The Normalness of Abnormality

Why CAN'T we get him, Mommy?
That was Aiden's retort question when I answered him this morning.

He asked if we could go get Everett and bring him home.  Two of his friends at school have brought their babies home.  He wanted his baby to come home.

Thankfully for my emotional state, he is an easily distracted almost 4 year old.  He happily followed me to Kipton's class and then showed me to his new Pre-K room.

And I.
Well I've sobbed inside all day.

I couldn't take the day off because I wanted to sit and cry.  But I certainly wanted to.
I haven't been able to get my brain straight all day.  I've had an excruciating headache, with vision loss and everything.
Because of repressed emotions,  exhaustion, and stress. There's no option to slow down.  There's no option to take a day off.

I had 3 chances to vote yesterday.  Wouldn't you know the time I chose meant a perfect a little 9 week old baby boy was sleeping in his carrier in front of me.  The police officer watched as I teared up, staring at the baby.  He caught himself and looked away.  I couldn't stop staring, and wiped a tear away.  He caught my 'wipe' and his face softened as he watched something he couldn't understand.

Easier.  That's what everyone says.  It gets easier.  The thing is, you don't really want it to get easier.  Easier somehow means you're forgetting.  You're hardening.  You don't care.  And the guilt is overwhelming.  Because its the furthest thing from true.

It doesn't get easier.  The pain becomes normal.  Someone has made sense of it that way.  And I suppose that is true.  The absence gets to be normal.  The void.  Becomes a part of you.  So it's just... normal.

It doesn't get easier.  It gets manageable.  You learn how to handle these days.  The ones you want to flick off everyone in sight and scoop a baby up.  The days you want to beat the bejeezus out of 'parents' who hurt or neglect their babies.  The days you want to have hundred little ones, just trying to 'make up' for the one that isn't there.

You try to find a way to exert the emotion.  The hurt.  The Pain.  Of permanent Absence.  Of a Life that has Exited.  Of A Life That is MISSING. 

We are all feeling it.  Normal.  The normalness of abnormality.

The boys are blossoming.  Keith and I are closer than we ever have been or ever thought we COULD be.  The office is BOOMING.  I barely have time to do all my paperwork everyday.  We have started volunteering at church.  We're getting involved.  Creating the life we WANT, not just one that happens.  We are CHOOSING to enjoy the boys, not be bothered by them.  We are choosing to be actively involved with them.  Honestly, life is really fantastic.

Because normal is different.  Normal is keeping pictures of Everett in my purse for Kipton when he sees a baby.  Normal is counting Thursdays.  Normal is losing weight.  Normal is preoccupation with work.  Normal is sleeping with a band-aid covered teddy bear named Everett.  Normal is staring at little boys.  Normal is wanting to snatch them and run.  Normal is missing my little boy.

Normal is trying how to decide to answer the "How many kids do you have?" question.
Honestly or Easily? 

Honestly or Easily?



Because not missing him would make me callous.  Not missing him would mean I didn't care.  Not missing him would mean I've forgotten him.

And no matter how much you might not talk about how you feel when you hurt, it's good to hurt.  Because you haven't forgotten.  Because you can't.

So I will answer with honesty, a little pride, and little sorrow...
I have three.  A four year old, a 2 year old, and little one in heaven.

And it's abnormal for little ones to be in heaven.  But it's our normal.  And the normal of way too many others.  And though it may sting.  Though it may ache in my inmost parts.  My answer will become normal.