I never know when it’s going to happen.

Sometimes I’m reading, or driving my car, or talking to a friend, and then I am hit.

Terrible visions fill my mind.

Doctors gathered around her bed working frantically.

Pharmacists hurridly mixing drugs right in front of me.

Her heart monitor and oxygen saturation monitor dropping…rising…dropping…dropping.

I can’t stop the nightmares from flooding in, taking over, knocking me breathless.

I try to think of happier times, but the bad images keep rushing back.

I hate that I can’t control it. I hate that these horrors hit me when I am trying so hard to focus on the positive things. I hate that I will be talking to my husband and I’ll be transported back to that day without any warning, only to realize I haven’t heard a thing my husband has said. It’s the reason why I prefer to talk on email, or text, or chat, because at least there is a transcript I can refer back to.

I don’t, for a second, regret being in the room when it all happened. I needed to be there for her, and I know that if I hadn’t, my imagination would be just as cruel.

I just wish I could control the nightmares. They’re not always at night.