I remember

I once went to a doctor who explained how the body had its own memory. He relied on that memory when he investigated cases of potential fraudulent injuries. He'd look for signs their body would make that indicated whether the injury actually occurred or not. He told me this after my own body showed signs of past injury about which I hadn't even told him. He read my body's responses and asked me whether I had dislocated my right kneecap before. Yes, I absolutely had many years prior as a cheerleader. Although I continued talking with him regarding my injury, my mind was focused on the stunning fact that he knew something about me that few people knew just by observing how I subconsciously reacted when he examined my knee. I have since forgotten the physical therapy exercises he recommended but I haven't forgotten that my body has its own memory of which I may not always be aware. I jokingly referred to it as my carnal knowledge.

I was reminded of this idea recently in another unexpected way. I had been given a wonderful gift from my parents, one that I was so looking forward to: a full body massage. In the last 2 and 1/2 years, I have given birth and cared for 3 boys - 2 of which are twins who are now 7 months old. These years were bursting with innumerable trials and tribulations, joys and blessings, successes and concerns. Basically, I had been through a hell of a lot and I needed some TLC.

I trotted off to the spa and slowly left behind my typical mother thoughts about my babies as I drove further from home and closer to my retreat. I practically glowed when I arrived and quickly settled into a moment for me. The room was dark, lit only with candles. Music softly played and washed over me. Peace and quiet are so rare these days. Peaceful sounds make me pause and listen. The masseur was perfect. She talked only briefly and gave me my space. I disrobed and laid on the table and began to let go.

The more my body relaxed the more tension I realized was there. Years of tension that no booze or hours away from home could wash away. I tried to relax as much as I could but then that became a stressor in and of itself so I stopped. I worked on just letting myself be.

As she massaged my muscles, she was like an archaeologist digging down through the layers of memory trapped in my body. In my case, they were memories and emotions that I had unknowingly buried in order to survive the many difficult situations I had experienced in the last few years. As she massaged, my body began to quietly tell me its story.

I began to revisit the last 2 1/2 years, particularly since I became pregnant with the twins. Emotions that I had tried to keep in check so that I could just get through the latest crisis, concern, discomfort. I remembered the first sonos that played havoc with our emotions as we were told both babies would make it, one would make it, both would make it, one would surely die and then both would make it. I began to remember what it was like to have 2 babies living in my belly, kicking me. I remember being afraid - how could I possibly handle twins? I remember not being able to hold my 2 year old when he needed me, being on bed rest, having a hard time even turning over.

Then there was the hospital - the long four weeks when I was ripped from my home and family to live with nurses and doctors. Alone in a room with the babies in my stomach, waiting and wondering what would happen to me and the twins. The birth - so welcomed yet so feared. 34 weeks - 6 weeks premature. 12 people in the operating room. One baby ok. One not. They were tiny. One in the room with us. One in NICU. Bonding with Evan but afraid to change his diaper because he was so small. Dylan with his face covered with breathing apparatus. His chest sinking down deeply as he struggled to breathe. I couldn't hold him yet. Later, so tiny he was placed skin to skin with me - placed down my shirt in what the nurses referred to as the kangaroo hold. That's when he really became my baby. Coming home and falling asleep with my 2 year old who was so confused and scared. One baby came home. One in the hospital then all of us home.

Each memory and emotion was being massaged out and I secretly cried tears that I had not let myself shed. I will cry more later when they're older or during my next massage.