My I’m-Not-Normal Gaps.

This past week, I went to see Dave’s nieces perform in a musical.  His brother-in-law directed the show.  I cannot say enough how talented his family is.

They learn to sing in the womb.

During the intermission, we grabbed a pretzel to split and a drink.  I wasn’t feeling well and I forgot to bring Tylenol.  I was pouring mustard on my pretzel half when Dave ran into his family’s former neighbor.  They both lived in their respective family’s houses until college.  The friend’s very pregnant wife hadn’t moved out of her family’s home until she got married.

I moved 13 times before I was 25.

They talked about their parents, their old houses, and reminisced about their shared childhood.  I smiled with dead eyes and politely nodded along to their stories.  I was partially blinded by a splitting headache and partially paralyzed in the company of normal people.

I was speechless, probably with mustard on my face.

Luckily intermission was headed to a close and we walked back to our seats.  I chuckled with Dave as I replayed the conversation for him with what I was actually thinking.  I was weakened by my headache and I realized I couldn’t hide my gaps quick enough.

My I’m-Not-Normal Gaps.

The I-saw-my-Dad-once-in-ten-years gap.  The my-Mom-chose-her-addictions-over-me gap.  The I-didn’t-have-a-real-home-until-I-left-my-familys-house gap.

And the everything-in-between gap.

Now I realize when I encounter “normal people”, I stumble out of fear.  Normalcy scares me because it is the most unknown thing to me.  And normalcy scares me because of how much I want it.

And I realized that I don’t have to be normal to get it.

I bask in the good, kind, loving love Dave showers me with.  I browse Home Goods and Target for my homemaking needs.  I go to Dave’s nieces performance and make sure we send them a few candy grams each.

Though no amount of candy grams will match their talent.

And I tell myself that when we have our own kids, they’ll be able to say they know where home is and they’ll never question if they’re loved.

For now, I’ll keep spoiling the cats.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s