Trauma and Hope

A story of hope for the new year.

Let's enjoy it while it lasts.

The holiday season is a dream for most children. The lights and pageantry. Telling Santa what they want most and how good they have been. It's an ingenious marketing strategy for a capitalist system. Money buys the stuff that the kids want and need. Christmas morning and presents from out of nowhere are under the tree. It's one of the greatest traditions for parents to watch their loved ones give and receive gifts. Shrieks of joy and surprise. The child gets older and it seems to lose momentum. Eventually, for a lot of adults, the holidays become a nightmare.

Depending on the level of trauma, the winter time and all of its traditions of celebration for abundance of materials and love become ghosts of what could have been. Death is the price of life. Life, itself, is not fair. Tragedy in this sinful world seems commonplace to some. Others lived charmed lives and evaded most of the pitfalls and emerged unscathed, at least on the surface.

Everyone that has been broken has found a way to hide the pain. Maybe it's to show the world that they can't be hurt. Some even take it a step further and hurt others first, if only just emotionally. To those that have not suffered trauma and lead normal lives, I give those people all the credit in the world. Hence, the unfair randomness of life.I know of people that endure so much every single day and still get up every day and do good in the world.

My mom is almost 70 years old. She lost her eldest son 30 years ago this New Years day of 2021. Joseph Vincent Hulse was shot to death fifteen minutes after midnight, the first gunshot victim of 1991 in Philadelphia PA. He left behind a widow, Dawn, a two year old daughter, Alicia and infant son, Joseph. Fast forward to more than two decades later Dawn passes. A little more than a half decade later and Alicia’s suddenly, unexpectedly and unfortunately, is gone, leaving her two little girls for their great grandmother to care for. Not only does she care for them in every way with little resources, but she helps to create a support group called Gratitude 4 Grandparents, volunteers her time and writes to legislators asking for dignity. Even though she has raised her children and her grandaughter, she wakes up every day, with love in her heart and a drive to keep pushing.

What my mom doesn't see in herself remains hers. She is loved, fiercely, by so many. She is a teetotaler, meaning she has never drank spirits or took drugs. How I wound up a recoverer of substance abuse disorder is beyond me. (My dad had a few beers but he was never dependent on it like I once was.) She is schedule oriented and keeps a clean house. She is my personal model of a saint. She's lost the most people in this story and still she keeps climbing. For the kids sake. And she is just one small example of the mothers that are in my daily prayers. Some people's family trauma are still playing out, in real time. One mother in particular that had to bury two of her three sons, raised two daughters and is a most excellent grandmother, battles the painful past, and her Scottish soul will forever be in my prayers.

My nephew, Jo, lost his father before he even knew him, lost his mother when he needed her the most, and then his sister. He has two sons of his own but he is separated from their mother, so he sees his kids as much as he possibly can. He wakes up every morning to go to work from six a.m. until two p.m., five days a week. He does his best but he is living a blessed life. The ways of life are mysterious and nobody really knows ultimate good from bad, but facts are forever. Nobody discovers facts, they just notice what has been all along. How could he possibly understand why he was dealt such grief at such a tender age? How can anyone? Where was his rescue? The thought that more could have been done for him and with him is so huge, it's mind boggling.

What Jo doesn't see about himself is that he is who he is and where he is solely for the purpose to give his sons the exact thing that he was denied; a living, breathing father showing his boys how to be a man. He is fulfilling his own destiny. Yeah, it can be boring. He has really good friends and his family from his mother side are a constant and positive presence in his life. He has a younger sister and a bunch of cousins and brothers in his life. He is still on the lookout for a soulmate, someone he deserves and can share a deeper love with, a love he once thought he had only to watch it run through his fingers like the glowing tragic waters. He is good looking and has his own style. I wish there were words that I could say to chase his sadness away but my heart smiles when I think of him hanging out with his sons, the bond they possess. Beauty is a lot of places, you need only to see it for what is; pure love.

My wife also possesses the qualities of a saint. A messy, cluttered and organized beautiful saint. She has bore 7 official souls. Seven! Dare I say miraculous! One would never know that of her if you're not reading it right here. It's the only place that it exists. Our second child is on the autistic spectrum and that is its own challenge. My wife hitched her star to my wagon way back when and I broke the wagon. She assisted me in the destruction for a little while but is coming up on 14 years of continued sobriety. She put up with me probably a lot longer than any other sane person would have. We have been together since 1995. We've had many trials and tribulations but our love remains strong. We're not where we want to be yet, but we are definitely on our way. I realized that she's the star and I was just a horrible copilot for a little bit. My wife's story will be her own.

Now for the story of hope. My wife has a pretty big family. One of her cousins, Jack, is legally deaf and, to me, to live in a silent or blank world, that's a big one. He also has a demon or two chasing themselves around his soul. He made the choice to go off the grid a while back but somebody from his family kept tabs on him. Well, he disappeared recently and with the Covid-19 pandemic in full effect as 2020 comes to its inglorious close, everybody was looking for him. Every day seemed like a month. The worst was feared.

But then, he was found. He'd seen better days but his family was so happy to see him and he was so happy to find his family. His friends and family are supporting him by any and all means possible. They raised money for him to stay in a hotel for a while and got hom brand new clothes and personal effects. Little by little, Jack is coming back to himself. When he was first found, people were flocking to his location to show their love and support but it was too much too soon. His superhero sisters and mom stepped in and organized a system to keep Jack someplace that he has a fighting chance. I don't know his entire story, yet, but just the fact that the man is deaf and struggling with mental afflictions is enough for me to sympathize with Jackie, but I met him once before, when I had just started dating his cousin, and I thought Jack was an awesome person. He was dancing and communicating with the members of his family with either sign language or body language. He seemed like a pretty happy person. He had a girlfriend at the time and I think they eventually had a child together. That may have been the catalyst for anything gone awry. Sometimes, that's all it takes.

Everybody hurts. Days and dates and numbers, these are all man's creations so that we feel in control of something. We label, judge and gossip, I guess, to feel superior, if only for an instant. But when we love, or we give with no expectations, isn't it a better feeling to help someone, whether they deserve it or not. Who are we and what are we doing if we aren't at least doing the bare minimum to help?

And to the ones who think nobody notices how special you are; somebody believes in you. They may be too embarrassed or manly or tough, but the invisible connections we make are stronger than the visible ones. I admire and pray for people that don't even know I exist, or care very little if I do or not. My heart tells me that that doesn't matter. My heart tells me that there's something bigger at play and that I can't explain because I don't need to know what it is. I just know.