Normal for me is trying to decide what to take to the cemetery for
Christmas, birthday, Valentine's day, and Easter.
Normal is discussing with a friend in the Netherlands how different
funeral customs are there than here. Discussing how much both our
children loved the things they loved and how those things are now
sitting lonely collecting dust.
Normal is talking to a co-worker and the conversation going toward how
you felt after your child died.
Normal is sitting at the computer crying, sharing how you feel with chat
buddies who have also lost a child.
Normal is feeling like you know how to act and are more comfortable with
a funeral than a wedding or a birthday party. Yet, feeling a stab of
pain in your heart when you smell the flowers, see that casket, and all
the crying people.
Normal is feeling like you can't sit another minute without getting up
and screaming cause you just don't like to sit through church anymore.
And yet feeling like you have more faith and belief in God than you ever
have had before.
Normal is going to bed feeling like your kids who are alive got cheated
out of happy cheerful parents and instead they are stuck with sober,
cautious people.
Normal is having tears waiting behind every smile when you realize
someone important is missing from all the important events in your
families' life.
Normal is not sleeping very well because a thousand what if's and why
didn't I's go through your head constantly.
Normal is having the TV on the minute I walk into the house to have
noise because the silence is deafening.
Normal is staring at every little girl or boy who looks about my angels
age. And then thinking of the age my angel would be now and not being
able to imagine it. Then wondering why it is even important to imagine
it because it will never happen.
Normal is every happy event in my life always being backed up with
sadness lurking close behind because of the hole in my heart.
Normal is seeing my son at the cemetery visiting his sisters grave and
thinking, how could this be normal? He shouldn't have to be going
through this.
Normal is seeing other kids that are they age our angels would be
teasing and playing with their brothers and sisters and feeling so
envious of them.
Normal is seeing our angels friends and wondering why they can't be with
them. Why her, why him?
Normal is singing a song and feeling really great about doing well,
followed by an immediate down after thinking how my child would have
said, "That was beautiful Momma (whether it really was or not).
Normal is telling the story of my childs death as if it were an everyday
common place activity and then gasping in horror at how awful it sounds.
And yet realizing it has become part of our normal.
Normal is each year coming up with the difficult task of how to honor
your child's memory and their birthday and survive those days. And
trying to find the balloon or flag that fits the occasion. Happy
Birthday? Not really.
Normal is my heart warming and yet sinking at the sight of a penguin.
Thinking how they would love it, but how they're here to enjoy it.
Normal is getting up early to exercise (when I really hate exercise)
because I know my mental health depends on it.
Normal is disliking jokes about death, funerals. Bodies being referred
to as cadavers when you know they were once someone's loved one.
Normal is being impatient with everything but someone stricken with
grief over the loss of their child.
Normal is feeling a common bond with friends in England, Australia,
Netherlands, Canada, and all over the USA, but yet never having met any
of them face to face.
Normal is a new friendship with another grieving mother and meeting for
coffee and talking and crying together over our children and our new
lives. And worrying together over our living children.
Normal is not being able to rest until you get the phone call that your
15 year old with a school permit has arrived at school just fine. And
having the courage to let your 17 year old not call after driving to
school because he is insulted that you need to check on him.
Normal is being too tired to care if you paid the bills, cleaned house
or did laundry or if there is any food in the house.
Normal is wondering this time whether you are going to say you have 2 or
3 children because you will never see this person again and it is not
worth explaining that one of them is in heaven. And yet when you say
only 2 to avoid that problem you feel horrible as if you have betrayed
that child.
Normal is feeling terrible hurt when you see your child's power point
presentation at parent/teacher's conference and that child has listed no
sister. Then you realize the way the information is set up there really
is no logical place to list the sister who has died and went to heaven.
And how awkward that must of been for him to think about the problem.
Normal is avoiding McDonald's and Burger King playgrounds because of
small happy children that break your heart when you see them. And last of all normal is hiding all the things that have become normal
for you to feel, so that everyone around you will think that you are
"normal".
