My new normal is acting like I’m okay when I feel like I have a telephone pole sticking out of my chest. How can people not see it?!

My new normal is obsessing about your last moments all night every night and creating a thousand ways things might have been different.

My new normal is hating myself for not being able to save you. 

My new normal is an empty ache where future grandchildren might have been. 

My new normal is no music and no television. I can’t bear either. 

My new normal is hating macaroni and cheese because you loved it so. How can it still exist?

My new normal is drifting away into what if’s and whys during conversations.

My new normal is people going on with their lives while I face a life sentence that feels worse than death. 

My new normal is praying God takes me soon.

My new normal is people afraid to say your name in case I’m reminded. As if I could ever forget for a second. 

My new normal is resenting anyone who complains about anything, unless it’s a dead child. 

My new normal is resenting people who have surviving children. 

My new normal is losing my phone sixteen times a day. And having no one to call it.

My new normal is not caring if there’s food in the house or when the floors were last mopped.

My new normal is trying not to wail loud enough for anyone to hear. 

My new normal is wondering what’s on the other side of the precipice I face daily. Insanity? 

My new normal is wondering just exactly how much pain a human being can endure. And feeling I’ve reached that point only to find it gets worse.

My new normal is wondering why I endure. 

My new normal is smiling politely at small talk while my mind wonders which parts of your body ended up in keepsake urns.

My new normal is avoiding people who do not notice there’s a telephone pole sticking out of my chest.

My new normal is a stuffy nose and eyes that resemble a pot smoker every day all day. 

My new normal is avoiding alcohol lest I should stumble over that precipice from which there’s no return.

My new normal is scoffing at the marvel of God giving his only begotten son. For three days. And he knew the ending. When are my three days up?

My new normal is being angry at everyone who did not send flowers or donate. 

My new normal is listening to the tick-tick of time, waiting for the next family member to drop dead.

My new normal is wishing people would go away. Then feeling bereft when they do.

My new normal is wishing people would visit then wishing they’d go away when they do. 

My new normal is staring at my only grandson while he sleeps, just in case. 

My new normal is replaying your death a million times a day. 

My new normal is plotting undeserved revenge on the officer who informed me. 

My new normal is replaying the minutes over and over in my head trying to figure out exactly what I was doing while you were dying.

My new normal is resisting the urge to view your watch app. I can’t bear to watch the moment you stop breathing. 

My new normal is obsessing over your autopsy but refusing to order a copy.  They carved that precious skin, I just can’t…

My new normal is wondering again and again how I couldn’t know the very instant you took your last breath. 

My new normal is replaying our last moments together incessantly, and wishing I could have a do-over. I would tell you how proud I am of you. What a Blessing you’ve been in my life rather than discussing minutiae. 

So when you ask me how Im doing? I was probably marveling in my mind at how closely my only child’s ashes resemble Bahamian beach sand. 

But don’t stop asking. That’s even worse.