I remember in 1995 when my friend was murdered, I read a book about grief and it talked about the "new" normal.
I do think that is a good way to put what happened into perspective as my daily routine has to shift now. Everything has to shift. Nothing is normal anymore. Holidays, the way I shop (because I used to buy five of everything and now I will only need to buy four), phone calls, text messages, the way I answer the question, "How many kids do you have?" and even my time with Phil's baby will change.
I don't want a new normal. I liked the old, slow, comfortable normal that evolved with time and slowly changed. This change is too fast. It has put my emotions and my brain in some sort of state. I don't know what the state is. I simply know my brain is not functioning at peak performance and my emotions are all over the place. I never know if I am going to laugh or cry.
A friend called today and said you sound sick. Well, I am sick and I am in recovery. Just like after a major surgery. There is pain. I need help from friends and family. I can't cook. I can't clean. I don't feel good. I sleep more and watch more TV. I would take drugs except…well…I won't. I have been drinking more wine than normal though so I am medicating myself. The good news is, this will not be my new normal. I know this….I know this because this is not what I want…I am simply resisting the change. It is such a big change. It is fast, ugly and painful.
The truth is, I don't know what my "new" normal looks like. It will take time for it to evolve and become….well…you know…normal again. I will start to sleep normal. I will start to think about what I want in my business. I will start to get up and walk around outside. I will shut netflix down. I will start living again.
I feel like a Star Trek character and I have just been assimilated by the Borg. Resistance is fu-TILE. Resistance takes time and energy and in the end…the result is still the same. My kid is gone. I will no longer hear his voice or share hugs with him or argue or tell him what to do. Fu-TILE. He will no longer do his own thing and drag his stuff to my house to store until he gets a more permanent place. Fu-TILE. He won't be asking me to watch the baby…he won't make messes in my kitchen while eating my food and he won't crash into my cars in the driveway. Fu-TILE. There will be no more words from his lips, "I love you mom", or "Mom, can you spot me some cash till I get paid?" or "Where's dad?". The odd jobs he did to pay off his cash advances will now have to be done by someone else. He won't send me smiley face text messages and ask me to watch him while he plays with the baby or ask me for parenting tips….there is so much to miss…his beautiful smile and happy-go-lucky attitude, the good, the bad and the ugly. Resistance if fu-TILE. It doesn't matter if I resist my sons death and I do…believe me, I do. It is futile.
I have this fantasy that Phil was robbed at the rest area and someone took his and Alyssa's stuff the police used to identify them. He and Alyssa decided they would disappear into Mexico so they didn't have to deal with all the stuff going on anymore. The next time you go to Rocky Point, keep your eye open for them.
Of course, he would never leave his baby so this fantasy of mine creates a whole new set of emotions. Damn new normal. When are you going to get here so I can go on and stop feeling this way?
I miss Phil. I want him back. Time for me to go regenerate….I used to call it sleep until I was assimilated on September 1, 2012….that is the day my son died. I miss him.