Christmas, birthday, Valentine's day, and Easter.
Normal is discussing with a friend in the Netherlands how different
funeral customs are there than here. Discussing how much both our
children loved the things they loved and how those things are now
sitting lonely collecting dust.
Normal is talking to a co-worker and the conversation going toward how
you felt after your child died.
Normal is sitting at the computer crying, sharing how you feel with chat
buddies who have also lost a child.
Normal is feeling like you know how to act and are more comfortable with
a funeral than a wedding or a birthday party. Yet, feeling a stab of
pain in your heart when you smell the flowers, see that casket, and all
the crying people.
Normal is feeling like you can't sit another minute without getting up
and screaming cause you just don't like to sit through church anymore.
And yet feeling like you have more faith and belief in God than you ever
have had before.
Normal is going to bed feeling like your kids who are alive got cheated
out of happy cheerful parents and instead they are stuck with sober,
cautious people.
Normal is having tears waiting behind every smile when you realize
someone important is missing from all the important events in your
families' life.
Normal is not sleeping very well because a thousand what if's and why
didn't I's go through your head constantly.
Normal is having the TV on the minute I walk into the house to have
noise because the silence is deafening.
Normal is staring at every little girl or boy who looks about my angels
age. And then thinking of the age my angel would be now and not being
able to imagine it. Then wondering why it is even important to imagine
it because it will never happen.
Normal is every happy event in my life always being backed up with
sadness lurking close behind because of the hole in my heart.
Normal is seeing my son at the cemetery visiting his sisters grave and
thinking, how could this be normal? He shouldn't have to be going
through this.
Normal is seeing other kids that are they age our angels would be
teasing and playing with their brothers and sisters and feeling so
envious of them.
Normal is seeing our angels friends and wondering why they can't be with
them. Why her, why him?
Normal is singing a song and feeling really great about doing well,
followed by an immediate down after thinking how my child would have
said, "That was beautiful Momma (whether it really was or not).
Normal is telling the story of my childs death as if it were an everyday
common place activity and then gasping in horror at how awful it sounds.
And yet realizing it has become part of our normal.
Normal is each year coming up with the difficult task of how to honor
your child's memory and their birthday and survive those days. And
trying to find the balloon or flag that fits the occasion. Happy
Birthday? Not really.
Normal is my heart warming and yet sinking at the sight of a penguin.
Thinking how they would love it, but how they're here to enjoy it.
Normal is getting up early to exercise (when I really hate exercise)
because I know my mental health depends on it.
Normal is disliking jokes about death, funerals. Bodies being referred
to as cadavers when you know they were once someone's loved one.
Normal is being impatient with everything but someone stricken with
grief over the loss of their child.
Normal is feeling a common bond with friends in England, Australia,
Netherlands, Canada, and all over the USA, but yet never having met any
of them face to face.
Normal is a new friendship with another grieving mother and meeting for
coffee and talking and crying together over our children and our new
lives. And worrying together over our living children.
Normal is not being able to rest until you get the phone call that your
15 year old with a school permit has arrived at school just fine. And
having the courage to let your 17 year old not call after driving to
school because he is insulted that you need to check on him.
Normal is being too tired to care if you paid the bills, cleaned house
or did laundry or if there is any food in the house.
Normal is wondering this time whether you are going to say you have 2 or
3 children because you will never see this person again and it is not
worth explaining that one of them is in heaven. And yet when you say
only 2 to avoid that problem you feel horrible as if you have betrayed
that child.
Normal is feeling terrible hurt when you see your child's power point
presentation at parent/teacher's conference and that child has listed no
sister. Then you realize the way the information is set up there really
is no logical place to list the sister who has died and went to heaven.
And how awkward that must of been for him to think about the problem.
Normal is avoiding McDonald's and Burger King playgrounds because of
small happy children that break your heart when you see them. And last of all normal is hiding all the things that have become normal
for you to feel, so that everyone around you will think that you are
"normal".