Plastic or … freedom

In the 1976 TV movie “The Boy in the Plastic Bubble,” John Travolta starred as Tod Lubitch – a young man who was forced to live in a plastic bubble due to a weakened immune system. In many ways, this describes the last years of Sherri’s life. Her seriously damaged lungs made just getting up and moving around difficult. Going outside and being exposed to allergens and the Florida heat often exasperated things 10 fold. It was a difficult situation to stomach watching my once fiercely independent wife not able to leave home and missing all of life happening around her.

Several months ago I made the decision to leave my office job and work remote so I could be home more with my specially gifted teenage daughter. It seemed like a good decision at the time, but hindsight as they say is always 20-20. Basically what I did by making that decision was put myself in the bubble that Sherri would have given everything to escape. Now physically there is no reason for me to stay in the house. Emotionally may be a different scenario all together.

Being home with my daughter more needed to happen. She has regressed since Sherri’s passing and needed some stability. Plus, trying to find care for her while I worked outside the home was expensive. But being home every day of the week means I have little-to-no interaction with adults. And when one is struggling with grief hiding out in the home all alone is not a wise decision. I have found the grief magnified over the last six weeks or so in part to not being able to share life with anyone.

Yes, I have one amazing friend who makes sure to text, invite me to join her for coffee and talks real with me. Yes, I am able to escape to church and I have one new friend there who sits with me and makes a point to talk to me every Sunday she is there. But that’s pretty much where it ends. Partly because I have a crazy work schedule that makes getting together with someone tough. But also because Sherri’s illness and passing have changed me at a fundamental level.

Sherri’s death changed who I am and how others see me. I am no longer a husband; I am a widower. I no longer have someone who loves me unconditionally to do life with. I no longer have someone who can take me by the hand when life sucks and tell me everything is going to be fine. Sherri was all that and so much more, and without her, I am alone and struggling to survive.

There is another layer to this pain – Sherri’s passing and the subsequent actions of others have made me quetion whether I will ever be able to fully trust people again. You see, I wear my heart on my sleeve. I am quick to share at a deep, emotional level. It’s who I always have been. It’s the curse of having a big heart. What I have found is when I do this I put an immense amount of trust in people. And not everyone is worthy of that level of trust I am learning. It’s not always malicious by folks, but the truth is people just can’t be there for someone who is grieving the way the one who is grieving needs. I know that.

So by being in the bubble, I am protecting myself in a way. If I don’t have people to communicate with I can’t overcommunicate. Thus, I can’t put myself in a position to be hurt further. As an extrovert, this is crippling. Sure, I have plenty of folks who reach out via text or social media, but there is no face-to-face communcation, no hugs, no true emotional support. It’s life in the bubble. But a life free of the bubble could prove to be quite dangerous.

When a physical condition keeps you in a bubble – as it did Sherri – you fight with all you are to try to get out. She would have loved nothing more than to be able to get out and live her life. I think that restrictive lifestyle may have been almost as bad for her as the pain itself. But when you are in the bubble for emotional protection, you may not be quite so willing to try to escape. Despite the intense pain isolation brings, there is a sense of safety in keeping yourself apart from people who you believe will ultimately let you down.

So, here I exist in this bubble of my own choosing. I cry daily grieving the loss of not just my soul mate but of the life I led for more than 57 years. I sit by myself in the quiet trying to figure out how I am going to make it another day on my own or if I want to risk further pain and heartache by letting people in. Sure, it would be much easier if the people who made promises of support and encouragement had kept their word. But they really couldn’t do so at the level I need.

When I was in high school, I had a wonderful teacher who encouraged all of us to “get out of the bubble.” This is how he referred to our small town. At my 10-year class reunion, this teacher was there and he was so proud of me for getting out the bubble. I feel I would be letting him down now as I have put myself right back in a bubble that might not be as easy to escape as that small Pennsylvania town. It would be nice to hear his voice one more time say, “Get out of the bubble.” Maybe that would be the encouragement I need to do so.