Vignettes of Irrationality, Pt. 2
One of the long-term side effects of bereavement that I didn’t expect (but probably should’ve) is paranoia, specifically, paranoia about the health and well-being of those I care about. I thought I’d left the insanities of grieving behind me for awhile now, but this one persists. It is not news to anyone who’s lived it that losing someone you love deeply is the last loss of innocence, with, perhaps, the exception of our own deaths. I think it’s because we have an appreciation of how suddenly someone can be taken from you. I lost my beloved to a sudden death, out of the blue. But even if you lost your loved one to a disease that takes him or her slowly, it’s still sudden. I can only think that the moment you get a diagnosis, your life changes instantaneously. The change between being a person with a long life in front of you to being a person who may truly be facing death can only be sudden, startling, and frightening.
And that’s where my paranoia comes from, from knowing that one minute you’re planning a future with a specific cast of characters, and the next minute you’re trying to figure out where your loved one, and the life you had, went.
I have always had a tendency to mentally jump to the worst case scenario, even before A died. I don’t know why, but I do. When I drive over high bridges, I have the image of my car flying over the side, every time. I always envision myself being kidnapped (or worse) when I walk alone in the dark. I freak myself out thinking that way, but while I can stop myself continuing the dark fantasy, I can’t stop it before it occurs. But now I know it could happen; stuff like that happens every day, and I do not imagine myself immune to the dangers of the world. I’ve had a 2-year master class on the subject; I know better.
Tonight I was outside raking as the monsoon started moving in, and the lightning was flying. I was out there at that time because it’s the only time it’s cool enough to do any yard work. And I thought, "Am I going to get struck by lightning? If I do, how long will I be out in the back yard before E finds me?" I kept raking anyway, because I figure if it isn’t my time, I’m not going to get hit, and if it is my time, there’s no avoiding it anyway. It was only after the third strike came just over my head that I decided to take shelter.
My dear friend who works at the same place I do was an hour late to work the other day, and hadn’t called in sick or late. She’ll be 70 in 2 weeks. I worry, for her. And for me, should she, too, leave me. I was worried, and felt that controlled panic of my reptilian mind being controlled by my logical mind. When she finally walked in the door, I informed her that had she been 10 minutes later, I would’ve been on the phone to her daughter.
It was my dad’s 59th birthday this week. I called to wish him a happy birthday, and though it was 8:30 their time, he wasn’t home. And the phone rang and rang instead of the machine picking up, which was odd. And I was this close to calling my brother to find out when he’d last talked to them, and would he go check on them? I ended up trying my dad on his cell instead, and was so relieved when he answered.
Every time the phone rings outside of what I consider acceptable phoning times (10 a.m. to 10 p.m.), I am afraid to answer it, fearing it can only be bad news. Usually it brings a wrong number and a brief conversation to that effect in Spanish. (I get almost no English wrong numbers; I have no idea why this is the case.)
When E, the king of promptness, is 10 minutes late, I imagine his car smashed in traffic, and wonder what I’m going to do with all his comic books now. It’s not right, but it is, nonetheless.
Today I got a phone call, a reminder from the salon where tomorrow I’ll be taking the same friend who was late to work for a pre-birthday pedicure. I missed the call because I was outside with the dogs. It took me 5 minutes to get to the message, though, because I had to resave a bunch of saved messages on my voicemail. I have saved messages from A’s best friend; both my parents; E; my brother; my friend’s mother, and I keep resaving them. Why? Because if they die suddenly, I will want to be able to hear their voices. I have no such recording of A, and I won’t get caught out again. Death lurks in every exhalation, and I’m going to be prepared this time, dammit.
I’m aware of so many woulda/shoulda/couldas that came up after A died, that I’m taking that knowledge and trying to have fewer of them the next time death takes someone I love.
I know this is all the result of A’s death, and because he didn’t answer the phone when I called, and he wasn’t where I expected him to be at the time I was expecting him to be there. I myself have a pretty relaxed relationship with time, and being 10 minutes late or early doesn’t faze me. And it didn’t bother me if other people were late, either…until A died.
The only reason I fear that people can just up and die on me is because it happened. It’s hard to talk yourself out of a fear that is based on experience.
Everything you wrote here–yup, I think/worry/do/am paranoid about too. Still. It’s not quite as sharp as it was earlier after Charley died, but I still do it, even at 3 years out.
Great post, as always. Thanks! =)
Queen of Doom checking in. I do and think the same. But I too was always this way and I remind myself of this whenever the scenarios get to morbid.
You know, that actually makes me feel better, Annie. I thought I was the only one. I guess the difference between then and now is then, I just dismissed my imaginings as silly. Now I find that harder to do.
No, thank YOU, Candice.
TGLB,
Not sure if you read my comment on Alicia’s blog (which I sort of turned into my own blog piece) about Dr. Pausch, but the fear of death thing is something I lack too. I think I always did. However, there was a fear of dying too soon. But that now is gone as well.
Honestly, there have been several occasions in my life where I could have died or would have died, mostly by misadventure. But someone or something interceded every time to prevent it. I don’t know why, really.
As far as paranoia goes, I’ve been one to imagine the worst all the time. Loved is late? Well, they’re in the ditch or died in a car wreck. It really seems irrational at times and I try not to dwell on it. I’m less likely to get worked up about it nowadays, way less so than before. Probably chalk that up to having been widowed. And a realization that if something is meant to happen (or not happen), then it’s going to happen/not happen regardless of what I do or think.
I did read it. And I’m with you on your last sentence.