Dear Gigi: Part 2 ~~~ When Normal is Gone

Okay, so Christmas was yesterday.  It’s been busy, you know how that goes this time of year.  I’ve been having a really difficult time with losing you.  It’s hit me really hard this week and I feel like I’ve just been falling apart, a lot.  I haven’t posted a blog in about 2 weeks so I figured I better get back to that before I fall completely off track.  I tried keeping busy with holiday stuff but you know how hard the holidays have been since Rachel died and everything went to shit.  Marrying you on Christmas Eve was supposed to give me something good again on that day, on a day I missed so many… so much.  Now it’s just another sad.  You never even got to celebrate a single wedding anniversary with him.  Life is so cruel. 

                          

We were going to come up again this year.  Instead I was just trying to keep my shit together.  I failed, for the most part.  I did okay through some things, but others I just… I was okay one minute but then all it takes it just one thought and then the tears would start pouring out of my eyes.  I can’t count how many times I looked at the husband and said I was so sorry, I was trying. 

I made another gingerbread from scratch in that kick ass Yule log pan that you were so jealous of last year.  It was delicious.  I had some for lunch today.  It’s only Yule once a year, after all.  Might as well enjoy every day of it as much as possible. 

But then I sit there and think of stupid stuff like, about how many people commit suicide over the holidays.  How many families look at empty seats and hear other people tell them things like… just to think of the good times.  Or even not to think of them at all, just be happy today.  As though it’s that simple.  As though I could stop thinking of you even if I wanted to, which I don’t. 

As though I could stop thinking of any of you over there on that other side. 

I get so jealous that they think it’s that easy, I really do.  I wish I still did.  But I know it’s not.

I said that to the husband the other day too, about how I don’t have to wonder what I’d do in a lot of situations because I’ve already gotten those calls or dealt with those situations. 
I already know what I’d do, because I did it. 

And then I wonder how many more things I’m going to have to figure out how to get through.
I mean, I’m only 36.  I have a whole lot of living left to do. 
A whole lot more people to love, and to lose. 

A whole lot of memories to make, that someday I’ll cling onto like a lifeline. 

A whole lot of incredibly sad days. 
And a whole lot of good ones, hopefully. 

I remember being at the hospital with you, well, with your family.  I remember your son being surprised at how many people I’ve lost.  After all, we’re not very far apart in age; just about 5 years, I think. 

I remember saying to them about how you think losing someone is the hardest part. 
You think saying goodbye will be the most difficult moment. 

And it is unbelievably difficult, just not the most.

You think the funeral is going to be the most difficult, how can I get through this?! 

And it is incredibly difficult, just not the most.

It’s the day after the funeral.  That’s the worst. 
That’s the day when everyone else returns to their normal. 

When you first lose someone you get a ton of messages and phone calls and people checking in on you.
“Do you need anything?  Anything at all?  Is there anything I can do to help you?”
When people know someone who lost someone and they ask me what to do I always tell them never to offer your help if you don’t intend to give it.  That’s not help.  You have no idea how much help they need right now.  THEY don’t know how much help they need right now.  Go ahead and say it, offer, but MEAN IT.  Be there.  Be there if they need you to get dinner or be there if they need someone on the other end of the phone at 3am just to hear them cry so they don’t feel so alone.  But mean it and be there.    Show up, or don’t say it.  Just tell them you’re sorry for their loss and leave it at that. 

Because, you see, they all forget. 

They come to the funeral, they check on you when they hear, but then they forget. 
They go back to their normal lives and things resume on schedule.  Nothing has changed, only one day of plans changed. 

You can’t.
Your normal is gone. 

The husband thought it was morbid at first when I told him that I had a folder of all of my final wishes and whatnot in my email folders.  But then I walked him through those first few days.  He hasn’t gone through it before, not really, not through all the planning and all of the stages.  I envy him, too. 
You’re experiencing the worst pain of your life.  Someone is experiencing the worst pain of their life every time someone dies.  Sometimes more than one someone, but at least one someone. 
And they have to know what funeral home to call to pick up the body pretty much immediately. 
They have to call people to let them know. 
Hurry, you have to make sure the most important know before someone leaks it onto social media like an asshole. 

