One thing I hear often these days is how people want to get “back to normal” after Covid-19. Since March 2020, most of us have been in some form of lockdown, some have been unemployed or working from home, some have really struggled with isolation, while others have thrived (and learned how to make sourdough everything). I didn’t take on any new hobbies, or learn any skills, because I felt that growing a person was enough of a project to work on during a global pandemic.

Now that the majority of our adult population has been fully vaccinated, people want to get back to what they’ve missed out on over the past 18 months – traveling, concerts, parties, weddings and even funerals. While I’ll gladly admit that I do miss some of these things, I really have no idea what “back to normal” even means after a loss. I mean, this blog is called before and after Sloane because it was and is such a monumental event that it has forever divided my life into two parts. If she hadn’t died, I’d like to think I would be just as excited to get back into the mix as everyone else, as tricky as that would be with a young baby. But she did die, and I can’t go back. The world as I know it has indelibly changed. It’s now a world where a pregnancy test doesn’t guarantee a happy ending, where a perfect anatomy scan doesn’t mean that your baby will come home. It’s a world where cemeteries have a section just for babies.

I have changed, too. I am no longer the same person I was before my heart was shattered. I am less patient, less focused, more forgetful. I have less energy, lower self-confidence, more anxiety. The thought of going to a party and making small talk is kind of terrifying if I’m being completely honest. What if I meet someone new and they ask me about my family? What if someone I do know doesn’t ask me how I’m really doing? What if they do?

For me, at least, there is no going BACK to normal. I have to find a new normal, as cliché as that sounds. I have to find a way to honour Sloane while continuing to move forward. I have to keep telling her story so that she doesn’t get left in the past when everyone else moves on.

There’s a saying I found that goes something like “Don’t tell a grieving person to look to the future, because their person is missing there, too.” If I can’t go back, and moving on isn’t possible, I think I’ll stay right where I am for a little while longer.