This past weekend I was in Toronto visiting my brother, Martin, who also is the Artistic Director for PTSD Hero Comics.Ā Together with his family, we enjoyed a lovely dinner at an outdoor restaurant at Pape and Danforth. We skipped our usual second stop of ice cream at a nearby store as dinner portions had been generous. Relaxed laughter and warm greetings were exchanged by strangers as we passed one another, mutually enjoying the beautiful summer evening.
On Monday, when I arrived home, I learned that there had been a mass shooting at that same location. The lives of 10-year-old Julianna Kozis and 18-year-old Reese Fallon were claimed. Among the 15 people injured was Danielle Kane, a 31-year-old nursing student who rushed to the aid of a shooting victim, with her boyfriend, not knowing that the pause in gunfire represented the shooter reloading. She lies in intensive care at St. Michaelās Hospital, uncertain if she will regain use of her legs. From this point forward, her life and all of those involved are permanently changed. For those first responders and individuals like Danielle who put themselves in harmās way in order to assist others, the impact of this event will live on.
By what stroke of luck, I wonder, had we been elsewhere at the unfortunate time when things went so terribly wrong? My heart goes out to those who were not so lucky, and the families devastated by such senseless tragedy.
Landing Strong is a not-for-profit program and center designed to support military members, veterans, and first responders who have been injured as a result of trauma exposure. The goal is to have critical supports in place for people before they need them, acting proactively to mitigate the effects of trauma exposure. We want to be there for them when they need it, so they are not in a situation of scrambling for support after they are injured. Communities are only as healthy as the members who form them. We continue to do everything in our power to rally around those who have been injured, offering needed support.
Our thoughts are with you, our dear friends in Toronto. To those injured or killed and their families and friends. To the first responders who put themselves in harmās way to assist with such a horrific scene, we thank you for working selflessly to make the world a safer place.
I remember from when I was a kid how my older brother and his friends were amusing themselves on a hot summer afternoon by jumping off a local shed roof. It was quite a heightā¦ perhaps seven or eight feet. Not wanting to be left out, I was determined to make the leap. I was terrified. I summoned up my courage and jumped.
Years later, when I went back and looked at the shed, I was amazed how small it looked. What had seemed an insurmountable obstacle at one point in time, later appeared to be relatively insignificant. It now doesnāt seem like such a big drop. I feel quite proud that I was able to conjure up courage as my ten-year-old self to do it. Had I not jumped, or had someone pushed me, I suspect it would have felt very different. This was a step I had to take on my own for it to have meaning.
Have you ever taken a big leap of faith? The scariest part is generally standing at the edge thinking about taking the jump. Once in motion, itās not so bad.
If youāre reading this post, thatās already you. Just by virtue of being connected with us via our blog, you have taken that first step.
Iām working with a few veterans who have discovered the joys of guitar. Some play contemporary music, but surprisingly, most stick to the oldies. Good olā rock nāroll. I love to watch videos they show me of their playing, and the obvious pleasure it brings.
Have I ever mentioned that I also like to Rock?
Van Halen you may think, or perhaps Pink Floydā¦ maybe the Stones. Before you conjure up frightening images of me in a semi-goth Pat Benatar outfit, with full on spandex pants, high heeled boots, and crazy hair, Iād better stop you.
Actually, Iām talking about something much simpler: the practice of walking the deserted beaches of Nova Scotia, collecting beautiful rocks. I love the stillness of these coves, punctuated only by the sounds of wind, gulls, or a distant lobster boat. Walking with me is not easy, my family members have discovered. I find so many rocks that draw me in that I canāt carry them all. My family humours me and help out. Their stretched out hoodie pockets are a testament to the strength of my passion.
Once I get home, I wash them, and paint them. Simple beautiful images, always involving nature.
This quiet meditative practice stills my ever-turning mind, and brings me peace.
What will you do with them? People ask me. Actually, I love the fact that they have no real function. In a life where I have a million things going through my head at any point in time, there is something so incredibly satisfying about doing something that has absolutely no discernible purpose, except for the enjoyment it provides.
When I paint these rocks, I imagine them as graduation gifts for those of you who successfully complete the Landing Strong Program. Symbols of reclaiming of aspects of self that may have been lost, or been forgotten. A recalibration of overcharged nervous systems that now allows for moments of gentle reflection and appreciation.
