Out of Hibernation

Phoenix is on an opposite schedule from the rest of the country when it comes to indoor hibernation. We are largely left out of summer celebrations and traditions in which the rest of the country indulges. You just can't tough out 110 degrees outside, unless you are in the pool. Lows hover between the high 80s and low 90s. Because pools are in back yards, no one sees much of each other during the summer, unless it's indoors. Starting in September, though, or anytime the temperature drops below 95 or so, we Phoenicians come outside in droves. Fall, winter, and spring is our outdoor party time.

We love our neighborhood. It's safe, pretty, kid-friendly, and we neighbors are pretty friendly with each other. We have an e-mail listserv. We watch out for each other when we go out of town, keep each other updated on safety issues, etc. Every December we have a holiday round robin party where we congregate at three or four houses and have appetizers, drinks, desserts, etc. Everyone comes, and it's a lot of fun. Our family hosted a round robin pit stop one year. Halloween is also a big affair. And with our semi-regular running, Shannon and I tend to see our neighbors often.

The latter part of my pregnancy, Weston's birth, and Weston's death happened in summer, during hibernation time in Phoenix. Add to that my bed rest starting in the second half of April, when I was less than 13 weeks pregnant, and no one has seen me outside for months. For Shannon, the heat plus his added responsibilities around the house meant that he did not see the neighbors either. Several families on our end of the street know about Weston, but the rest of the neighbors do not. Word has not gotten around yet.

Now, the weather is slightly cooler at night and in the morning. Summer hibernation is ending.

Running has been a part of my life for many years and is a wonderful stress reliever and mental escape for me. So, as soon as I hit the six-week mark after my c-section, I tried to hit the road one morning. Physically, it did not work out well, because I still have pain from the surgery, not to mention the fact that I have been mostly horizontal for the past six months. Emotionally, the run was a nightmare.

I put a playlist together that is mostly about death, grief, and loss, with some specific songs about child loss. For my first run last week, I had the bright idea of listening to that playlist for the first time. By the time I got to the turn-off to our neighborhood on my way back, I was sobbing. And then I saw one of my neighbors, who doesn't know anything about my pregnancy and Weston, walking toward me with her two sons.

I panicked. There was no hiding behind my sunglasses; I was too distraught. I didn't want to upset her kids. There was just no way I could talk to her at that moment. So I left the dirt path, crossed the ditch and tried to cross the street. Except there were cars coming, and there is no sidewalk there. So I had to teeter along the edge of the street between oncoming traffic and this ditch while ignoring my neighbor who was fifteen feet away from me. It was painfully obvious that I was trying like hell to avoid her, and I felt horrible. I want everyone to know what happened, to know about my wonderful son, but I sure can't talk about it.

Fast forward a few days, and Caroline and I were out on an evening walk. I saw another neighbor outside with his son. The difference here was that this neighbor knows I was pregnant. I told him and his wife about a week before my complications started, but I hadn't seen or talked to them since. Right now, I should be 31 weeks pregnant. So there I was with a flat belly: the proverbial elephant in the room. As I approached, my stomach just started turning; I was completely petrified. We chit-chatted for a minute, he didn't ask, and I somehow kept my shit together. Whew. But I will have to tell them at some point.

And, tonight. We went for a walk after dinner and ran into the neighbor whom I avoided like the plague last weekend. Knots in stomach. She walked over to say hi, and Shannon asked her how her summer was. I was screaming internally, "NO, NO! Now she will have to ask us the same question!!!!!" And, it came: "How are things with you all? Status quo?" I completely fell apart and had to walk away. I picked up Caroline and dropped my keys. She informed me several times that I had dropped my keys, and I was too upset to tell her that the keys would have to wait. Then she saw me crying and started screaming herself. I could hear Shannon in the background saying, "He lived for three weeks...". Total nightmare.

After a couple of minutes, I collected myself and walked back to them. Thankfully, I was then able to explain my running away from her the other day and apologize for that. She was very gracious, but the whole exchange was awful for everyone. I can't handle having this same conversation multiple times. If we tell a couple of other people, I'm hoping that the news will start to travel around the neighborhood. As it stands right now, there is no way I can handle Halloween or Christmas in our neighborhood. Hell, I can't handle Halloween or Christmas, period. And with Caroline being three now, we will continue to get the "When are you having another baby" question.

There is no getting around the horrible conversation that is going to have to happen repeatedly. I am so tired of being cooped up in the house, and I need human interaction, but I am clearly not ready for normal life. And what is normal for me now anyway? I'm not a part of real life. It's like I am observing everyone else living their normal lives, but I cannot get through a moment without pain. I feel like the walking dead. 

So, despite my blog post title, I am not ready to come out of hibernation, so to speak. That probably does not come as a surprise to anyone. Instead, we are leaving in a few days for the East coast, where we go every summer and where no one except family knows us, for two weeks. Hibernation continues.