My Husband's Norman and He's Handsome

 A Love Story

 

     I met him in a place of shadows, a dark corner of society - namely, a psychiatric hospital where I was employed twenty hours a week as a group leader.  I had known of him by name only.  He was Norman Mason. Anna's husband and a really nice man according to my co-workers, who came a considerable distance on a weekly basis to see his wife, who was one of my low functioning patients.   Anna had especially touched my heart.  She flailed about in her confused world of frustration, permanently brain damaged, removing her clothing, making wordless guttural sounds - a result of her frantic attempts to speak, and signing her name and former job title (a responsible supervisory one in the medical profession) on bits of scrap paper.  She handed me these bits of paper when I spoke with her.  In spite of her elusiveness, I began to seek Anna out, taking her on one-to-one walks outside the locked facility, holding her hand in mine, and speaking to her in an attempt to anchor, in some way, this small boat of a person tossed about in the stormy seas of neurological confusion.  Then one afternoon, as I held both her hands in mine, Anna's eyes locked into mine and she chewed out the words, in defiance of her thick tongue's contortions, My husband is Norman.  He's handsome.  Disheveled, toothless Anna and I exchanged winning smiles.  My soul sang the Hallelujah Chorus & my mind flashed blue and gold fireworks; and my body followed my hastening feet to share the news. Anna had spoken!  Later, when I went to her room I saw the door-sized poster on Anna's closet - a gift from Norman in huge bold print.  It read; "ANNA IS NORMAN'S SWEETIE PIE".  I was deeply moved.  I was also curious to catch a glimpse of this Norman fella I'd heard bits and pieces about from the staff.  And then one afternoon he walked into my life's cast of characters.

     The nurse unlocked the door at Station One, allowing a man to enter the building who was not only handsome, but also gorgeous.  I had not known quite what to expect, but certainly Norman Mason's final manifestation was not it.  He was tan, the image of physical fitness with a golf course tan in his gray suit and tie, and greeted the nurse with a smile that would've won anyone over to his brand of toothpaste.  Norman's hair was dark and neatly combed.  In what I imagined to be his late forties, he was somewhat short for a man, but carried himself in a manner that suggested stature, class and confidence.  Finally having signed in for visitation with his wife, the moment was mine to speak with  him.  I approached Norman and introduced myself to a pair of eyes that were soft, warm and receptive&a handshake that was welcoming, and a man who was eager to hear what I had to share about the interactions I had experienced with his wife.  I talked about our walks. "God bless you Honey", he said.  "Can you take her for ice cream? I'll give you enough money to treat the others too."  Anna loves ice cream.  He was hopeful, but the best I could promise was a supply to be kept on the ward for her.

     Norman enlightened me about Anna.  She had been this way three years now.  (I saw that he still wore his wedding band).  Norman smiled.  "She loves babies.  No one was as good with babies as Anna.  A child never cried in her arms."  They had raised three children of their own.  Now that they were on their own, tickets had been purchased for a cruise when Anna and her doctor decided it might be just as well to see to a chronic medical problem before the trip.  It involved a routine surgery, however, after the surgery while Anna was recovering in the hospital an act of benign neglect had resulted in an electrolyte imbalance that sent Anna into a deep coma for three months.  Her brain no longer was able to function properly.  After sharing, Norman looked deep within himself.  We parted friends with a common concern - Anna.  His Anna and mine.

     Many weeks passed, and then one day I heard about the cancer.  The face looked haggard.  I stood in the shadows and watched, listened, as Norman shared with the charge nurse.  I'm not concerned about myself. I'm worried about her.  I want to know she is being cared for.  I want to be here for her.  They say I might have six months - a year.  They want to cut away part of my tongue and my jawbone.  I'm just not ready for that - not yet.  I'll go for the radiation.  The healthy, vibrant Norman faded into a thin, battle-weary and battle-scarred Crusader.  Anna didn't seem to notice.

  It was Saint Patrick's Day.  A banjo band played Irish jigs in the Recreation Room for the patient's party.  Anna smiled, jumped about and stomped her feet to the music.  We clapped and watched, caught up in her enthusiasm.  It was quitting time for me.  I left the building and there, outside alone in his truck, sat Norman.  I gave him a big smile and walked over to his window.

     "Hi Norman!"  "Going to see Anna?", I queried.

     "Oh Honey", he said, "it's so hard to go in anymore.  Sometimes I drive over and just sit in the parking lot, wait a while and go back home.  For me these days it's a handful of pills and booze, then pills again for the pain.  I don't even know if she knows who I am."

     "She knows Norman."  She does.  She's proud of you.  She knows.  My heart ached for him.  He was such a good, decent, lovely man.

     "If I just knew she could be happy."  His voice trailed off then stopped.

     Norman looked beat; spiritually, physically, and emotionally.

     "Norman", I risked, I gotta tell you!  You've been such an inspiration to us&to the staff.  We've watched you with Anna.  You've hung in there&been there for her.  You are really a special person to us.  We really love you.

     "God bless you Honey", was his reply.

     I smiled the best smile of understanding I could find within myself, then walked over to my car and left his world behind for my own.

     Whether Norman entered the locked building - that dark corner and place of shadows world that day, I do not recall.  Surprisingly, I was later to learn from a former co-worker that Norman was given another year before God took him home.  On his last Christmas Norman had sponsored a rather extravagant party for the entire hospital staff at a local hall. So I can only surmise he carried his sword and shield on Anna's behalf till the end, a weary and heroic knight of sorts in his own right, if ever there was one.

     It has been many years and it seems many lifetimes since I last saw Norman Mason, but I will never forget him.  He was not just a man - he was an ideal that seems to have been lost like a pressed rose in the yellowed pages of a dusty book.  In sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, in good times and in bad times, till death did they part. Norman was Anna's husband and a sweetie pie.  He was handsome; yes, but perhaps a better description would be to say he was a truly beautiful man.

NOTE:  Due to the confidential nature of this story the names have, regretfully been changed.  Some people should always be remembered for who they truly were.

 

                             -jennifer grant-