Looking Normal Feels Odd

"We look so normal," said H a day or so ago.

We were out somewhere normal, doing something all-American and normal (grocery shopping, I think, but don't hold me to that). We had Spunketta in the kangaroo carrier thing and total strangers were coming up to us, playing with Spunketta and sharing with us details of their life. That they had one child, two grandchildren, three daughters, four nephews, whatever.

H commented that it was odd. I shrugged it off. It happens all the time.

H wanted to know why, and I pointed at the giggly, smile-addicted Spunketta.

Ah, H said. And then he thought a moment.

"We look so normal."

We talked about that, briefly, this morning. (We were, briefly, all snuggled in bed, as one should be on a Sunday morning).

"I don't feel normal," H said. I nodded in agreement, then said that life without Mama yet with Spunketta was odd. Like we swapped, traded in a car for a (much, much) newer model. And we miss the smell of the old leather interior.

We went from being the couple that folks looked at with a mixture of pity and admiration to, well, the couple that total strangers come up to and smile with. Smile at. Smile, smile, smile.

"We're supposed to be happy," I said. And we are. We are. Spunketta chose that moment to attempt to crawl over H, and while he failed miserably at that, he succeeded at flopping safely on the bed. Spunketta broke out with a chorus of chuckles and giggles that let us know he was happy. H and I smiled at him and at each other.

I just feel as though our badge has been taken away. Our super-powers, our not-so-secret identity. The whatever it was that made us special was Mama, and she's gone.

No one comes up to you when you're pushing an old lady around in a wheelchair and smiles at her. The sight does not engender giggles and hellos in folks. If we were lucky, someone would open a door, or make eye contact and share a knowing look.

And now, we're supposed to be happy. And we are happy. But we are also sad. I am also sad. Everything that makes me happy makes me sad, because Mama isn't here to share it with us.

We looked at a house the other day. Long story short, it belongs to a friend of H's, and we might be able to swing a deal and live there. H loves it because it's a house (born in raised in apartments, my husband was). I love it because H loves it. (I really REALLY don't want to move, but that's another blog post entirely). But it's the kind of house we never could have even thought about before. An 80-year old house with a narrow stairwell and a full tub. A "normal" house, with no thought given to handicap access or accessibility.

It feels odd.