Friends

Medicine and psychology have long touted the benefits of having friends. Good friends help us live longer, lower our stress levels, make us happier, and impart many other benefits that I don't feel like googling right now. My family has been indescribably supportive throughout our entire journey with Weston, which, frankly, I expected. I am incredibly fortunate to have a tight-knit, loving family; we would do anything for each other. That is not true with every family, so I know how fortunate I am.

There is also no doubt that God has walked this journey with me. That is something that I knew intellectually, but I truly felt God's presence in my heart and soul many times. I have to be completely honest and say that those moments are fewer since Weston died, probably because I have not been seeking them out as much. I am a little angry. Thankfully, God knows I am angry and loves me anyway. He will be there waiting for me when I come around.

And friends? Wow. I am blown away. I posted a letter to friends and family that was read at Weston's memorial service, but that was largely discussing the support we had received before Weston died (which was phenomenal). This post is about my friends' support since Weston died. I am humbled by the love I have received and inspired to be a better friend because of it.

First, Karen. She is my oldest and closest friend (oldest in that I have known her longest, not that she is old. But, now that I mention it, she is an entire DAY older than me.) and lives in Seattle. Way back in June, when I was still pregnant and in the hospital, she booked a ticket to come visit the last weekend in July. We joked that, if I stayed pregnant, it would be the most boring visit ever hanging out in my hospital room. It obviously turned out to be the least boring, most tragic weekend of my life.

Karen arrived on a Thursday, and Weston was relatively stable. Friday was a long, hard day for Weston, and I spent most of it at the hospital, so Karen took care of Caroline at home. When I got the call at 6:00 Saturday morning, I woke Karen up and asked her to watch Caroline yet again because we had to take an unexpected trip to the hospital. Within an hour, Weston was dying, and he was dead within another hour. Karen watched Caroline for much of the day and came to the hospital to see Weston one last time.

Karen and I have talked since she went back home. She called and texted me regularly until I finally called her back when I was ready but reserved no judgment regarding the unanswered communications. I had often thought about the uncanny timing of her being here when Weston died, but I hadn't really analyzed it. Well, she had analyzed it and wondered why God orchestrated her being here that weekend, and I think her conclusion is right.

As I have said before, Weston went downhill and died very quickly and unexpectedly. We live 5.64 miles from the hospital. On an early Saturday morning, the drive takes about ten minutes. Add parking and walking through the hospital, and we can get from our house to the NICU in about 15 minutes.

A large team of medical professionals was undertaking full resuscitation efforts to keep Weston alive when we arrived at the hospital, and those efforts were not working. We knew it was time to let him go, but we wanted to keep him alive until Shannon's father could arrive and bless him. Shannon's parents live about 2 miles farther from the hospital than we do, so it was probably a 20-minute door-to-door trip for them. It quickly became clear that 20 minutes was too long, and we desperately wanted Weston to die peacefully in our arms.

If Karen had not been here, the best-case scenario for that morning would have been that only one of us  (probably me) would have been with Weston when he died. Shannon would have had to remain at the house with Caroline until my mother-in-law could arrive to watch her. That would have added an extra ten to fifteen minutes. I would have had to either make the decision to cease resuscitation efforts alone (not acceptable, in my opinion) or call Shannon, who would have to hear the horrible news over the phone and take my word for it that letting him go was the best option.

Worse, if we would have waited together for my mother-in-law to arrive, Weston might have died before we got there. He would have died alone, while undergoing terribly invasive medical procedures. That would have haunted me for the rest of my life.

As I have mentioned before, Shannon and I had unexplainable and immediate clarity that we needed to let Weston go. His death was very peaceful, and there were some beautiful moments in it. I think we truly experienced the peace that passes understanding; how else does one explain moments of beauty in their child's death? If Karen had not been here, his death would have been chaotic and jarring for all three of us.

People talk about how they would do anything for their friends. And, generally, that's what true friends do. But no one ever thinks they will need to ask a friend to babysit their child at home while they go to their dying child. And no one ever thinks that a fun weekend visit will instead make them a witness to the horror of losing a child. That experience takes a friendship to an entirely new level. My words fail to portray the significance and gift of Karen's presence that weekend.

Since then, my friends have continued their support. Here are just a few things people have done:

~sent or delivered incredibly thoughtful gifts (some from folks I have not seen in 10-15 years)

~dragged me out of the house for a drink

~brought a friend to take professional photographs of Weston after he had passed away

~called me just to check in (that is no small thing: it is thoughtful and brave)

~brought dinner

~ran interference when I was not up to seeing people

~sent me funny blog posts to make me laugh

~invited me over to talk and cry...until 1:00 am on a WEEKNIGHT

~listened to me talk about Weston

~cried with me

~were quiet with me

~babysat or offered to babysit Caroline

~took one of their few free afternoons to help me shop for Caroline's birthday

~sent repeated messages without expecting a response, just to let me know they are here

~helped me set up for Caroline's birthday party

~shared their own stories of loss (sadly, there are so many)

~offered the use of their houses, condos, second homes, etc. (one from someone I have never met)

~set up a c-section follow-up appointment with a new OB on short notice and informed the doctor of our loss so I don't have to repeat it

~sent me grief resources, quotes, Bible verses, prayers, kind words, etc.

~made generous donations to the NICU in Weston's name

~came to Caroline's birthday party.

I didn't think much about this last one until just a couple of days before Caroline's birthday. Her party was quite small, which was what we wanted. Almost everyone who came to the party, except the kids, had gone to Weston's memorial service, so they obviously knew about him. Putting myself in their shoes, I would have been petrified to go to a birthday party just four weeks after the host had lost a child. But they came, they brought their kids, they celebrated my wonderful daughter, and I actually found myself genuinely smiling several times.

All of the above people are busy people with full lives, but they have made time to reach out to me. They have shared or elaborated on their losses and struggles with me; regarding their losses and struggles I knew about, I wish I had been a better friend. Obviously, I can't turn back the clock, but I can resolve to be a good, better, best friend in the future. That is my resolution: to take away a tiny amount of hurt, to make things just a tiny bit easier, and to indirectly impart those good old physical and psychological benefits to my friends. And may that circle of friends grow ever wider.

We are never so fit for friendship as when we cease to seek for it, and take ourselves to friend.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson