One thing that I love most about my job, well actually pretty much every job I have had since I graduated from college, is that they without exception helped put my life into perspective.
For years I worked solely with children. Days of developmentally delayed kiddos, kiddos with life threatening illnesses, brushes with death, myriads of medical problems, all helped to put my own children's issues into perspective. So what we we were dealing with ear infections and tubes, tonsils and adenoids being removed, 15 bouts of pneumonia one winter, scheduling life so that every 4 hours we were near an electrical outlet to give neb treatments - my kids were basically healthy and meeting their developmental milestones, and most importantly, here.
I've dealt with a lot of dysfunctional families as well. So what if I had 2 step daughters, (who blessedly are still in my life and 2 of my best friends), a somewhat critical MIL and a less than perfect husband - he still loved me and the kids with all of his heart, provided for us financially and emotionally and never ever missed the opportunity to tell us he loved us. I am 100% certain that even tho he had no idea he was going to die his final words to each of us was "I love you" or "I love you too" (depending on who said what first).
During the course of this "journey" of widowhood my job has continued to convince me that no matter how bad my situation seems, there are so many who are so much worse off than me that I am indeed blessed. Perspective, even on those dark days where I was drowning in despair.
This week something however really caught me off guard. I was admitting a new patient, and going through the usual litany of question. Widowed. I can handle that one now, I don't choke up and tear over when one of my patients tells me they are widowed (took a long time, I"ve come a long way). Then the next question, how long have you been widowed, And get this, she said "it's so long I can't remember". WOW. The first year I measured by hours, then days, then weeks, and finally months. The second and third years it was still months. Now at almost 4 it is sometimes months but occasionally I find myself saying "3 1/2 " or "Almost 4" years. From the early days where I never thought I could live a week, let alone a month, it is strange to be at the "almost 4 year" point. But I never thought, and still don't think, that I could possibly get to the place of "I don't remember"
and now it's had me stewing all week. Is that a "good" place to be? would it mean i forgot him? I don't think so, this same patient has regaled me with stories of her husband, their early years, their family. She now has great great grand children, has been alone for at least 30 years from what I have been able to piece together, yet she still remembers. so that is good. but forgets how long. Still blows me away.
I don't think I want to get to the point of "i don't remember" but as I thought about it there is a fairly good certainty that I will live to be older than Dave when he died (58), will live more years without him than with (we were married 14 years 11 months to the day) so who knows.
Perspective............