You have to go visit some, because the news needs to be given in person. 
You have to eat.  If you have kids, you still have to take care of them. 
You try to take care of yourself, but you just can’t think straight.  That’s where all the help comes in handy when people show up.  They help you and remind you to take care of you while you’re trying to do a thousand other things.  The phone rings, the notifications ping, the doorbell goes off….
But that next day you have to meet at the funeral home so you can make the arrangements.  You have to hurry up and decide on the obituary because it has to get into the paper asap before the deadline.  You didn’t get any sleep last night, so you’re a zombie. 
Your eyes are burning from crying and you feel numb.
What picture goes on the funeral cards?  What saying, poem, prayer, etc? 
What casket do you use?  Are you going to be buried in it?  Or just rent on for the viewing? 
What color? What material? What type of lining?  Where are they going to be buried. Do you know? 
Are they going to be cremated?  Are you still going to rent a casket for the funeral? Or are you just going to have a memorial service with some pictures?  By the way, we need a picture of them so we know how to do their makeup.  We’ll need that by tomorrow morning at the latest.  If you want pictures at the viewing we’ll need those before the viewing starts tomorrow.  Are you having a viewing?  Will it be one day or two?  Two times a day, or one?  A funeral in a church, or at the funeral home?  Graveside service? 
Is someone going to speak?  Are you going to give others the opportunity to speak?  Who is going to deliver the eulogy?  We’ll need an outfit for them by tomorrow as well, today if possible.  Make sure it’s long sleeved and no v-necks, plain colors tend to work better against all the flowers.  What kind of flowers do you want?  How many spreads?  We have a florist we work with that we highly recommend.  How do you want their hair done, how did they normally wear it?  Are you going to have a wake?  Where will it be?  Who will cater it or will it be potluck?  Who did we forget to call?  Oh my goodness, did someone remember to call great Aunt Betty to let her know?  What about that one branch of cousins in Canada?  Okay, we have to go find some clothes and go through pictures.  Is there time to eat somewhere?  The kids are getting antsy and they haven’t had their naps and they’re all really sad and confused and all the adults are so sad and busy.  I’m so tired.  I can’t think.  I can’t believe they’re gone.  What do I do?  There’s too much to do!  Make a list, you do well with your lists.  It’ll help. 
It helps.  But it doesn’t make it much better.  I’m so lost. 
Someone shows up with food, oh my goodness, thank you so much!  I was starving and didn’t even realize it.  I don’t think I’ve eaten since I got the phone call.  Or slept.  Or stopped crying. 
You do stop crying though, for bits of time.  You run out of tears.  You get dehydrated.  Get more water.  Don’t wipe every tear, you’ll rub your eyes raw. 
Did I fall asleep?  Oh no!  Clothes! I have to find something for ME to wear too!  And the kids!  I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to get it all done.  You’ll get the kids ready for me?  Thank you so much!  Okay, I’ll try to get a shower.  Phone rings, hours go by. 

Viewings and in between things and after things. 

But then the funeral is over. 

They all go back to their normal.  You got through it because of all the busy, but now things are eerily quiet. 

Your normal is gone.  And they forgot. 

They didn’t do it on purpose.  It’s just that they really did forget. 
Do you know how many people have checked in on me in the past few weeks, seeing how I was holding up through the holidays?  Other than my husband and kids, obviously, because they live with me. 
One. 
One person asked me how I was doing.  And it was yesterday.  And it was a new friend.

Now I feel like I’ve lost so many people that they figure I’m okay and I’ll get through it.  That I know what to do.  But I don’t.  I still don’t.  I mean I do, and I don’t.  I still sit here on Tuesday afternoons and get sad that I have no text from you double checking the Skype date time or letting me know you’re running late or have to cancel because you’re just too sick today. 

It doesn’t come anymore.
It never will. 

It kills me. 

Now, you know me, I’ve talked to plenty of people since you died.  It’s just not the same. 
They forgot. 

Once again, my normal is gone. 
Or did they forget?  Or did they just, like I said, figure I’ll get through it because I’ve been here before. 
I don’t know.  I like to think it’s just forgetting. 
I do sometimes think that the minute you died, I was unfollowed by half of my friends list who didn’t want to go through watching me lose another person.  They didn’t want to deal with the sad. 
I can’t blame them.
I don’t want to deal with it either. 
Yet here I am. 

Because life is cruel. 

They went back to normal and now I have to find another new normal. 
I will. 
We both know that. 

We have before and will again.
But this fucking sucks. 

I think it’s necessary too though, don’t get me wrong. 

I think the influx of help is necessary to get through those initial days.  It really is. 
I’ve experienced loss with and without it and it makes a huge difference.

I also think the crash after the funeral helps. 

The shock is wearing off and it’s starting to feel real.  You realize now that your normal is gone. 
What the fuck do I do now?! 

You go through the motions… that’s what you do. 
Sometimes it’s one day at a time, sometimes on minute… sometimes one breath. 

But you do it. 

You find what you would die for, and you live for it.  (Credited to: Unknown)

You need it to sink in.  You need the crash to make it feel real.  Because it doesn’t feel real at first, not really.  You know it happened, but it takes awhile to really realize that it’s real. 

You need to figure out what to do and while you need support to do it, you also need to learn to do it yourself.  The reason you’re going through this is because you lost someone, you don’t want to keep relying on someone only to lose them and have to figure it out all over again, but without that help.
Like me.  Right now. 
Because you were that person. 

Not that I don’t have a support system, I do.  It’s an incredible one.  You know that. 

But they’re all so far away. 

I wish more people here, nearby, cared enough to show up. 

But that’s a whole other bitchfest so don’t get me started.  ;) 

Normal is gone again.  I’m trying to find a new one.  It’s been almost 2 months since losing you. 

That sounds unreal. 

The husband has been helping a lot and so have the kids.  It’s just something that I myself have to work through.  I have to keep going through the motions until they find their new pattern of ‘normal’ again. 

I don’t want to.
There isn’t much I wouldn’t give up to have you back. 

But I can’t.
So I have to. 

Just like everyone else in your circle of normal.  Everyone in your circle of normal has now had their cycle of normal disrupted.  And right before the holidays, you bitch. 

I spent Samhain with you. 
We got through Thanksgiving.
We got through Yule.
We got through Mercury in Retrograde.
We got through Christmas. 
Next is New Years.  And that’ll suck. 
I always did a new years reading for you.  A good way to start the year, with help, you’d said. 

It’ll be the first year without you.  2018. 
You’d have liked my cover photo.  “@2018, the bar is literally so low”

2018: Year one. 
Again. 

I’m going to keep trying for better and I’m going to carry you through it all with me, here in my heart where you will never ever leave. 

All of us will. 

On to the new normal. 

Until next week, AM.

Love always,
AD