Your grandmother dies—the one who cared for you after school while your parents worked, and made your senior ball dress—and you deeply grieve her loss. She was a best friend. Now your family and friends tell you to find a “new normal” as you struggle with not having one of your lifelong cheerleaders available for a talk.
Your spouse of a more than four decades has died. This is the person you’ve known and who has known you since the first year of college. Many of your friends (most of whom are still married, still a couple, and have no clue how horribly your heart is broken) encourage you to seek out the “new normal.”
Your second child dies on the day of birth. For nearly nine months, the ob-gyn said, “Everything was fine.” And then it wasn’t. The child had a name, had a room decorated, and had an excited family ready to welcome her into the world. Gone. But you’re young, friends say. You’ll get over it, friends say. You’ll eventually reach a “new normal,” they say.
Everyone who dies is unique. We know that.
Everyone’s grief is unique. We understand that.
And after death—as grief batters our souls and we’re eating too much or not enough, and sleeping without getting any rest, and with hearts not just broken but shredded—we long for “normal.”
Normal? Read More →by