Lunch and Coffee

Warning: this is going to be somewhat of an angry, disjointed rant.

Lunch is something we experience every day. Or, we should, anyway. Today I really did try. I have hardly been eating since Weston went to heaven. One day, I think I actually had two meals, and that was the best I have done.

We have had a lot of loose ends to tie up this past week. In one sense, they have been incredibly difficult: ordering Weston's birth and death certificate at the same time, writing a letter to him for the memorial service, planning the memorial service, going back to the NICU to pick up some of his personal belongings. And we still need to select an urn for his ashes. But, in another sense, doing those tasks distracted us from the profound emptiness we are feeling with him gone. And, of course they reminded us of Weston.

Today, the first day after Weston's memorial service, is proving very difficult. One of Weston's nurses, L, put together a memory book of Weston. I want the people who took care of him in the NICU to sign it. I talked to a member of the extensive family and emotional support network at the hospital the other day, and we had planned to meet at the hospital today for me to drop off the book. She is going to make sure it circulates around the NICU and goes specifically to certain people who provided the most care for Weston and support for Shannon and myself.

I have found myself oddly drawn to the hospital since Weston's passing; we have already been back once, and I had planned to go back today, tomorrow, and Saturday for various reasons. I know that the people who took care of Weston can't sit around and talk to me; after all, they have jobs to do, which do not include talking to a bereaved mother. But it's a comfort to be in Weston's earthly "home." Two members of the family and emotional support staff at the hospital have mentioned that a lot of parents don't want to return to the NICU after their babies die. I have discovered that, for whatever reason, I do not fall into that camp.

But I digress. I called, and the person I was going to meet is out of the office until next Tuesday. This is unexpected, as we had planned to meet today. I really want to get this memory book circulating around the NICU as soon as possible-it's one of the few things over which I feel a tiny fraction of control-because we are trying to leave town. I called one other person who could help me with this task, and she hasn't called me back either. I really don't want to just drop it off at the NICU front desk, because I'm afraid it will get lost.

So, my only concrete plan for the day, which was all about Weston, is on hold. Back to the title of this post, my mom called and invited us to lunch with herself, two of my three siblings, and my nephew. It was a last-minute invitation; they were already on the way. My brother just got into town yesterday, and it was a good chance to spend some time with him. I decided to give Shannon some time alone and take Caroline to meet them for lunch.

It didn't hit me until I was in the car that this would be the first normal, daily-type activity after Weston's death. I discovered very quickly that I am absolutely not ready. We left the house around 11:40. At 11:40, I should be on my way to Weston's noon round. Lots of tears. And...it all went downhill from there. The restaurant was play cheesy but very intense music (pop country ballads, Chicago, "She's Like the Wind," etc.). Now, it's a charming restaurant with good food; they just need to play different music. It was good to see my family, but I just cannot remotely handle being out in the real world yet.

My Facebook friends are quickly multiplying. I did a Facebook purge several months ago, and some new friends are former FB friends who were subjects of that purge (sorry!), and others are people I don't know very well but are interested in Weston's story. I have accepted most of the requests, because Weston's story is continuing, and I want everyone to know that he existed, was here, and was and is so loved.

I don't know if it's because my FB friend count is higher now or something else, but FOUR PEOPLE have passed away since Weston. One is a precious and dearly loved baby whom I had the pleasure to briefly meet; two are family members of new and old, near and far friends, and one is the family member of someone I don't know at all. What is happening in this world???


And this Chick-Fil-A thing: people are dying. Babies who never got a chance at life are dying. My baby died. Why do we tear each other apart over who is or isn't allowed to get married??? Why is it a big deal that you are going to eat at Chick-Fil-A or kiss your significant other at Chick-Fil-A? Life is too short and too hard to be divided by these things...Hopefully, that's as political as I will ever get on this blog. I have strong political feelings about certain things, but I tend to keep them private (maybe with the exception of a Facebook post after the Affordable Care Act, aka Obamacare, was upheld). I don't like to argue or debate; I got enough of that as a litigator.

I wrote a letter to Weston that was read at his service, and I will post it here when I muster up the strength. I used to go to a locally-owned neighborhood coffee shop every day before work and, consequently, got to know the staff pretty well. Even after I stopped working, I still showed up about once or twice a week. They knew I was pregnant.  There is one person in particular who makes a mean latte but, more importantly, is a good person with a good heart whom I enjoyed seeing as part of my daily routine. Anyway, I went there the other day to write the letter and ordered a latte. My favorite barista was there and innocently asked what I have been up to. I don't know what came over me, but I just blurted it out: "I had a baby, and he died." Part of me is just hurting so much that maybe I want to transfer some of that hurt to others, but as I said above, I also want the whole world to know about Weston. I would have kept going to this coffee shop, so I would have shown off my big belly to them and, eventually, Weston. They would have seen him grow up into a toddler. Then I would have had to go there without him until he learned to keep his hands to himself. :-) I want them to know that he WAS here and he is important.

So, I figured that's it. I can never come here again, because now I'm the crazy lady who talks about her dead baby and cries in public. About ten minutes after I sat down with my latte (caffeinated, once again) and started to write, favorite barista came up to me and said, "Thank you for sharing that. I know it took a lot of courage." Wow. Thank you, favorite barista.

This is going to be a long, long, long road. Back to my Practice Court Wisdom post: "Don't think about the mountain, folks. Just start climbing." Right now I'm just staring up at the mountain.