New Normal?

I think I first heard that phrase used after Luke was born. 

NEW NORMAL.

Huh?  What do you mean?  What exactly does "new normal" mean?  I don't want a new normal.  I just want my son home.  Healthy. All I want is my "old normal" back.  I want that innocence.  I want all four of my children here with me.

I'm sure that many of you have heard the term "new normal" before.  Maybe you lost a loved one, maybe your child was born with an issue requiring long-term care, maybe a car accident changed your life.  New normal.  That's what you hear.

Tommy and I have experienced a few "new normal" episodes over the past five years:  Luke's birth (followed by his diagnosis), James' birth (followed by his diagnosis), two moves across the country.  I have been able to reconcile with each of those new normals.  They each came with their own battles, but I was able to deal with it all. 

There is one new normal that I will never be able to get used to:  Luke's death and the new normal that came with it.  Tomorrow marks 5 years since he has been gone.  I cannot believe that five years ago was the last time I heard him cry or the last time I held him. 

What's normal about outliving your child?  What's normal about burying a baby?  What's normal about living the rest of your life with part of your heart missing?  Luke couldn't live missing part of his heart.  Why is it normal for us to live missing part of ours?

New normal?  No.

As the years go by, there are certain things that sting more than years past. 

The finite amount of pictures.  Seriously.  I am forced to use the same pictures of Luke again and again.  He never gets older.  He will never take another picture.  Thankfully, my father and sister made sure that we had a lot of pictures of Luke.  Unfortunately, the pictures stopped on April 18th, 2008.

His age.  The first year was hard.  The subsequent years were also difficult, but the pain was a lot less acute.  This year?  This year is hard.  He would be five.  Five.  Kindergarten.  Writing his name.  Riding a bike.  More independent.  I fear the fall when kindergarten begins.  Although it will be awesome to see all of my friends' children heading off to their first day of kindergarten, it will also hurt my heart to know that our son never had the chance to have a first day at any school.

The fear that he has been forgotten.  I realize that people move on.  I get it.  Does that mean that I have to forget, too?  I don't expect anyone else to think of him as often as I think of him.  Why would you?  I gave birth to Luke.  I fed him.  I held his hand in the ambulance as he was slipping away.  I prayed with my husband that night, telling God that we would be ok if He took Luke.  These are my memories and they are etched in my heart.  I will never forget.  But as the time goes on, I see it.  I see people moving on.  I hear it.  I hear his name fewer and fewer times.  I feel it.  I feel it in my heart when I realize that I am the only one who is thinking of him. 

Does this sound like a wonderful new normal to you?  Not me.  I don't want it.  I want my old normal back.  I want my son. 

Before you think "oh my, this lady has gone and lost her mind!", be assured that I still have my faith.  I have faith that I will see Luke again.  That our God is a God of grace and that is what He gave Luke (and us) on the night we lost him.  But it doesn't mean that I can't mourn.  It doesn't mean that I have to feel good about our new normal.  It simply means that my son is in paradise, watching over us.  We will see him again and that is what keeps us going.

If you are reading this, you remember him.  Thank you.  Please take a moment tomorrow to say a prayer for those who have lost a child.  So many are mourning and it seems so unfair.  Maybe if we all pray for a second or two, each of these parents will receive a little sign from their angel(s). 

God bless you and thank you.