A New Normal

Though I have always loved it, the meaning of Easter just never hit home for me until the Easter of 2014, just a month and a half after they died. I remember being in church, listening to all the lessons and testimonies of the Savior and his Atonement, tears streaming down my eyes, trying to hide my sniffles and still my shoulders. I was broken. I was still in pieces. But those testimonies lifted my soul that day, reminding me that there was still a hope to come. That day I realized Easter is my new favorite holiday, because it is more than just a holiday. It is what I believe to be the most important event that ever happened in the history of the world; when every bad thing that had ever happened or ever would happen was made up for, when every mistake became forgivable, when every soul had the ability to hope. Like everyone else, I’ve been reflecting a lot about the Atonement this week. Last night, I could not sleep. My mind was running, I was tossing and turning, walking ab...

Question: What does it mean to be deaf or hard-of-hearing? Answer: Simple. It means you can’t hear. Question: What it is like being deaf or hard-of-hearing? Answer: Simple. It’s like being a goldfish. It’s like being a goldfish in a bowl. It’s watching everything and feeling like being in a different dimension, always having to watch, always needing to be aware. It’s knowing that lips are moving, and hearing gibberish. It’s tired eyes and headaches. It’s being denied repeated answers with “Neverminds” and “Don’t worry about its.” It’s being on an island among foreigners. It’s laughing at the old jokes with a five to ten second delay. It’s wondering if they are whispering about you. It’s when the first thing you notice about a person is their lips, then the crookedness of their teeth. It’s training your brain to recognize the shape of the lips and the placement of the tongue. It’s a strategy. It’s repetition. It’s keeping your eyes closely engaged in the conversation, watc...

Dear Social Media, I was caught into your trap before I realized it. In fact, my mind was sucked into your world back when I was young. I won't forget. It started with a movie. "The Parent Trap," the one with Lindsey Lohan. I remember thinking the evil woman who wanted to marry the dad for his money was beautiful. Ironic, right? But it was true. She had blonde hair and deep blue eyes. She was tall, and had a perfect figure. I looked at her, then I looked at myself. I was brown-all-around: brown eyes, brown hair, brown skin. For some reason, seeing this movie caused me to notice myself more. It was just a start. It didn't consume my mind, but it opened my eyes. In middle school, self-consciousness became more apparent. Braces+new glasses= double whammy. My best friend wore cute flats and fun tops and short skirts. I wore T-shirts and jeans and tennis shoes. Her hair was long and straight. My hair was above the shoulders and tight curly. She had blue-green eyes....

It was kind of insane when I realized that what was once "my new normal" is now, honestly, is my "normal." The things that used to throw me in for a loop are expected and habitual now; family gatherings aren't as hard as they used to be. I enjoy being with the in-laws. Being married is great, and Jacob and I are figuring out our own lives and our own traditions and what-nots. I don't dwell on the past nearly as much. I'm looking forward, and the future is honestly quite bright. Which is why now, when I feel sad or frustrated, it kind of throws me off. I realized this was happening a lot recently; I'd would randomly experience feelings of sadness, or numbness, or even anger, irritation, and frustration. The strange part was, I had no reason to. It always happened when things were ok, or when things were going smoothly. Suddenly, I couldn't stand the idea of being around people, so I'd hide in the back room when people came over and make ...

I almost went to the cemetery today. It's Christmas, it's cold, and I miss them. I don't know why, but I thought going to the cemetery would be... I don't know, therapeutic? Give me some closure? I haven't been there since well before I got married. Maybe staring at the headstones would make me feel better? Make me feel close to them? Make me feel like I'm with them? I left school. I got in the car, waited for the cars to pass, moving slowly so as to not slide on the slush. It was sunny today, so some of the snow was beginning to melt. Cars were going slightly slower. I followed them. I had to go around the block because of the way the car was parked, so the drive was taking longer than anticipated. I was alone. I drove mindlessly, barely listening to the Christmas music that blared  "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year." My mind wasn't really on Christmas. Just family. As I drove, my thinking relying more on my emotions, thinking about ho...

My Great Grandpa "Grape" is 99 years old. He has lived almost an entire century. And wow, a century is a long, long time. My Grandpa Grape is someone that I love and respect. I remember being really little, and my family going over to Grandpa Grape's and Nonny's house. I remember having sleepovers there when I just wanted Nonny-Grandpa-Jensen time. The thing about Nonny and Grandpa Grape is, they always made you feel like you were the favorite grandchild. (I'm pretty sure every single one of us feel like we are the favorite.) Whenever I went over, Nonny made sure that she had a can of Dinty Moore stew for me to have for lunch, because she knew it was my favorite. That, and Minute Maid fruit punch. They had squirrels that lived in the trees of their yard, and they would take me out, peanuts in my little hands, and Grandpa would pick me up to place the peanuts along the gate for the squirrels to get later. Then, Grandpa Grape would take me out to have Grandpa Grap...

I still vividly remember the night that I found out. I can tell you where I was, what I was doing, what I was wearing. (New apartment, on the living room couch, old EFY T-shirt and pink cotton pants. I had just finished saying a prayer.) I vividly remember the looks on my "mission parents'" faces. When I think about President's tight hug, I remember how crushing it felt, him not wanting to let me go, not wanting to be the one to tell me that my parents and brothers were gone. I remember it took him a little while to say it, and how it crushed him, and his wife. I remember my companion and the Hermanas were also in the living room sitting on the floor in their pajamas, shocked, speechless, not knowing if they should say anything. I remember that the only light in the room was the bright light coming from the open kitchen. I remember saying, "Give me a minute," and running into my room, falling on my knees at my bed, crying, saying "Why, God? What di...