Screaming

What a day. I AM LOSING IT. My only consolation is what I heard over and over at Thursday night's support group: we are not crazy. We are just people who have had to bury our children; we are allowed to feel whatever we want. Right now I am just screaming on the inside. I can't even cry.

I was hoping yesterday would be better. Thursday was hard was hard. Before Thursday, I had been in a pattern of hard days alternated with bearable days. Yesterday should have been a bearable day. But it wasn't. It was beyond hard. If I capture these feelings, I guess I can look back on yesterday and tell myself, "Well, at least you're doing better than that day." God help me if things get worse than this.

Today (it's just after midnight) is a significant day: three weeks since Weston died and six weeks since he was born. After today, he will have been dead longer than he was alive. Physically, it's significant for me because I am officially cleared to exercise, pick up Caroline, and do everything I wasn't allowed to do on bed rest and post-c-section: one step further removed from the beauty and trauma of the last several months.

I have cheated a bit: I have picked up Caroline several times starting a couple of days ago, and we walked for almost an hour yesterday morning. This is an example of my divided life: today's six week mark is finally supposed to make me a "normal," full-capacity mommy to Caroline again. I have waited for this for so long. Caroline and I are so happy with our resumed unlimited cuddling (as much of that as one can get with an active toddler, anyway!).

My body is doing funny things. Possible TMI alert: I stopped lactating a couple of weeks ago, but I have felt milk letdowns during especially emotional moments these last couple of days. That has never happened before in my life.

Yesterday started out nicely enough. As I mentioned, Caroline and I went on a walk. It was actually cool enough, although we were both very hot and sweaty within about five minutes. But even this was a big deal: the last time I pushed Caroline in the jogging stroller, we went to the park where I started bleeding and this whole nightmare started. Yesterday, Caroline asked me if I was going to push her on the swings. I really don't know how I will ever go to that park again, which is a shame, because it is a great park that is really close to our house, and Caroline loves it. But Caroline decided she wanted to jog, in her flip-flops, and did so for almost half a mile, actually! She is the cutest.

Yesterday afternoon, we went back to the funeral home to have Weston's ashes put in my necklace and Caroline's teddy bear. I was distracted most of the time because Caroline was being very toddler-ish, which was good, as I was pretty apprehensive about the ashes. The director left the room to put in the ashes, so I didn't actually see him transfer the ashes, but I did look at them before we put the baggie in the teddy bear. There were more than I thought: at least a tablespoon. And there are quite a bit more still that we are saving for the urn. That made me happy somehow: that there is more physical substance to Weston than I had expected.

I was fine until we left, and then I got emotional thinking about how we are physically carrying Weston with us now. And how unfair it is that I have to carry him in a necklace and a stupid angel teddy bear instead of in my arms.

We went to Walgreen's and then Starbucks. I was doing OK, but my mind was wandering. This is where I started to feel God with me, which I desperately need right now. People usually say God spoke to them via a Bible verse, a Christian song, etc. I have had plenty of those experiences, but not lately. God is making his presence known in pretty unconventional ways these days.

First: as we were waiting in line at Starbucks, the song "Hallelujah" (the k.d. lang one) popped in my head. I first heard and fell in love with the Jeff Buckley version of this song. I thought I should put a Weston playlist together, and I would put that song on it. A few minutes later, the original "Hallelujah" (Leonard Cohen) came on at Starbucks. Whoa. Later I googled the song lyrics; they talk about Kind David from the Bible. The significance of that to me is that King David also lost an infant son.

Next: Weston's middle name is Max. My grandpa's name is Max. My late uncle, who preceded Weston in death by 40 years and 2 days, is named Max. But Caroline doesn't know any of these people by Max. Her brother is "Baby Weston." Sitting in there in Starbucks, out of nowhere Caroline asked me, "Where's Max?" I was really struck by this. A few minutes later, I asked her who she thought Max was. She said, "Max is Jesus." Soooo, maybe I was stretching it a bit by thinking it was some profound thing.

Then: my car battery died. AGAIN. This happened the other day, at Target in 118-degree heat. We took the car to the dealership, and they changed the battery. We got the car back on Wednesday, so yesterday's dead battery tells me there is something else wrong with our relatively new car. I had to take Caroline out of the car and back into Starbucks. I was SO ANGRY, Caroline was getting antsy, I was googling car part stores on my phone, and I was beyond frazzled.

There was a younger guy, probably in his mid-20s, sitting next to me in Starbucks. He had several glasses of water, and Caroline just helped herself to one of them. Now, most 20-ish guys I have seen do not pay any attention to my daughter, as cute as she is. I'm not trying to stereotype: it's just been my experience in the last three years. This guy just laughed, said kids can do whatever they want, and that kindness is good for the body and soul. So, I was relieved that my daughter would at least not piss this guy off.

He then mentioned something about using the wi-fi at Starbucks because he had too many crystals at home; the energy was too great, so it kept messing with his Internet. Definitely not my thing, but whatever. He gave my kid water on a hot day, so I thought he was a good guy. We commiserated over car troubles, and that was that.

Shannon arrived to jump my car, so I took Caroline outside and went back in to get a drink for Shannon. I sat back down to wait for it, and the guy asked me about my car again. He said something about it being a weird day; the energy was off, something about out-of-body experiences, etc. He asked if this kind of thing happens to me a lot. I wasn't quite sure what he meant by any of that, but I said something like, "It's just part of life."

Then, he said that when things like this happen, someone or something is usually trying to get our attention. I don't even know what else he said because I just lost it. He asked if I was laughing (I was trying to hide my face), and I choked out that, NO, we had been on our way home from getting my son's ashes. Poor guy. Look what he walked into by just being nice.

So he took this stone from his pocket and told me to hold it. Now, I am not into New Age or healing crystals or that stuff at all, but I took the stone and held onto it for dear life. I just yelled at Jesus in my head. I don't know what I said, probably something along the lines of, "Take this pain away from me NOW!"

I finally calmed down, and the guy explained some things about chakras, healing energy, the properties of the stone he had given me, I don't even know. All I know is that a perfect stranger exhibited kindness to my daughter and me during a time when I desperately needed (NEED) it. I tried to give the stone back, and he told me to keep it, that I need it. So, although I think God will sustain me, rather than a stone, I will keep it as a reminder of his kindness and generosity. There is no doubt in my mind that God directed my path, my car breakdown, my Starbucks pit stop yesterday.

So, be kind: you never know what that person next to you in Starbucks is going through. Conversely, even if the person next to you is different from you, give them a chance: basic kindness and decency, not to mention the loss of a child, transcend all differences.