Normal

I'd better preface.  The use of quotes will be overused in the following dialogue.  So, if you hate such usage...sorry in advance.

I've been mulling this post over in my head a lot the past few days, trying to determine exactly how to phrase what is in my head.

Adam and I used to joke about what is considered "normal."  I contended that many of his "isms" were not "normal" while he contended that "normal" did not exist so it was impossible for me to deem something/someone abnormal.

He liked to debate.  That's why he married me.  Never a dull moment in our marriage.  How boring his life would've been if I would've been a "whatever you say dear" type woman.  I'm glad we kept things interesting.

I laughed that his original premise of normalcy changed throughout our marriage and he came to realize that what he may've at one time considered "normal" was indeed NOT normal.  We laughed.  It makes me smile when I think about it.  Always has.

I decided (then and now) that my definition for normal is: what is socially acceptable to "most" people, that if others (or I) screw up their noses or raise an eyebrow at a particular behavior, smell, object, emotion, situation, person, place....well, then it or they would be considered abnormal.  And as such, the object or person would need to be dealt with appropriately (as in, to help make "normal"), or be ignored, realizing the inability to make such a thing or person normal happens quite frequently.

In this new world of my grieving, now that some time has passed (although yes, it STILL feels like it's August to me....), I'm starting to tackle my own feelings, emotions, spirituality, frustrations--finally a bit more anyway.  The whole "WHAT DO I DO with all of this?" is coming to a head for me.  I get frustrated that unlike many of our relatives or friends of Adam's who 'just' get to be sad and miss him, I have to--very literally--pick up the pieces of him--one by one--and find a place for them all.  It's frustrating that no one truly knows EXACTLY what it's like to lose a spouse, at this age, in such a terribly gruesome manner, with our children privy to what 'real' death is like, at this time of our lives, and EXACTLY what I'm missing now.  Not that I'd wish this upon anyone else (I totally wouldn't), but it's tough to relate to others--or to just be in a position that I wish others understood too.

When we get married, we leave our father and mother and cleave unto each other (just as the scriptures say).  There is a real purpose in this.  As much as I love my little boys, I realize that while the years I have with them are important, the time that they are adults and act upon the principles taught to them during their formative years is (by and large) more important--it's the time in which they are on their own and with their future wives that is most important in sort of "proving" who they are, where their foundations lie, who they really "are" as people.  Adam and I talked about how we hope that our boys marry good, solid women who can help lead them along--as a good wife does.  I hope that my boys will someday achieve this same realization and find this kind of love that only exists and can only be understood between a married couple.

THAT is what I miss.  US.  ONLY US.  No one else.  THAT bond.  That NO ONE else understands.  And maybe only married couples who are bonded in that way can have an inkling of what I'm talking about.

It's knowing what the other person is thinking, without either person saying a word.

It's sighing aloud, and having the other person just know.

It's really all the little things that only a couple can understand.  Verbalize.  Or not verbalize.

And so I have to figure out what normal is.  What our "new" "normal" is.  I hate it.  I hate that it's a forced normal--that I have to figure out what "normal" is, even though I'd really rather not have any part of it.

Here are a few "normals" I've come up with....

It's normal that I still wake up every morning and pretend for a few seconds that this is all just a bad dream.  I think almost every morning that the only reason I'm in my bed without Adam is that he's on call.  I wonder when this "normal" will go away.

I've taken Adam's side of the bed to sleep in, sleeping in his dent in the bed makes me feel closer to him somehow.  It's easier to stare at my empty side of the bed than his.

It's normal for me to stare into the shower everyday and pretend he's there somehow.  To picture him hanging up his towel in his own way.

I still try to grab 4 plates out of the cupboard at dinnertime instead of 3 and have to look back at the kids sitting at the table and count out how many people are really at the table.  I didn't realize math and counting were this difficult.

With every milestone that Carson does or achieves, I find myself saying, "I can't wait to tell Adam later that he did ____" or "Adam will think this is funny."  I STILL do it.  I did it for 10 1/2 years, so it's a hard habit to break.  It's very frustrating.  It's even more frustrating when I think that he'll understand something "funny" because it relates to something in the past, and then I realize that the thing that happened in the past was something that happened since the crash--so he wouldn't "get it."  That kills me.  It's a real reminder to me of time marching on.

