The Awakening
Pulling up in my driveway, I sat there for a moment thinking about work today. Detective work is not for the squeamish. There are a lot of specific details to gather, and building timelines of crimes takes a lot of analytical thinking, which is harder than people think. My head is rolling against the headrest, and I shut my eyes to bask in the sun shining through the windshield, taking a moment of silence for myself before I go into the house. Stepping out of my car, I heard a whirring sound on the pavement and felt a breeze blowing through my hair. Two teenage girls zipped by on roller skates, laughing out loud with their hair flopping in the wind.
A smile emerges as I stare at the teen girls, thinking back to my own teen years. I looked down, and a euphoric feeling came over me. Something about the 80s decade makes me feel elated, but then I whispered out something that I have not said in a long time…The Red Man. Now my feeling of euphoria swiftly changes into fear; I shake it off before that scary feeling lingers on way too long than it needs to at that moment. Returning to the girls whisking by on their skates seconds ago because I need to change my mood quickly.
“Wow, it’s been a while since kids roller-skated outside here on the street.” Saying to myself.
Looking at teens today using their smartphones and remembering how I was a teen walking around and exploring neighborhoods with my friends and sister. The way kids in the 80s just gathered on foot, with BMX bikes, or roller skates and listened to our music on a cassette tape player brings on a nostalgic feeling for me.
I finally made it to the front door, and it felt like a ton as I opened it, and the keys jingled as I placed them on the table. The couch looked so inviting with the soft cushions. I surrendered and embraced the sofa, collapsing onto the plush pillows and sinking in deeper. Reflecting on my day, one of my cases was missing information, and a supervisor pointed it out. This is a reminder for me to pay closer attention to detail. My work involves investigating crimes for the municipal police department in a small neighborhood in New Jersey.
As I’m having an overwhelming feeling of burnout from the horrific crimes I deal with, it causes a headache, which elicits me to rub my temples to help soothe me. This happens when I allow the faces of the victims to appear in my mind. Sexual assault cases triggers my anxiety more than anything else. I used to be a sexual assault advocate, and the stories invaded my mind so badly that I kept having the same nightmare of dark, faceless figures shrouding me before they attacked me. Every time a new victim told me their story, pieces of it would stick to me and remain inside my brain. And every time I would think that is the worst thing I ever heard or seen, something worse comes along. Sexual advocacy strains the heart and mind because I wanted to help them so badly. Maybe it is because I was once a victim myself and know how they feel. The trapped box is the worst consequence to have because it traps all your emotions. Being a victim takes your voice and power away. There are moments I want to scream, but nothing comes out. It is extremely important that victims think of themselves as survivors, because this is where you get your strength back.
I worked in that field as long as I could until I burned out, and soon after I moved to a new position in criminal investigations. Similar cases, but being a sexual advocate, the difference is that you are more intimate with clients and know more personal details, which affected my mental health. Either way, both jobs are extremely rough but can be rewarding, knowing how you can help hundreds of victims in the long-run.
My husband walks out of the bedroom and asks, “What’s wrong with you?”
“Today was draining and stressful for me. My boss pointed out some mistakes, and I accept the mistakes I made today because I did accidentally leave out some information on the report. Thankfully it was only a few and not important ones, just minor details, but even the minor ones still count.”
“That is not like you, Sani. You are usually good at paying attention to detail. Is something going on? Is everything fine?” Mark asked as he hunched his shoulders and raised his eyebrows, giving a look of worry.
“I think I’m just feeling drained from the caseload and the nature of the crimes.”
“That’s understandable. I know you see horrific things, and each time it takes a toll on your mental-being. I feel like your job is like a shark and takes chunks out of you each time you start a new case. Maybe we should go on a vacation soon?”
My son, Shawn, entered the room, and when he heard the word ‘vacation’, he immediately yelled out, “YESSSS!”
I smiled and said, “Sounds like a great idea, and I need some time off.” My son eyes widened with wonderment as he dazed at me and his father, and then hugged me. I could get a million hugs from him and it still would not be enough. I love him to the moon and back. He is my everything.
I looked back over to my husband, “By the way, I saw two girls roller skating on the street when I pulled up in the driveway. It made me think of my friends when we used to do that. Those were the days. I miss the 80s.”
Shawn jumped at the chance to say, “Mom, you roller-skated, and Dad skateboarded,” and laughed while still playing with his Lego toys.
“Yes, I’m the roller girl from Jersey, and Daddy is the skater boy from Queens.” I laughed along with him.
Mark walks over and places his hand on my shoulder, glanced at me and then replies with sincerity, “Try to relax on the couch for now. You need a break. I will cook dinner tonight.” That made me feel a relief and supported. We don’t have the perfect marriage, but who does. Marriage is 24/7 work, constant work but supporting each other. I could never understand how some people make marriage out to be some perfect fairytale. If people aren’t made perfect then how do you expect a marriage to be perfect. People make mistakes, and only you know what you can compromise on and if you communicate this to your partner, then you hope for the best but you do not place people on a pedestal. Once you do that, a person will always disappoint you.
Shawn comes towards me, sits next to me on the couch for a few minutes, and shows me his Lego toys. He hovers his hands over the miniature characters and spaceship, not touching them but more like presenting it to me with pride. Shawn explains to me the unique characters of Star Wars and the various starships, even breaks down the weapons each figure has to be prepared to fight. My son is always building and creating with these toys. It is his favorite thing to do, and his imagination reminds me of myself when I was his age. He is 13, and I can relate because my sister and I still played with dolls at that age too and had the wildest imaginations.
At that moment I looked down, now remembering my youth; my son grabbed my hand and then buries his tiny face into mine and feeling the warmth radiates between us. This is when I know my son feels safe and secure. He is a sweet boy; we are so blessed that he is in our lives. Shawn spreads the toys all over the couch, but then immediately grabs them and runs into his room as if he has a new idea of what to build next. Smiling, just admiring that energy and missing the days of innocent dreams and creativity.
Thinking in silence, “I could use that in my life right about now.” Then I began thinking about how unique my family truly is, exploring the thought of how handpicked we are, and this helped build my character. Another way to say it: ‘The Chosen Family.’
