New Normal

rage-nuclear-l“Mom…Mom…MOM…are you OK?!?! MOM…can you breathe?!?! MOM!! BREATHE!!!”

That’s what I woke up to in the middle of the night. A scared, traumatized little boy afraid his Mom was going to die in the bed next to him.

“I’m ok, baby. I was just dreaming.” That was all I could think to say. I was dreaming, right? This is all just nightmare, right? Li’l N’s arms wrapped around me so tightly, and it took some time for him to fall back to sleep. I laid there holding him, watching him sleep, and crying for Nolan for the next 4 hours until the alarm went off. Then I got up and went to work like I was fine, like I was normal.

Well, I’m not normal. I hate the “new normal” that people say you need to find. I want my old normal back. I want my old self back. I WANT MY SON BACK. I can’t have that, though, can I? What I can have is this “New Normal.” What does that look like? Well it looks like shit. It looks like I cry an ocean every freaking day. It looks like I have panic attacks in my sleep. In my SLEEP! I CRY in my SLEEP! New Normal? My youngest son can’t sleep alone because he’s afraid of what’s going to happen to me if he’s not there to wake me up when I stop breathing IN MY SLEEP. He can’t sleep soundly because he’s afraid of waking up next to his dead mother.  Excuse my language, but FUCK YOU NEW NORMAL.

I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want this. I can’t handle this. I know I’m supposed to be graceful and supportive and looking for spiritual answers. I’m supposed to be finding a reason to live. I’m supposed to be looking for acceptance and absorbing the New Normal. Well, I can’t. Just when I think I’m gaining ground and making progress, Grief grabs me by the throat and rips my heart out. What the hell is progress anyway? No matter how far ahead I move into the future, my son is still DEAD. I repeat, FUCK YOU NEW NORMAL.

<end rant>

10 thoughts on “New Normal”

  1. I Love you. You are not supposed to do anything, I join you in flipping off your new normal and think it sucks too. What is normal anyway? Holding you close today and every day. Asking Nolan to bring you some peace….

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  2. Our beautiful, loving son has been gone for 17 months. We lost many personal items of his and even his ashes in a house fire. His report cards, his drawings, his writings all gone. There is no “normal” when you lose a child-at least in my experience, there is grief, always grief. Many times it’s people who want us to be “normal” or they are looking for signs of normality. How can we ever?? I have no answers but perhaps give your self a break and forget about “normal.” I so wish either of us were not on this journey.

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  3. I’ll make the picket signs! “FUCK YOU NORMAL!” And we can have a Flip off party. Ok, maybe not. I love you, Amy!

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  4. so who says you’re supposed to be doing all that. Who really knows what you’re supposed to be doing but you Amy. I pray for you daily and I will continue to pray for you daily. no words because there are none.

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  5. Amy, I sit and read all your writings and feel so empty inside as I know there isn’t anything that I can do to relieve your pain, somedays we drive by and I would like to just ring your door bell and give you the biggest hug, but I don’t even know you, and don’t have the courage to do so, please know there are alot of “me’s” out here that are with you always.

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