NOPE!
—I’ve yet to get anywhere explaining “disconnect-from-reality” with anyone.
So far it’s happened to me twice. First was after my stroke, and second was after my wife died.
In each case I was left wondering if I was in the real world.
I’d say it took ten years to regain my sense of reality after my stroke.
“Is this really happening? Is this reality?”
2-3 years after my stroke, my wife and I took a motor-trip to south Jersey and northern DE. I hadn’t been cleared-to-drive yet, so my wife drove. An uncle lived in south Jersey, and a brother in northern DE.
I’m a railfan, so my brother took me to Claymont’s railroad-station where Amtrak’s Northeast Corridor goes through on its way to Philadelphia. It’s the old Pennsylvania Railroad line between New York City and Washington DC.
All-of-a-sudden here came an Amtrak speedster, 100 mph, express through Claymont.
WHAM-SLAM! Just like old times!
Nothing like a 100-mph train to get your attention!
The Northeast Corridor is electrified. The locomotives are electric, and get their power from overhead wire.
A “pantograph” is atop the locomotive to follow the wire. It bounces, and giant arcs fly between the pantograph and the wire.
Yes, I was indeed in the real world. Same world I knew as a teenager, where giant arcs flew between the wire and a pantograph atop a speeding GG-1 locomotive.
Prior to Claymont “is this for real?”
Even after Claymont, reconnection-with-reality took many more years.
My wife’s death was equally traumatic, probably more so.
It was devastating: she was the BEST friend I ever had, and after my childhood, I sure needed one.
When she died my connection with reality disappeared. All I did was go through-the-motions for years.
I attended my 50-year high-school reunion 3-4 months later.
“Back-to-reality,” I thought.
NOPE! Still off-in-the-ozone when I returned.
Bouts of continued crying and sorrow.
I began attending a grief-share here at home. Lots of tears among others who didn’t think that weird.
“Condolences,” a retired bus-driver said to me. That made me angry. I’d heard “condolences” so many times I was sick of it.
(Give the dude a break = those not bereaved have no idea!)
The years rolled by. Lawnmower stuck multiple times, flat tires, camera-failure during a faraway railfan trip; things for which my wife woulda been my cheering section.
I traded our two cars for a 2012 SUV I still have.
Scarlett, the rescue Irish-Setter my wife and I got, lived five more years, then started getting seizures.
I had to put her down. Now that my fog has partly lifted, I realize what a complete mess she entertained.
We hiked a lot, me and Scarlett. The only remaining memory of my beloved wife. Walkies filled time, which crept by ever-so-slowly.
I just got done mowing lawn. The section I mowed, probably over an acre, took maybe two hours. It seems it took way longer years ago.
Now as I put supper together, or do laundry, doing so seems more real.
One of the leaders at that grief-share, who I continue to be friends with, commented she’d never tell a griever “getting over it” might take ten or more years.
I remember being told two years.
NOPE!
• I had a stroke October 26th, 1993 from an undiagnosed heart-defect since repaired. I pretty much recovered. Just tiny detriments; I can pass for never having had a stroke.
• My wife of 44&1/2 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012. I still miss her. BEST friend I ever had, and after my childhood I needed one. She actually liked me.
• My lawnmower is huge, a big zero-turn that I ride. It weighs about 800 pounds. I mow about three acres, but not all at once.
So far it’s happened to me twice. First was after my stroke, and second was after my wife died.
In each case I was left wondering if I was in the real world.
I’d say it took ten years to regain my sense of reality after my stroke.
“Is this really happening? Is this reality?”
2-3 years after my stroke, my wife and I took a motor-trip to south Jersey and northern DE. I hadn’t been cleared-to-drive yet, so my wife drove. An uncle lived in south Jersey, and a brother in northern DE.
I’m a railfan, so my brother took me to Claymont’s railroad-station where Amtrak’s Northeast Corridor goes through on its way to Philadelphia. It’s the old Pennsylvania Railroad line between New York City and Washington DC.
All-of-a-sudden here came an Amtrak speedster, 100 mph, express through Claymont.
WHAM-SLAM! Just like old times!
Nothing like a 100-mph train to get your attention!
The Northeast Corridor is electrified. The locomotives are electric, and get their power from overhead wire.
A “pantograph” is atop the locomotive to follow the wire. It bounces, and giant arcs fly between the pantograph and the wire.
Yes, I was indeed in the real world. Same world I knew as a teenager, where giant arcs flew between the wire and a pantograph atop a speeding GG-1 locomotive.
Prior to Claymont “is this for real?”
Even after Claymont, reconnection-with-reality took many more years.
My wife’s death was equally traumatic, probably more so.
It was devastating: she was the BEST friend I ever had, and after my childhood, I sure needed one.
When she died my connection with reality disappeared. All I did was go through-the-motions for years.
I attended my 50-year high-school reunion 3-4 months later.
“Back-to-reality,” I thought.
NOPE! Still off-in-the-ozone when I returned.
Bouts of continued crying and sorrow.
I began attending a grief-share here at home. Lots of tears among others who didn’t think that weird.
“Condolences,” a retired bus-driver said to me. That made me angry. I’d heard “condolences” so many times I was sick of it.
(Give the dude a break = those not bereaved have no idea!)
The years rolled by. Lawnmower stuck multiple times, flat tires, camera-failure during a faraway railfan trip; things for which my wife woulda been my cheering section.
I traded our two cars for a 2012 SUV I still have.
Scarlett, the rescue Irish-Setter my wife and I got, lived five more years, then started getting seizures.
I had to put her down. Now that my fog has partly lifted, I realize what a complete mess she entertained.
We hiked a lot, me and Scarlett. The only remaining memory of my beloved wife. Walkies filled time, which crept by ever-so-slowly.
I just got done mowing lawn. The section I mowed, probably over an acre, took maybe two hours. It seems it took way longer years ago.
Now as I put supper together, or do laundry, doing so seems more real.
One of the leaders at that grief-share, who I continue to be friends with, commented she’d never tell a griever “getting over it” might take ten or more years.
I remember being told two years.
NOPE!
• I had a stroke October 26th, 1993 from an undiagnosed heart-defect since repaired. I pretty much recovered. Just tiny detriments; I can pass for never having had a stroke.
• My wife of 44&1/2 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012. I still miss her. BEST friend I ever had, and after my childhood I needed one. She actually liked me.
• My lawnmower is huge, a big zero-turn that I ride. It weighs about 800 pounds. I mow about three acres, but not all at once.
posted by BobbaLew at 8:31 AM
1 Comments:
I will never get over losing my husband of 57 years, but that is OK. Grief groups have helped as I hear and see others going through similar grief. I don't dwell on it any more, it is just life-on-life's terms and sometimes it just plain sucks! Why me, why me -- why not me. So life goes on, tears come and go, but memories are always there to remember. We had many good times together, our last trip was to the northwest -- absolutely wonderful. I still have many blessings in my life as I continue this new journey.
Janet Mamula
Post a Comment
<< Home