The Power of the Subconscious

I woke up feeling "out of sorts" yesterday morning. I was glad I had made plans for an early morning walk with a friend, because it kept my mind occupied for a while. However, it didn't take long for the feeling of unrest to come back. While getting my breakfast, I glanced at the calendar on my refrigerator and realized it was May 28. A year ago on that day I fell and broke my arm. To be exact, it was my humerus, which is the bone that runs from the shoulder to the elbow. I had shattered it—and, yes, it wasn't the least bit funny. It was just one more stressful situation in lives that were already way over stressed.

Was it the subconscious memory of that traumatic day that caused the uneasiness I felt when I awoke? Maybe. Maybe not. But, once I realized the significance of that date, I found it hard to shake the memories associated with it. I was filled with sadness and regret that, during the last 3 weeks of his life, Art had to stand helplessly by as an ambulance took me to the hospital for surgery; and what saddened me the most, was remembering that, from May 28 until he died on June 24, I was never again able to put both my arms around him and give him a hug.

My arm is still healing; so is my heart. And life goes on.

Finding Normal

When Art died, an old friend, who was also a widow, wrote me a note with this advice: "Don't say 'no' to anything." I've been following her advice for nearly 11 months now. I've rarely turned down an invitation to go to a movie, or go out for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. I've joined the Women's Wine Club, a group that gathers at a different restaurant each month for a gourmet dinner and wine tasting. I've volunteered for the Harry Chapin Food Bank and Ronald McDonald House, I've gone to one museum to see Princess Diana's dresses, and another museum to see a Chihuly exhibit, I've traveled to Connecticut and Honolulu to spend time with my children, I've attended medical writers' meetings in Dallas, Orlando and Rockville, Maryland…

Although there's no doubt that keeping busy has kept me from spending my days wallowing in self pity and missing Art every second of the day, I'm beginning to realize that this almost frenzied busyness can't go on forever. It's just not normal—at least not for me. There must be a "happy medium," but I haven't found it yet.

Obviously, very little about my life has been normal since Art died. I still play Mah Jongg on Monday evenings. I still go to Book Club once a month. I still take my early morning walks (most mornings). I still watch some favorite TV programs, and read the daily local paper and the Sunday New York Times. I try to keep up with email,  and I still work part time as a freelance medical writer. That's about it. But even those familiar activities aren't entirely normal. Art isn't here to greet me when I get home from Mah Jongg Monday evenings; he's not sitting in the family room or on the lanai reading the paper with me; and he's not here taking care of household chores when I'm busy working on a writing project.

I want my life to feel normal again and I have to trust that someday it will. But, right now it's hard for me to imagine when that might happen and what that new normal might be like.