Days get easier. Days get shorter. And it feels as though life might find a normal pace. Normal will indeed have set backs. All 'normals' do. No matter your "normal" setbacks, you always have two choices: give in and give up or grow up and go on. Most of us will always choose to go on, because we simply don't have a choice. We may certainly want to give in and give up, but unless there's some benevolent soul paying your bills or you've made your millions and no longer have responsibilities to any one for anything and you have no relationships to maintain and/or grow, there's just not a choice to wallow indefinitely. Or you can at the expense of yourself and others. Whatever you choose to have for your normal is what you get.
Normal is continually new when you face so much uncertainty. I find that myself in a place where I love my boys more deeply, more unselfishly, and more intensely than I did before. I find that I have more compassion, I have more patience, I have more desire to teach them instead of instruct them. I typically have little patience, expect obedience even when clear directions are not given. I find that despite having fantastic intuition, my boys are not mindreaders (surprise, surprise, right ladies?). I find myself even more excited that I get to be home with the boys two days a week. I look forward to school time. I look forward to just hanging out with them. Hugs. Spanish. "Yunch". Dark chocolate "nimanims" for treats. Bounce House. Park. Kisses. Snuggles. MORE Hugs. The boys seem to be a bigger source of joy for me. This is a new normal.
I find myself more... sentimental. I'm not one for sentimentality, most of the time. I somehow have missed-- or possibly purposefully lost-- that sentimental thing that most women and moms have. If it clutters my house, I don't particularly want it. If we have more than 2 of them, who needs another one? I couldn't see spending money to have someone take pictures of me while I looked a bit like a beached beluga whale. Or overweight sea cow as I typically refer to myself during pregnancy. And since I've been pregnant for like 2 1/2 years, I haven't taken many pictures. I couldn't see taking professional pictures of the boys for every single occasion and season that came up. I don't typically cry. Like. Ever. And heaven help the poor soul who wanted to be in the delivery room with me, because it wasn't happening. My moment. Not yours. So this new desire for family portraits and maternity shots and a professional photographer IN the delivery room is absolutely new. I cry (at least on the inside) when I see a tiny baby. I cry (at least on the inside) with every little internal wrestling move from Everett. I find myself wanting to clutter up our house with family pictures and wanting to print the hundreds of pictures I've taken of the boys over the years. I still have no desire to keep every sheet of 'school' paper. Like when Aiden wrote his first 'c' or 'x'. At least I've maintained some sanity :) I find these new emotions disconcerting. Unleveling. And, for many reasons, I had tried desperately over many years to remove the emotions in me that were once prevalent and try to maintain an even keel, removed from personal touch. Funny what a baby who's going to die will do to change that.
I find myself in a place that is often murky and confusing. Where there is so much that is unclear. Where there is so much I can't understand. Where love and science and faith and stats get all cluttered together with common sense and... none of it makes any sense at all. Ugh. But we, as people, try to organize events so that there is purpose, there is 'meaning', and there is (usually) something spiritual. And I battle with that. It's EASY to take the 'religious road' and just assure yourself that "God's gotta plan". It's HARDER to admit you're not sure if you believe that. In front of anyone who wants to read it. It's HARDER to admit that sometimes there is nothing fantastic that comes when shit just happens. It's HARDER to grow up and go on when you choose to face what's real in your life and not coat it with religious generosities and pleasantries. It's EASY on the back side of pain to throw your hands up and preach your lessons of love and compassion and great change. It's EASY on the restoration side of grief to tell your story with an objective touch and hindsight. It's damn near IMPOSSIBLE to wade through the shit while you're in it. And, as much as I hate it, this is NOT a new normal for me. Seems like once one pile of shit becomes compost in a flower bed, I step in a new pile. Always a little deeper than before.
Normal is never easy. Life never is. Not even sure it was 'meant' to be. With each day, there are choices to be made, no matter what pile of shit you've stepped in, been thrown into, or created yourself. There are choices to be made. We get to decide if we wallow or climb out. We get to decide if we self destruct or we reconstruct. We get to decide how long the shit will stink up our lives. How long it will negatively affect ourselves, our spouses, our children, our friends, our faith. We can't always change the piles in front of us-- and we will never change the ones behind us-- but will it be compost for a flower bed or will it be poisonous gas that kills you slowly? Those are our choices.
Those are OUR choices. THAT is how we create a new normal. We adapt. We face the hurt. We cry and scream and bitch if we need to. Punch, kick, or run. You face honestly what is on your heart, fear of judgment and condemnation abound, but you face your heart. You face your hurt. And you decide what you want normal to look like. You understand that choosing compost over gas doesn't take the stench away, but that from compost comes life. New life. That hasn't seen the light of day yet. And you embrace it. All of it. The pain. The confusion. The total loss of control. The unforgiveness that rests in your heart. The longing for acceptance that never came. The devastation of bad decisions. The contempt for God. The selfishness that traps you in poor relationship habits. The grief that paralyzes you. The anger than boils within you. The feeling of inadequacy. The longing for hope and finding none. You face it. Honestly. You own up to it. And you grow up. Then and only then do you feel the freedom of going on with life. The sting of loss, unfaithfulness (marital, spiritual, relational), financial ruin from sheer stupidity or greed, dreams that never came true, and countless other piles of shit may litter our past or present. And the evidence of them is all around. In how you find your normal. How you find yourself after 'yourself' has been lost. It's what you do with your shit that creates your normal.
We will never forget Everett. I will always remember his due date. I will always remember thinking "Is that his foramen magnum? Where's his brain?" I will always remember that mess of a consultation room when I was first told something was wrong. I will always remember the devastation in Keith's voice and face. I will always remember what's it like to grow a baby that will likely not survive. And it will always hurt. It will always be painful. The next year or so will be littered with meltdowns, breakdowns, questions, and heartaches. But it doesn't mean my reality has to be based on the pain and hurt. I get to choose to embrace this life. Mine and his. I get to choose to create compost out of shit. I choose to let the sun shine down on it. I choose to air it out for all to see. Doesn't take away the stench, but the end result is much different than breathing in its poisonous byproduct.
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