I hope youāll walk with me.
p.s. Spoiler alert: Weāll be doing some rock painting in the program. š
Ever been so obsessed with something that itās all you can think about? Thatās kinda me these days. I constantly think about the Landing Strong Program. Itās almost all I talk about. Itās become a bit of a problem for me. I seem to have sidestepped small talk, and get straight to the point as Iām so hungry to make it happen.
Iām planning the open house, which will be this summer, and imagine what it will feel like when we receive word that we have been offered funding so that people might access services barrier-free.
I imagine myself being active with program participants: hiking, biking, golfing, fishing, swimming, doing yoga, pilates, and stretch classes. Heck as a clinician who sits all day, Iām excited about being active together.
I envision active, experiential learning, where we work in community to remove barriers, address fears, and instill confidence and hope.
I see laughter, and I see tears. Most importantly, I see people regaining the ability to connect with and express their emotions appropriately, even after years of feeling angry or flat. I feel their hope and witness the dawn of comprehension wash over their faces when they realize that recovery is possible.
I anticipate people discovering creative aspects of themselves that they did not know existed, or that have been long forgotten. Iāll know itās there by the spark I will see in their eyes as they talk about what theyāre doing. They will tell me excitedly how they plan to carry it over into the community.
I see families engaged, and happily involved with program participants and our larger community through our family support program. I definitely see us all going to on-tree together. Maybe a picnic at the beach or having some fun at a local gym or pool.
I am planning the intricate details of the graduation ceremony; even making small gifts to give to participants as I plan the celebration.
I see it that clearly. I hope that you are able to join me.
I had a first responder in my office this week who totally inspired me.
In his journey of recovery, heās picked up a new hobby. Itās healthy, active, and encompasses much of his free time when heās not working. He wonders if this new obsession is healthy. Heās been great about being home when his partner is home, but in his down time, heās all over this new passion.
I asked him about his drinking, which had been reaching alarming levels in the past few years. Attending choir practice is a routine form of debriefing where he works.
āFunny you should mention that,ā he responded. āIāve been so busy, I havenāt had time to drink. Iām down to one beer day.ā
āHow about your anxiety?ā I asked.
āBeen too busy to think about it,ā he grinned.
Sounds to me like recovery. Recovery isnāt about not doing things. Itās about replacing unhealthy habits with more positive alternatives. Things that bring us joy.
Thatās one of the reasons we are incorporating leisure pursuits and physical activities as core elements of the Landing Strong programming. We know that development of hobbies and interests is not easy, particularly when life feels overwhelming.
So we do it together. Have a wonderful long weekend and Happy Canada Day!
I remember when the kids were little, they had a pet Betta fish. For some reason, that only they would understand, they named it āLlama.” One day, I asked my son to clean the fish water. He happily obliged, but left the small round fish bowl on the bathroom sink (with the fish in it). We went out for dinner, and when we returned, the fish had jumped out of the bowl. A thorough search led to a ghastly discoveryā¦ Llama had completely dried up on the bathroom floor. So dry in fact that I could not pick him up by hand, and had to use a putty knife to gently chip him off. His poor dehydrated form came up in one piece, except for a small segment of his fin that remained cemented to the floor. I dropped him into the fish bowl, preparing to dispense of him.
To my surprise, when I picked up the bowl, I noticed that Llama appeared to be breathing. Watching intently, I saw him magically rehydrate, and slowly regain movement and life. By the end of an hour, it would have been impossible to know that he had been near death. The only telltale sign being a small piece of missing fin.
Trying to understand the miracle I had witnessed, I did some research and learned that Betta fishes were discovered living in puddles, drainage ditches, and rice paddies in China. Extreme changes in environment forced it to adapt, finding a way to survive harsh conditions. The instinct to jump, and find a bigger puddle had backfired on our poor friend. Natural survival adaptation, however, allowed it to shut down its metabolism and wait out the ādroughtā until the opportunity to rehydrate presented itself. Like a dried up puddle being replenished by rain.
Llama the betta fish dried up and came back to life.
Although he made a full recovery and lived for a long time after, he had a chip in his fin (a piece of the middle missing) from the rescue. It didn’t affect his ability to swim, but remained with him, an understated reminder of his resilience.
Recovery from trauma does not mean going back to being exactly the same person we were before our injury. It means learning to move forward: wiser, smarter, and better prepared to protect ourselves against future injury.
