Thursday, April 29, 2010

My new "normal"

Since writing has helped ease some of the pain and sadness,and now the huge emptyness that i feel. I thought that reading some blogs of other women who have lost their babies would help also. It has, for the most part. Most of these women were able to hold their babies while they were still alive. Some of them for a few days, while others a few minutes. I am jealous of all of them. What I wouldn't do to have held Aurora while she looked at me, moved her arms and legs, or even cried. But then, I should be grateful for what i did have. I held her. And that's more than a lot of women.

One of the women (Heart In The Clouds) mentioned how she stumbled across an essay on what the definition of normal is after you've experienced such a loss. She found it at Butterflies for Alexandra, but the author is unknown. It made her think of what her new normal is and then made me think of my new normal. Some of these are from the essay, and some of them are the womans, and some of them (very few of them) are my own.

Normal is having tears hovering behind every smile.

Normal is reliving her birth and death continuously. Although i guess her death came before her birth.

Normal is waking up every morning, wondering if this was all a nightmare.

Normal is wonderful dreams where I dream that I have a happy baby in my arms, and being crushed when I wake up to realize that I'm living the true nightmare.

Normal is knowing that something is missing from every holiday and family gathering.

Normal is looking at every baby and trying to imagine what she would look like.

Normal is no longer taking comfort in statistics. How can you, when you are that 1 in 200.

Normal is deciding how to honor my child’s memory and his birthday and how to survive these days.

Normal is catching a glimpse 0f your no-longer-pregnant self in the mirror and hating the sight of it and hating the fact that you hated that growing belly.

Normal is my heart skipping a beat when I see something special that my baby would have loved, but then remembering he is not here to enjoy it.

Normal is having some people afraid to mention my baby.

Normal is making sure that others remember her.

Normal is realizing that after the funeral is over everyone else will go on with their lives, but I will continue to grieve my loss forever.

Normal is listening to people try to compare situations in their life to my loss, but unless they too have lost a child, nothing can compare.

Normal is trying not to cry all day, because I know my mental health depends on it.

Normal is realizing I do cry every day.

Normal is wondering what you did to deserve this, because you have to blame something.

Normal is wanting to punch that pregnant, smoking woman in the throat.

Normal is wanting to scream at all the pregnant women who smoke, drink, do drugs, eat badly and treat their bodies badly.

Normal is second guessing every decision you made and wondering if doing something differently would have changed the outcome.

Normal is wearing a mask and telling people you're okay, when you feel like you are going to break apart at any moment.

Normal is wondering how to answer the question, "Do you have any kids"?

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

Normal is knowing you will never be excited about a pregnancy in the same way again, and that you will never be able to let your guard down until you have a healthy, living baby in your arms.

Normal is wondering whether you'll ever feel like yourself again.

And last of all, normal is hiding all these things that have become “normal” for me, so that everyone around me will think that I am normal.

1 comment:

  1. Hi ... I am a 'bump friend' ... your story touched me so much I have decided to become a follower of your blog. I feel an odd connection to you, and I cannot seem to understand why. Mind the name - my blog is written from the perspective of my two cats, Luna and Pica. I just want to say, everyone wants to punch a smoking pregnant woman in the throat! That is very normal ... and all these 'normals' make you even more normal. At least to me they do. You have a deep deep love for Aurora, and you always will. To not grieve and to simply 'go on' would be abnormal in my mind. Take your time, healing is a hard process. I do wish you thoughts, wishes and prayers for a few brighter days. The clouds will part, and when they do, let the sunshine in, it's okay to enjoy it .. it's most likely Aurora sending you rays of joy.