remember those old Saturday morning cartoons where the hero is afraid and he stands there with his knees knocking?  Yep, I found that it really happens.

I think that my children were a bit fearful as well.  Since the fire, they have been calling often, sometimes a couple of times a day.  Checking up on Mom.  Making sure that I am alright.  The daughter living closest to me brought fans to help remove the smoke smell, as well as my supper so I didn't have to worry about cooking anything.  She asked if I wanted to go home with her, but I declined even though I appreciated the offer.  They have all offered to come and help with the scrubbing and cleaning and I know that if I needed help with that, they would be here.  They have all done things like this for me in the past.

I won't ask for help this time.  They all have kids to care for and jobs to deal with.  I am retired and have all the time in the world.  And I think that the physical work of getting my apartment back to normal is a good way to work through any lingering fear.  My legs no longer shake.  I am calm.  But my body is still reacting by waking me up a couple of times during the past two nights, telling me that I have to get out of bed and check to make sure all is well.  I expect this will go away after a time.  I have learned a lesson about fear.  It enters my being unannounced and unwelcomed.  The trick is to not allow fear to take control.  I  refuse to live a life in fear of what might happen, for that is probably worse than the actual event.  Now if I can just convince my aging body that all is well, I can get back to working at being a problem to my children!