Japan Still Stands
Today all my pent up anger, sorrow and stress made their appearance known in bodily form. I woke up with a brain splitting headache that turned me into a vomit comet before I could even set foot in the shower.
I have a decades long history with migraines, the kind that leaves me writhing in agony waiting for my eyeball to explode out of my face and sometimes with a generous side order of panic attack. When my husband Barry was alive, he would lovingly take me to the hospital, and I’d be given a powerful cocktail of intravenous painkillers and sleep aids that would send me to a deep dreamless sleep. I can’t take oral meds, because the pain is so intense, the meds refuse to stay put in my tummy.
I knew the day would come when Barry would not be the one to hold my hand and soothe me through a full assault on my senses, but the reality of him not being here today brought an intense emotional pain that was a deeper agony – not physical, but cellular.
As God had arranged it, I had an appointment with my chiropractors today. They are a husband and wife pair, both with gifted hands. I popped ibuprofen like candy before leaving for their office, praying it would stay put long enough to take the edge off.
Mrs. Chiropractor took one look at me and knew the Hot Mess Express had arrived. Hot tears were streaming down my cheeks like a pyroclastic flow. I could only draw ragged breaths as I wept and told her that this kind of physical pain profoundly exacerbated my missing Barry. She said all the right things, handed me tissues and immediately grabbed a massage gun.
As she massaged my back and arms, I wept even more. She kindly shared with me how touch starved she was for the five years prior to meeting her husband and receiving her first hug from him. Touch is something that we take for granted, until it isn’t there and our body goes into desperate withdrawals.
According to Dignity Health – “Hugging and other forms of nonsexual touching cause your brain to release oxytocin, known as the “bonding hormone.” This stimulates the release of other feel-good hormones, such as dopamine and serotonin, while reducing stress hormones, such as cortisol and norepinephrine. These neurochemical changes make you feel happier and less stressed. Research suggests that being touched can also lower your heart rate and blood pressure, lessen depression and anxiety, boost your immune system, and even relieve pain.”
As she was massaging my lower back, there were two small places that were oddly sore, and I mentioned them. Mrs. Chiropractor astutely noticed that where I had pinpointed my pain was directly where my adrenal glands were located. Lack of touch = lack of the feel good hormones = elevated cortisol from my adrenal glands. She patiently explained that grief was driving an elevated cortisol response.
Prolonged cortisol release creates a domino effect that manifests in sleep disturbances, lack of appetite, headaches, muscle stiffness, or stomach upset. Some people become jumpy and restless, while others, overly sensitive to loud noises or other people.
I wasn’t surprised that I had ticked off all the boxes.
After the massage, I felt my breath begin to return to a calmer rhythm. I shared with her that yesterday I had dreamt of asking a certain person for a hug and they walked away from me. I woke up too early and too angry. I knew this was becoming unbearable, and I got down on my knees and begged God to help me.
Grief is like an invisible weight that others can’t see – which is why I feel the words of Job, a famous griever in the bible.
“If only my anguish could be weighed
and all my misery be placed on the scales!
It would surely outweigh the sand of the seas—” Job, 6:2-3
I told Mrs. Chiropractor that I could not do this on my own. She replied, “No – YOU can’t.” She then hugged me in the most motherly embrace and as I watered her shirt with more tears, she prayed fervently for Jesus to meet every single one of mine and my children’s needs, using my name in her prayer over and over. She held tightly to me and cried out to Jesus requests that I didn’t have the strength and mental stamina to make.
As she finished her precious prayer, I explained that my faith was not gone, but that I felt like Japan after the bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Flattened, decimated.
She breathed life into me with this reminder,
“Japan is still there.”
I echoed her words with a small smile.
“Japan is still there.”
Prayers like hers are like the lanterns floated down the Motoyasu River in front of the Atomic Bomb Dome in Hiroshima each August 6th. A reminder that my former life is not forgotten, and never will be. Over time, the demolished landscape of my former life will begin to bloom into something different, yet beautiful.
Japan still stands. With God’s help, so will I.
