In one book, in two sentences, Joan Didion in the The Year of Magical Thinking, summed up life – my life – “Life changes in the instant. The ordinary instant.” For Joan, her instant, is sitting down to dinner after coming home from visiting her daughter in the hospital and her husband dies of a heart attack at the dinner table. The ordinary instant of making dinner. Of enjoying a whiskey.
For me, my instant, was getting a call from my sister that Dad was in the hospital. Talking to him. Thinking it was a urine infection. Resuming work. Talking to my co-workers. Calling again. Finding he was no longer in the ER. Calling again. Finding out he had a massive heart attack. The ordinary instant of cubicle life.
Six weeks earlier, that instant was getting a call from my Aunt with news about my Mom. That the Dr. wanted to check my Mom into hospice. Which if you’re familiar with hospice, it’s the point of no return. Same cubicle. Another ordinary instant of cubicle life.
A lot of times we never see the bad stuff coming. There are no warning signs. There is no traffic slowing down to let you know there is a cop with a radar gun. And even if there are no warning signs, blinking headlights or giant red flares, it still feels like it comes out of nowhere. Six years later, and at any moment I’m always wondering, “is this one of those ordinary instants?” It’s living life waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Magical Thinking refers to the irrational thinking that comes along with grief. The belief that your loved one isn’t dead. That if you had done things differently they wouldn’t have died. The way I wish I had realized it wasn’t a urine infection when he went into the doctor three days before his heart attack. The way my sister wishes her last meal with him wasn’t a Big Mac.
The Year of Magical Thinking helped me with understanding the grieving process better than any of the self-help books I received. I also didn’t read any of the self-help books I received. Correlation? Perhaps.
Life changes fast.
Life changes in the instant.
You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends.
The question of self-pity.
