My eyes are shut and the headphones I’m wearing are sending buzzing tones to my ears. Each side is taking its turn in a tag team fashion … left, right, left, right, left right. In my hands I hold two sensors. They send corresponding vibrations and are apparently in cahoots with the headphones, because they too are dancing back and forth … left, right, left, right, left, right. It seems to make my eyes flicker and is supposed to do something to my brain. Rework, rewire, or redistribute my thoughts I guess … I’m actually not quite sure what exactly it does, but I have heard from good authority it helps with trauma.

I’m asked to go back to a very painful memory.

I relive a diagnosis and a room where my life changed forever. I see the tech remove her gloves and walk out of our room. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. I see my husband trying hard to hide his panic. Then images of the next months start to flash before me, as if in a sped up slideshow … the doctor with kind eyes looking down at me saying, “Your son is going to die” … standing in the shower holding my belly and screaming in agony … falling to my knees and sobbing on the living room floor … dancing in the kitchen surrounded by my husband’s embrace … early mornings sitting in a ball on the couch with my Bible by my side as tears stream down my cheeks. In those scenes I am praying and begging God for a miracle. Next scene comes and I am at work fumbling for keys with shaking hands. This is where my water broke and with it all hope I had been so desperately holding on to. A hospital room. So many doctors. Laying in a bed, looking up at my sister and husband and noticing their glistening eyes and clenched jaws. Everything is crumbling. Finally, I see my son. He is as beautiful as I remember and he is wiggling. Moments later, he is no longer moving. He has gone from our arms to the arms of his creator. A bruise emerges on his chest where the nurse pushed to listen for his heart. Next scene emerges and I am walking behind my husband as he carries a tiny casket. A deep hole I’m jealous of because it gets to hold my son. Amazing grace. Doves. The horrific sound of a truck load of dirt collapsing on the place where we just put him. Dead flowers with muted colors now cover his grave. I drape my body over where I days earlier laid his and sob. My world has shattered, and the world around me is still spinning unfazed and at a relentless speed.

Then it goes dark …