Welcome to the “New Normal”

22 months ago.

22 months ago my world came down with one hellish, painful crash.

22 months ago I lost my best friend, my mind, my heart, my stability, my identity…basically…I lost my “normal”.

I lost the “normal” I had known for the past 28 years. 28 years of a life that I was comfortable with. 28 years with the man I loved whom I knew loved me. 28 years with the man I had built a life with. 28 years with the man I had raised 2 children with. 28 years with the man who was my protector, my constant supporter, my rock. 28 years gone in the blink of an eye.

Now what? I was 46 years old. Not a child and not a young mother raising babies but still scared of the unknown. Our children were basically grown. Our daughter, our youngest, was 22 still living at home and in college. Our son, our oldest, had been married almost 2 years and was starting his own “normal”. Telling our children that their dad was gone was the most heartwrenching task I have EVER completed and I do not wish it on anyone. That’s not a pretty memory.

Did I mention he died on our daughter’s birthday? Yes. At 1:58 am on August 17th, 2020. An hour and 58 minutes into her 22nd birthday. Did I also mention this all occurred during the beginning of the whole COVID scare? That meant that my children and I could NOT be with him in the hospital. The staff broke several rules for us because let’s face it, they had a feeling this wasn’t going to end well. 5-minute “visits” with a man who was intubated were better than no visits at all I suppose. So, I was notified that the love of my life, the father of my children was DYING over the phone.

Things I remember from that point on:

1. “Your husband is coding again. They are trying to revive him but they don’t believe it’s going to work. We need you to tell us to stop or continue.”
2. The sound of the alarms over the phone…you know, the “coding” sound that alerts all staff to a room.
3. My response: “Is he in pain?” Nurses response: “No, it’s just like he has gone to sleep.”
4. She (the nurse) then tells me that “He’s always been surrounded by people” which I know was supposed to help me feel more at ease knowing he wasn’t alone…BUT, those weren’t HIS PEOPLE!! We weren’t with him. I wasn’t able to sit by his side and hold his hand and talk to him. This haunts me every day. We’ve all heard of how people who are sedated or in a coma are still able to hear their loved ones and some even fight harder to survive because THEY’RE LOVED ONES ARE THERE BY THEIR SIDE. We weren’t given that option. We were robbed of that. Would it have helped? I have no idea but I sure as hell wish we could have been given the chance to try. Yes, that’s my selfish wish, guilt, whatever you want to call it. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate that someone was able to be there but I HATE MYSELF for not being more determined and adamant about this!! I’m a very hardheaded person…why didn’t I fight for this more? I keep repeating in my brain that he would have fought harder for me. Maybe someday I’ll be able to let this go. But, today is not the day.
5. “We pronounce him at 1:58 am on August 17, 2020″…I had to tell them to stop. I had to tell them to let my husband go. I had no choice because I knew without a doubt that he would NOT want to be put through that if there was no hope.
6. I don’t remember exactly how I got there but the next thing I know, I’m on the floor in my kitchen and my daughter and soon-to-be son-in-law are helping me up.
7. My house is filling with family. I’m sitting in a chair. My sister (a nurse) tells me, “take this, it’ll help.” I do. My nephew hands me a coffee.
8. We are frantically trying to call my son and daughter-in-law…not something you want to say over the phone. My kids arrive. My sister drives us to the hospital.
9. Arrive at hospital. All staff…and I mean ALL STAFF including the security guard have heard our story and are sharing their condolences. “Your family has really left an impact on us all”.
10. We say our goodbyes…sort of. Sign papers, cry, talk to the kind nurse who tells us that his last words were that he loved us and that he fought so hard to stay…sign more papers to order an autopsy because at this point we were all pretty confused at to what had really happened. Cry a little more. A visit from the chaplain. Pamphlets on coping, grief counseling, etc, etc, etc. A reminder to “take care of yourself because grief has been found to cause health issues”. Sure. Top of my list at this point.

We gather ourselves. We walk out the door. Now what? Now. What. You know, there is not one single human being who can answer that question. You know why? Because it’s a different answer for everyone. There is no script, no manual, no right or wrong way to proceed. You just DO IT. Or you DON’T.

Lots of phone calls, preparations, decisions, this and that…visitation done, funeral done. Everyone goes home. Everyone continues with life. It is what it is. With that being said, our support system is HUGE!! And when I say huge…I damn well mean HUGE!!! I can absolutely see how someone could just curl up in the fetal position and fade away…if it hadn’t been for my children, my family (my amazing sister, brother-in-law, honorary parents, Uncle and Aunt, nieces and nephews), my friends: my support system…MY TRIBE…well, I might have just faded away. No. Not might. I would have. WILLINGLY.

This is where the reality sinks in a little more. This is where the new “normal” begins. I’m not a fan of change. I like things to be simple and familiar. Well, that was out the window now. I spent lots of sleepless nights trying to wrap my head around what had happened and why. I had figured out the medical reason and logically knew why but, your heart doesn’t buy into logic. Regardless, I was never going to be the same person I was before. I was never going to think the same way I did before. The old “normal” me had been buried with my husband.

So, who was I now?

Who was I before? Let’s see…I was a wife, mother, and teacher. But, what did those titles mean? To me, they meant (and still do) the world. I had built my entire life around those identities. Now, being a mother and teacher were not titles that were being taken from me. WIFE was the identity I was losing and I wasn’t going down without a fight! I had been a wife since I was 18 years old. My entire adult life I had been his wife and was (still am) damn proud of that. We shared so much common ground. I had grown up on a farm just like my husband. I had the rural background that he did and we were blessed to raise our own children in the same way. We were a farm family rooted in pride, loyalty, determination, and values. We worked hard side by side to get things done and to stay afloat. Life isn’t easy and if you think it is, well…you must live in a fairy tale world. We worked HARD at building a life and hard at being who we were. I was proud of my husband and even more proud to say I was a Farmer’s Wife.

Now…this new word, new identity that the world wanted to pin on me: WIDOW

When I heard the word “widow” I often pictured a woman all dressed in black, downcast that everyone basically dodged for at least a year. Ok…I’m a big historical fiction fan so I might have over-exaggerated that in my mind but you get my meaning! This was not the new title I wanted…in fact, 22 months later, I still don’t want it! In my heart, I’m still married to my husband (yes, I know, “until death do us part”)! Maybe you think that’s insane, denial, stubbornness…call it what you want but it’s where I am in my “New Normal”. Maybe someday I’ll embrace it…but not today.

Today and for a long while, I intend to keep my Farmer’s Wife identity…now you know how the title of this blog was born. I’m the Farmer’s Wife Once Removed.

So, if you have read this entire first blog post to the bitter end…you are a saint! No, seriously, thank you.

What do I hope to accomplish with this new venture? Well, I am a work in progress (we all are) but I have survived 22 months without my dear farmer. I have learned a lot and I have a lot to learn. I might just have a few lessons to share with some of you who are interested in learning as well. If so, stick around and check back often. I have a feeling we will cry, laugh, scream, and roll our eyes along the way!

Now! See you soon…I have chores to do! 🙂