My New Normal
I Was Alone
The first time I wore the dress I would walk down the aisle in, I was alone. The bridal salon employee handed me some tissues, as tears beaded in my eyes and one by one, trickled down my cheeks. After a deep breath, I managed to explain that I had made my original appointment two months ago, because my mom was meant to be visiting from California, and one of the things she was most excited about doing was taking me wedding dress shopping. After all, she had waited 35 years for me to get engaged, and she was overjoyed to see her first born finally tie the knot. I told the girl that my mom had very tragically been killed 3 days before that trip was supposed to take place. She let out a gasp so loud that the other ladies in the boutique snapped their heads around to look at us. She covered her mouth with both hands, and just shook her head slowly back and forth. Of course, she very kindly offered the obligatory, “I’m so sorry for your loss.” After delivering a quick “thank you,” I sighed and looked at my reflection in the wall of mirrors before me. This was it. My life now. Life without my mom. My new normal. I hate it.
The Urge to Call Her
I feel like I am an entirely different person, and that’s probably because I am. Due to the horrific crime that brought about my mom’s untimely death, I have been forever changed, and I imagine I will always be learning who I am without her. If I were to write about all the ways her absence is felt in my daily life, there simply wouldn’t be enough time to read it all. Deep ingrained habits must be ignored and resisted at every impulse, and it pulls at my heart so tightly each time I have to do it. The worst one seems to be the urge to call her.
Even though some stranger most likely has her number now, in my phone, she is still saved at the top of my favorites list. I physically can’t bring myself to delete her as a contact. In her small town, my mom was well-known for walking around town, always talking on her cell phone. Probably 90% of the time, the person on the other end of the line was me. I used to call my mom almost every time I got into the car, as it was the perfect time to chat with her. More than a year later, each time I sit down behind the wheel, I feel the urge to dial her number. I have to stop myself. It’s like my brain and my heart have the same conversation over and over again. My brain reminds me, “You can’t. She’s dead. You will never get to speak to her again.” The realization washes over me like a pale shadow. “Oh right, I forgot,” my heart softly replies. Internally I repeat this song and dance whenever something funny happens, when I have a bad day, or when I have good news to share. This is my new normal. I hate it.
Out of the Ashes
As a young girl, I spent many summers on a horse, riding through the backcountry trails of the Sierra-Nevada mountain range in California with my step-dad, my mom’s murderer. Hours and hours, hundreds of miles…just the two of us, the sharp scent of the pine trees, and the bluest sky I’ve ever seen. Out there, in the wilds of nature, was one of my very favorite places to be. I felt so free and untouchable. It was magical. One season, a massive fire broke out along one of my favorite trails and decimated over 8,000 acres of the forest there. For the rest of my lifetime and for decades to come, that land will never be the same. In many ways, my life parallels that forest fire. While the fire was ignited by natural causes, 6 years of drought and an unlucky lightning strike to be exact, the entire ecosystem, landscape, wildlife, and scenery were all changed forever in a split second. Just how my mom’s life was taken and my life was altered with one pull of a trigger, the effects of firing that gun will echo on indefinitely and multiple lives have been ripped wide open, those of which will never be the same. But with that complete devastation, out of the ashes comes rebirth, resurrection, and definitely for me, a whole new way of looking at the world and at life itself. Just like the saplings have begun poking their way through the charred soil and the underbrush has finally returned to a vibrant hue of green, beautiful things are happening in my life too, and embracing them is what will help me live a fuller, happier life, moving forward out of an overwhelming loss.
Soul Searching
This loss has caused me to explore deeper into my soul and question the significance of my own life. What is it that I want to accomplish before I die? What is most important to me to spend my short time on this earth doing? How can I impact those around me and those that I love and make their lives better? How can I live my life with more passion and no regrets? How can I LOVE MORE? Exploring the answers to these questions and living each day to the fullest has impacted my life in unexpected ways and it has helped to create some silver lining (if that’s even possible). It’s such a shame that it takes a great tragedy in your life to make you realize just how precious each day is and that time with the ones you love is the most precious gift. I try my very best not to take anything or anyone for granted. I am closer to my bother and sister than I’ve ever been. I cherish quality time with my friends. I stop and I take the time to admire the beauty of nature. I don’t spend my time doing anything that doesn’t add to my overall happiness (with the exception of laundry and dishes of course), and I focus extra effort into making the important people in my life feel special and loved. This is my new normal, and I don’t hate it.