NEW NORMAL, I GUESS

Those of us who have attended support groups for years (I attended, not one, but two bereavement groups this morning.) frequently hear about two things, quality of life, and the new normal.  Gwen and I certainly enjoyed a quality of life that was in some ways quite remarkable, in spite of her disease.  We traveled and visited with friends and relatives and were spared all that goes with a prolonged stay in a nursing home.  We also talked about how much more meaningful these adventures would have been were we in full health.  I remember Gwen's doctors talking about how treatment of the cancer would improve her quality of life.  And, it certainly did add several months to her life.  Months that she and I, as well as her family and friends enjoyed to the fullest.  But, to call that quality of life is perhaps misleading, at least from the perspective of those who must live under whatever conditions the treatments and the disease may impose.  To me it was more like a judge saying to a prisoner:  "I am sentencing you to five years in jail, and you will die before you complete the sentence; but, we'll put you in a really nice cell and treat you well."

After her diagnosis, we were also told that we would adjust to the new normal.   Since her death, I am told that I am once again going to adjust to a new normal.   I get it, I know that when my Sweet Gwen died my life would be unalterably change forever.  My goodness, we knew each other for 50 years, and every single day we loved each other the best way we each knew how to do. I resist being told to expect a time when not having that will be normal, no matter what kind of qualifier is placed before the word.  To me, the reality is that the new normal is never being normal again.  That's what it's like, at least for me.  I wrote a little bit about this:

NEW NORMAL, I GUESS 

It finally happened,

 one of those new normal days

 I was toldI would be having;

breakfast with friends

hour at the gym

back home before noon.

I needed something

that was in the room downstairs,

felt Gwen’s presence there

as I always do.

Lay on the bed.

Stared at the ceiling,

the same one she saw,

and I cried

and I cried

and I cried.

That's the new normal.

  

John A. Bayerl, February 8, 2011

As I re-read this, I sensed my continuing ambivalence about these topics.  Some days, like today, it's "Gosh, I wish I didn't even have to think about these things."  Then, I remind myself that the time we did have with Gwen was largely attributable to her indomitable spirit and sense of hope. She knew what matters.