Electra & AML: The Path To Normalcy

(See all posts related to Electra's ongoing treatment)

It's been nearly two months. That's weird to me. Like so many big events in life, the time since Electra died (I'm trying to make myself say this instead of "passed on" or some other euphemism) has maintained that weird dichotomy of seeming like it was just yesterday, and yet that it was ages ago. I don't know whether it's shock that does this, or we just don't really grasp the passing of time as much as we think we do. But in terms of progress, it's been a rather eventful two months. I've attended two memorials on two continents, emptied a flat, visited friends and family (mine and Electra's), had a visit paid to me by my brother, moped around the house for a few weeks and returned to work. It's been an intense period, but I'm increasingly aware that this period is drawing to a close. Normalcy is beginning to dawn anew, and though a rocky path lies between that sense of regularity and myself, it's a good destination to have.

You see, any sense of normalcy I once had (and let's be honest, I had a tenuous grasp at best on the concept at even the best of time) has been rather shattered. I made a point throughout Electra's treatment to  spend time in London with friends to avoid becoming completely mired in sickness and despair. So I've not been totally disconnected. But for nearly a year and a half, my life has been split firmly between two cities to an even greater extent than when we were in a committed but long-distance relationship. Moving between two locations makes it hard to truly settle or feel at home. Moreover, the sword of Damocles was ever-present: even when things were going comparatively well, the spectre of sickness and death loomed large. So "normal" was quietly packed away in the closet. It's now time to dust off that box and try it on for size once more.

This comes in many forms. Work is a big feature. Although I'm glad to have taken off the full four weeks that I did, I'm very much ready for a return to routine. The first few days and even weeks of my time off were filled with things that needed to be done-organising the memorial, emptying Electra's flat, and so forth. The last week of my time off was spent with my brother and was a fantastic time. But in-between those two was the thoughtful time. The time to collect thoughts and come to grips. That was vital, and again I'm glad to have had it. But near the end, it started to settle firmly into mopey territory. Suddenly the days were spent lying in bed or drifting around my empty house. And that's not good.

I know myself pretty well, and one of my failings is a periodic tendency for what I lovingly call "low mood" periods, but are realistically slightly depressive episodes. These used to be nearly crippling when I was younger and have mostly faded from memory. However, every few months, one will rear its head and I will get "blue", often for no reason. And this makes me susceptible to getting even more down in response to events like those of recent months. And I know that moping around does me no good as I will spiral further into depression. Instead, I need to get out; see people; do some work; sleep and eat to a schedule. So I'm very much glad to be back to work and to my social circles.

On the other hand, I know this is an ongoing process, and that I should–and do–expect periodic resurgences of emotion and depression, and need to brace for those. This will take me awhile to process. I've already seen some effects of this. A few too many drinks and I can expound and rant and get overly emotional to close friends who deserve better. Quiet periods or certain songs, shows or thoughts can trigger memories and emotions. But that's all part of the process, and I'm dealing with it OK. And I'm trying to get some good from the experience.

If there is to be a silver lining from the hell of the last year and a half, I feel it is this: life is short. I know how much of a cliché it is to come to this realisation after a tragic loss, but there's a good reason why it's a cliché: it damned true. In his amazing and moving Stanford commencement speech in 2005, Steve Jobs touches on this issue, stating that knowing you are going to die frees you to do what you want, and it is this message I am trying to embrace. You see, I rarely just do what I want. I think. I ponder. I over-analyse and weigh up options. I get second, third and fourth opinions and ponder more. I rarely make a truly awful decision, but I miss out on many great opportunities because my indecision drags me into the quagmire of inaction. And I want to change this.

Deliberation has a vital place. Decisions should be made carefully, and risk mitigated. But to become so risk-averse as to not take chances deprives you of some of the best occurrences of your life. And it fills you with regrets. Mark Twain once said "Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover." And he was right. When I think back to my regrets, I rarely think of that which I tried and failed at. I think of the times I didn't even step up to the plate, and just let the pitch go by. Those are the things that eat at me.

So I'm resolving to do better, and have done so to some degree already. The results haven't been perfect, and neither will they be in the future. I have faith, however, in my closest friends. Even when I make a misstep and go too far or make a poor decision, I trust in those around me to help support and love me and with their strength I will persevere. My friends are precious to me and their love and care has buoyed me through the most turbulent seas I've traversed; I know they will continue to do so, just as they will tell me when I'm dangerous waters above my head, when my carpe diem attitude takes me perhaps too far.

But I will try. Because the trying is the important thing. I'm young, in one of the greatest cities in the world and have good people around me. Now is the time to try. I know I will fail sometimes. I know I will do things that seem stupid in retrospect or make things difficult or uncomfortable. But I will try them. I have too. I'm sick of wondering "what if?". Even when the outcome isn't what I hope for, the attempt and the asking is what's important, sometimes more so than the outcome itself.

Electra had a bubbly, cheerful enthusiasm which was infectious. I lament how much of our time was spent with me tied to a Ph.D. I wasn't fond of and how much of our time was limited by geographical or financial constraints. I don't want to make that mistake again. I want to make new mistakes. Fun mistakes. I want to go out on a limb more, to strive for the freshest fruit on the furthest boughs. This is how I will force myself to return to normalcy: I will push for a better normalcy. This is how I will treasure Electra's memory: I will forego fear and will live my life fuller than before.

Regrets are about lamenting a past that cannot be changed. That's not helpful; what is helpful is to mourn, to remember but above all else, to learn. We learn from what we've done and we grow from pain and tragedy. And as long as we are in the land of the living, we have a duty to enjoy that. To live, to laugh and to love. 2012 is off to a pretty shitty start. But I will be doing myself, and Electra's memory, a disservice to dwell and hate and mope. Like Canute, I can command the tides of history to recede as much as I want, but it will never happen. Instead, I will embrace life and do my best to honour and cherish the memories I have and to push forward to the next, better, memories. Or–if things go crazy enough–at least I'll get some cool stories out of it.