I want my old normal back…

One of the often-uttered phrases during all of this is that I am adjusting to my new normal.

There is nothing normal about this. The old normal was perfectly fine. I want it back. Now.

Sure, death is an accepted part of life and those left behind need to deal with it. It is what it is. We attend a funeral, express our condolences, cry a bit, have wistful & fond memories, but for the most part, we go on after a small interruption of day-to-day life. Maybe we take a couple of days off, but eventually we go back to how life was before the death.

For the past 50+ years, the above is pretty much how death has affected me, as well. Some were a little harder than others, but after a reasonably short amount of time, things settled back down for the most part.

And returned to normal.

But, that’s not how it is this time. When I returned to work, I told my boss that I felt as if a couple of limbs had been ripped off. I didn’t know how else to describe it. Every single facet of my life had been changed. Just like someone who lost a limb or two, day-to-day functioning was severely compromised. I no longer felt whole. Half of me was gone…

I keep on keeping on, waiting for the hard stuff to pass and for this new normal to settle in. I’ve tried to be patient. In the beginning, I was harsh on myself for how long I was feeling bad. I thought for sure that I was going overboard and grieving for too long.

I’m the type of person that doesn’t like being thrown off their game & this lengthening period of not being in control of my emotions is frustrating. I’ve tried to back off of feeling that way. My counselor and others around me keep assuring me that it is going to take awhile and that everything I’m going through is normal.

Normal, huh? (insert cynical laugh here)

Let’s talk about this “new normal” nonsense…

I sleep with a gun on my nightstand.

I’ve not owned a gun in almost 40 years. Suddenly, I need one. Yes, need. Not only because I’m alone and afraid, but because there are stupid jerks out there who prey on women in my situation, and I had a stupid jerk try it on me. Actually, there were two stupid jerks. Right now, being armed is necessary. I even have a conceal carry permit and an NRA membership. Seriously? Little old Kumbaya me?

I only work, eat, and sleep. And not very much of the latter two. I rarely go anywhere, usually it’s just to the grocery store, the gas station and the bank. I appear in public as little as possible. I have my groceries delivered now and I pre-pay for my prescriptions on a phone app and pick them up in a drive-through. If I could work my job from home, I’d have it made. Every once in awhile I’ll briefly go to a restaurant, but I sit in a “paranoid” seat and keep my eyes on my phone to avoid having to interact with anyone.

I don’t answer my phone.

It doesn’t matter who it is, I don’t want to talk to anyone. Please leave a message after the beep.

I cry in the car every morning on my way to work and every afternoon on the way back home.

I don’t know what it is about being in the car, but invariably, I wind up in tears if the trip is longer than about 5 minutes. Fortunately, or unfortunately, work is one of the few places I drive, so the trips back and forth are painful. Even though I keep the Sirius Beatles channel going constantly to keep my mind occupied, it doesn’t help.

I’m having flashbacks.

Not to an extreme extent, but I have totally zoned out and been back at the bedside doing CPR in my head a bunch of times. This is immediately followed by the beginnings of a panic attack. I’ve done enough mindfulness work that I am aware of the change in my heart rate and breathing pattern and am generally able to wind myself down before it gets out of control. Usually, but not always. This is getting more frequent and starting to scare me. I’ll be talking to my grief counselor about it, for sure. I’m afraid she’s going to tell me it’s normal.

I’m miserable.

I’m desperately lonely, but still waiting for him to come back. I just do not get this at all. I know he died. I saw him die. I saw him in a casket. Why do I still feel like he’s just on a long vacation? I find this so very frustrating. And sad. I get mad at myself over this. It makes me feel stupid. Maybe this is part of that “denial” phase, I’m not sure. I’m sure someone will tell me it’s normal.

I’ll stop there.

Unfortunately, these are all facets of my new normal and I just need to suck it up. I’ve stopped waiting for it to end. It’s not going to. It’s not a phase. It’s a permanent thing and I guess I just have to learn to live with it. I hear it gets easier as time goes on, and I have to admit that the pain is not as knife-sharp as it was in the beginning, but it’s still there, it’s still sharp, and sometimes it knocks me flat.

Call it what you will, but it’s certainly not normal.