"Finding A New Normal"

Well, for the time being, I think I'm finally able to venture back into Bloggerville for a little while. If anyone even still stops by here, thanks for your patience. I've written a million posts, but they were all in my head so now I don't even know where to begin. I guess first of all, I want to share a few pictures of what Jackson has been doing over the past year. Thankfully, I can proudly say that despite what has happened, he is still experiencing a "normal", happy childhood. Life has a funny way of forcing you to move forward, whether you want to or not and I honestly don't think we would be where we are today if we didn't have this amazing little boy in our lives. The biggest lesson we've learned from all of this, is that no matter what happens now, we've already been given the greatest gift of all by being blessed with an amazing son and that is not something to be taken for granted.

As all of those nifty "My Baby Died....Now What" books say, life after a loss such as this will never be the same. You've got to find a "new normal". Well, that is definitely easier said than done. On my journey searching for any sort of normalcy again in my own life, I stumbled across these words from another bereaved mother, trying to sum up exactly what this "new normal" feels like and I couldn't have said it better myself so here you go:

"A Bereaved Mother's New Normal"

From the heart of a bereaved Mother...This is now what "normal" is...

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 for me is trying to decide what to take to the cemetery for Birthdays, Christmas, Thanksgiving, New Years, July 4th and Easter.
Normal is feeling like you know how to act and are more comfortable at a funeral than a wedding or birthday party.. yet feeling a stab of pain in your heart when you smell the flowers and see the casket.
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 ifs' and '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 having the TV on the minute you walk into the house to have noise, because silence is deafening.
Normal is staring at every baby who looks like she is my baby's age and then thinking of the age she 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 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 each year coming up with the difficult task of how to honor your child's memory and their birthday and survive these days, 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 something special that reminds me of my baby. Thinking how she would have loved it, but how she's not here to enjoy it.
Normal is having some people afraid to even mention my baby.
Normal is making sure that others remember her.
Normal is that after the funeral is over, everyone else goes on with their lives but we will 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 lossed 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 to bury your own child is unnatural.
Normal is trying not to cry all day, because I know my mental health depends on it.
Normal is realizing I do cry everyday.
Normal is being impatient with everything and everyone, but someone 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 never having met any of them face to face.
Normal is a new friendship with another grieving mother, talking and 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 try to make up excuses as to why healthy babies are taken from this earth is not appreciated and makes absolutely no sense to this grieving mother.
Normal is being too tired to care if you paid the bills, cleaned the house, did laundry or if there is any food in the house.
Normal is wondering this time whether you are going to say you have two children or one, because you will never see this person again and it is not worth explaining that my baby is in Heaven. Yet when you say you have one child to avoid that problem, you feel horrible as if you have betrayed your baby.
Normal is asking God why he took your child's life instead of yours and asking if there even is a God.
Normal is knowing I will never get over the 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 else around you will think you are "normal".

~Author Unknown~

Here's one more not so "normal" family photo that I'll share that sadly has become a part of Jackson's life. We don't take him to this place very often, but even so, occasional trips to the cemetery isn't one of the destinations you'd find at the top of 'Life's Checklist to Ensuring a Normal, Happy Childhood'. I also realize that in generations past, this picture probably would have been viewed in a negative manner. Thank goodness that times have changed because I refuse to pretend that one of my children didn't exist simply because her death might make others uncomfortable.