Wednesday, August 12, 2009

"Normal"

If anyone wants to ask how I feel or what I think about losing Audrey, remember this. THIS says it all.

"Normal"


Normal is having tears waiting behind every smile when you realize someone important is missing from all the important events in your family's life.
Normal is feeling like you can't sit another minute without getting up and screaming, because you just don't like to sit through anything.

Normal is not sleeping very well because a thousand what if's & why didn't I's go through your head constantly.

Normal is reliving that day continuously through your eyes and mind, holding your head to make it go away.

Normal is staring at every pregnant woman wondering how far along she is, then thinking how far along I should be and imagining I am still pregnant as I should be. 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 no matter how many or by what means we have children, there will always be one missing.

Normal is telling the story of your child's death as if it were an everyday, commonplace activity, and then seeing the horror in someone's eyes at how awful it sounds. And yet realizing it has become a part of my "normal".

Normal is having some people afraid to mention my baby.

Normal is making sure that others remember my baby.
Normal is I will celebrate my childs birth and mourn the death all on the same day.

Normal is after delivery is over everyone else goes on with their lives, but we continue to grieve our loss forever.

Normal is weeks, months, and years after the initial shock, the grieving gets worse sometimes, not better.

Normal is not listening to people compare anything in their life to this loss, unless they too have lost a child. NOTHING. Even if your child is in the remotest part of the earth away from you - it doesn't compare. Losing a parent is horrible, but having your child die is unnatural.

Normal is realizing I do cry everyday.

Normal is being impatient with everything and everyone because you are stricken with grief over the loss of your child.

Normal is feeling a common bond with friends on the computer in England, Australia, Canada, the Netherlands 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,crying together over our children and our new lives.

Normal is not listening to people make excuses for God. "God may have done this because..." I love God, I know that my baby is in heaven, but hearing people trying to think up excuses as to why babies were taken from this earth is not appreciated and makes absolutely no sense to this grieving mother.

Normal is some days being too tired to care if you paid the bills, cleaned the house, did laundry or if there is any food.

Normal is wondering this time what to say when the inevitable question of if you have any children is asked because you will never see this person again and it is not worth explaining that my baby is in heaven. And yet when you say you have no children to avoid that problem, you feel horrible as if you have betrayed your baby.

Normal is avoiding friends who have been friends for years because the site of them and their children tears my heart in two and reminds me again of what I lost.

Normal is asking God why he took your child's life instead of yours and asking if there even is a God.

Normal is finding excuses not to go to baby showers and birthday parties because you don't want your loss and sadness to overshadow anyones special day.
Normal is having to bite your tongue when people say stupid things because you know they mean no harm, they are just ignorant.

Normal is being avoided by people who know because they are uncomfortable talking about it.
Normal is I NEED to talk about it.
Normal is everyday finding the strength to get out of bed and go on living even though there are days you feel like you can't.
Normal is when you do get out of bed you realize that today is one day closer to seeing my baby again.
Normal is knowing that 80% of relationships will not survive the loss of a child and wondering if you will beat the odds.

Normal is blaming yourself and wondering if others blame you too.

Normal is knowing that I will never be able to enjoy a pregnancy because it will be plagued with fear and rememberance of how this one ended.

Normal is I wouldn't give back my 21 weeks I shared with my child because sometimes love is so great that saying hello and goodbye in the same moment is worth it.

Normal is knowing I will never get over this loss, in a day or a million years.


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".

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