WHAT IS NORMAL?
Normal is having tears waiting behind every smile, because someone so special is missing from all the important events in my life.
Normal is trying to decide what to take to the cemetery for Birthdays, Christmas, Angel Days, Easter and Valentine's Day.
Normal is feeling like I can't sit another minute without getting up and screaming.
Normal is not sleeping very well because a thousand ifs and buts and why-didn't-I's go round and round in my head.
Normal is re-living the day it happened continuously through my eyes and mind.
Normal is staring at every boy that looks like Allan, at the age he was, and then thinking of the age he would be now and what he would be doing now.
Normal is every supposedly happy event in my life ruined by the sadness in my heart.
Normal is telling the story of Allan's death, as though it was an everyday activity, and then seeing the look of horror in someone's eyes, and seeing them stunned into silence.
Normal is being avoided in the street because people don't know what to say to me.
Normal is having people afraid to say Allan's name.
Normal is making sure people remember Allan.
Normal is after the funeral everyone else goes on with their lives, but I continue to grieve my loss forever.
Normal is not listening when people compare anything in their lives to this loss, unless they have lost a child....losing a parent is horrible, but having to bury your child is so much worse.
Normal is being too tired and lethargic to pay the bills, clean the house or care if there is any food in the house.
Normal is asking why God took my child instead of me, even whilst knowing there is no God.
Normal is knowing I will never get over Allan's death for as long as I live.
And last of all......
Normal is hiding all these things that have become 'normal' for me to feel, so that everyone around me will think that I am 'normal'.
From The Compassionate Friends, adapted by Val
Normal is trying to decide what to take to the cemetery for Birthdays, Christmas, Angel Days, Easter and Valentine's Day.
Normal is feeling like I can't sit another minute without getting up and screaming.
Normal is not sleeping very well because a thousand ifs and buts and why-didn't-I's go round and round in my head.
Normal is re-living the day it happened continuously through my eyes and mind.
Normal is staring at every boy that looks like Allan, at the age he was, and then thinking of the age he would be now and what he would be doing now.
Normal is every supposedly happy event in my life ruined by the sadness in my heart.
Normal is telling the story of Allan's death, as though it was an everyday activity, and then seeing the look of horror in someone's eyes, and seeing them stunned into silence.
Normal is being avoided in the street because people don't know what to say to me.
Normal is having people afraid to say Allan's name.
Normal is making sure people remember Allan.
Normal is after the funeral everyone else goes on with their lives, but I continue to grieve my loss forever.
Normal is not listening when people compare anything in their lives to this loss, unless they have lost a child....losing a parent is horrible, but having to bury your child is so much worse.
Normal is being too tired and lethargic to pay the bills, clean the house or care if there is any food in the house.
Normal is asking why God took my child instead of me, even whilst knowing there is no God.
Normal is knowing I will never get over Allan's death for as long as I live.
And last of all......
Normal is hiding all these things that have become 'normal' for me to feel, so that everyone around me will think that I am 'normal'.
From The Compassionate Friends, adapted by Val
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
THE CORD
We are connected, my child and I
By an invisible cord not seen by the eye.
It's not like the cord that connects us at birth,
This cord can't be seen by any on earth.
This cord does it's work right from the start
It binds us together attached to my heart.
I know that it's there though no-one can see
The invisible cord from my child to me.
The strength of this cord it's hard to describe
It can't be destroyed, it can't be denied.
It's stronger than any cord man could create
It withstands the test, can hold any weight.
And though you are gone, though you're not here with me
The cord is still there but no-one can see.
It pulls at my heart, I am bruised, I am sore
But this cord is my lifeline as never before.
I'm thankful that my heart connects us this way,
A mother and child, death can't take it away.
Author unknown
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By an invisible cord not seen by the eye.
It's not like the cord that connects us at birth,
This cord can't be seen by any on earth.
This cord does it's work right from the start
It binds us together attached to my heart.
I know that it's there though no-one can see
The invisible cord from my child to me.
The strength of this cord it's hard to describe
It can't be destroyed, it can't be denied.
It's stronger than any cord man could create
It withstands the test, can hold any weight.
And though you are gone, though you're not here with me
The cord is still there but no-one can see.
It pulls at my heart, I am bruised, I am sore
But this cord is my lifeline as never before.
I'm thankful that my heart connects us this way,
A mother and child, death can't take it away.
Author unknown
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