It's very normal for people to do a lot of odd things or say a lot of odd things to me (or grieving people in general).  Apparently, it's normal.  I was glad to have had my friend April here to see some of it.  It made me feel validated like "I'm not going crazy" and I was glad that I had another set of eyes to witness some of what I'm going through.

It's normal to block out trauma.  It's really bizarre to me which portions I have blocked out.  I'm still praying that Justin is able to block out most of the trauma he viewed.  I made the mistake the other day when going through our basement of picking up some of the contents of the box (from the car) that was given to me by the police officers.  A baggie that had the new shoes Justin was wearing on that first day of school--they looked a million years old.  I'll spare you the "real" details.  But all I know is that if what was on his shoes was covering Justin (as I'm sure it was) I have to continue to pray that the images of that day will go away and never, ever return to my sweet Justin's head.  My poor sweet boy.  If only I could do something to take it all away from him.  It's normal to be a momma bear and want to protect my cubs.

Last night I had tucked Spencer in after he was a bit wound up from going to a get together with some of our friends.  I was putting some things away and I heard Spencer talking to a little toy figurine thing that he took with him to bed.  "We have to pray and then Daddy will come back to be with us, he'll be all better."  I don't care how many therapists and do-gooders tell me that Justin is going to be the more psychologically messed up one based on what he saw than Spencer and because "of Spencer's age" that he'll forget.  I still maintain that Spencer is more messed up right now, mostly because I think Justin deals with things in a manner that is lightyears beyond his age (I'm not saying that is good either, it just is what it is).  This little comment from Spencer reminded me once again that these boys are still suffering--in ways that I can't even imagine.  They aren't just suffering over the fact that the light of their lives is dead.  They are still suffering from a major traumatic event--the witnessing of the death of their father.  No one should have to see in their lifetimes what those boys saw.

As I went and snuggled Spencer and explained (once again....yes, I'm STILL having to explain this to him over and over) that Daddy is dead, Daddy will not be coming back to be with us, Justin came in to be with us.  We had a little talk, something that we've discussed a lot, but it seemed to make more of an impact this time.

In our church, we believe that one of the most sacred, holiest of places on earth is in the temple.  I have felt that and I know that to be true.  We are also taught in our church that our homes can be like the temple in sacredness.  The boys and I have talked about this as being one of the reasons that we need to treat each other with respect so that the Holy Ghost can dwell in our home and we can feel peace.  It is one of those lifelong goals that we'll always have.

Anyway, so we have family prayer each night before bedtime.  We kneel down together and pray.  We thank Heavenly Father for the blessings that we have and ask Him for the blessing we need.  While it's difficult for Spencer to quiet down and kneel some evenings,  I've explained to the boys a truth that I feel about family prayer.  I firmly believe that Adam can be with us for family prayer when our home is prepared and in tune for him to be with us.  Reminding the boys of this helps them calm down, and Spencer will even pat the floor in our family circle of where he wants Daddy to be.  So last night when I explained to the boys that I feel Adam near at times, that it isn't about being at his grave in California to talk to him, that we can feel him with us, Justin became very interested in this.  I told him that I talk to Adam multiple times a day, in various situations and that I know that he is here for this is his home and we are his.  Justin liked this a lot.  He opened up for a while and I'm glad because I know he needs it.  Spencer listened but I can tell my telling him that Daddy isn't coming back to play with us is not a "done" discussion.

I find myself saying to Adam "I wish you were here to ___."  Last night as I was having this discussion, a wave came over me, one that I've had before and it kind of made me smile, and get more frustrated at the same time.  When I was pregnant with Carson, I had a couple times where I called Adam at work and would whine or freak out and wonder if I was really in labor or just call him to tell him that I wished he were home.  He would generally respond something to the effect of an exasperated, "I can't do anything about it.  What do you want me to do?"  I said this same thing last night and it was strange how very quickly the response came back from "him"--so quickly that I was shocked to feel that exasperation!  But it was a witness to me once again that he is not simply "gone" and that he can be with us at times.  I am grateful for the sealing power that links us together, that I will get to be with him again someday.

So, in conclusion....it is "normal" to talk to our loved ones.  It is also "normal" to get a response back from them.