Carrie sat at the kitchen table sipping her tea while she stared outside.
The tulips, hyacinths, and daffodils were blooming. Explosions of yellow, white, pink, purple, and red circled the trees in the backyard.
She noticed a weed in one of the beds. Without thinking, she headed for the door to the garage to get her gardening tools. Her hand touched the doorknob. She looked down and hastily pulled it back as if the knob were scorching hot.
She tried again. Same result. Her pulse quickened. The air she breathed in refused to come back out. She felt as if her lungs were going to explode. Her body lay crumpled at the door in the fetal position.
***
When her husband George entered the room, he knew exactly what was happening. Cell phone in hand, he started to dial Dr, Remmick, but he knew what the doctor would say. Breathing exercises, CBT, exposure therapy, teletherapy, and medication. Dr. Remmick loved to prescribe medication.
George wasn’t anti-medication, but lately Carrie moved around the house as if she were in a trance. Before the accident, she would barely take ibuprofen. The old Carrie was fearless. She loved to travel and go camping, hiking, and rock climbing.
Carrie saw the child before anyone else. She dashed into the street, scooped him up, and was running back to the curb. They would have made it if the driver hadn’t been distracted. He looked up too late to stop. The child sustained minor injuries. Carrie almost died.
People called her a hero. She was, but she didn’t want to be. When she got out of the hospital, the mayor awarded her the distinguished citizen award. The local news wanted to interview her.
Carrie tried to return to work and reclaim her life, but everywhere she went she was watching for the next catastrophe.
The panic attacks started. She saw danger everywhere. Every person on the sidewalk was someone who might end up in traffic. Someone she needed to save.
She couldn’t bear to work downtown anymore. Eventually she began making excuses not to go outside. Her bosses let her work from home and attend meetings remotely. Clients were less understanding. Management insisted that she see someone. Dr. Remmick’s name was mentioned, and she agreed to teletherapy.
George tried to pretend it was temporary and she’d snap out of it. After she started avoiding rooms in their house with windows that faced the street, George had to admit the problem was getting worse.
After she went to bed that night, he stayed up to watch old home videos. He missed her smile and her laugh. Carrie had a fantastic smile; her eyes sparkled and one dimple was always a little higher than the other. She used to laugh with her whole body; bending at the waist holding her ribs as if she might explode from sheer joy. Sometimes she stomped her feet. Occasionally she even snorted, which only made her laugh more.
She still smiled and laughed, but the gestures were bittersweet, tinged with sadness. After the accident, the world was no longer a safe place. She couldn’t relax and being constantly alert was exhausting. His wife was tired. He feared one day she might become too tired to go on. He couldn’t allow that to happen.
He watched their wedding video, and the footage of the reception. It was a beautiful sunny afternoon in June. They were dancing to their wedding song, Longer by Dan Fogelberg. Just as he sang “You’ll send showers in the springs,” raindrops fell. Instead of running for cover, she wrapped her arms tightly around him and laughed, her face upturned welcoming the sun shower. She’d never looked more beautiful, and he’d never been more in love.
If it rained while they were camping, she’d pull him outside to dance until thunder or lightning drove them back inside the tent.
He googled the healing properties of water and began to plan.
***
Every night when he came home from work George turned on soft music and danced with Carrie holding her gently in his arms until she felt safe. On their anniversary he talked about their sun shower dance as they swayed together in the kitchen.
He waited until Carrie closed her eyes and settled against him. Slowly and carefully, he inched closer to the sliding glass door. Whispering words of love and encouragement he opened the door and they danced into the backyard.
He felt Carrie stiffen as her bare feet contacted the grass. She was outside. He held her closer and kissed her neck. In a perfect moment of Déjá vu, the sun was shining and rain drops fell. She lifted her face and laughed. He felt her joy and knew the healing had begun.