The Dark Side

It's not as bad as it sounds. I just dyed my hair dark brown the other day. The drastic event of losing Weston required a drastic change in my appearance.

I have been mostly blonde all my life, and the blonde has been chemically enhanced for the last ten years or so to the point that I have forgotten what my natural hair color is. A few weeks ago, I mentioned in passing to a fellow grieving mother that I was considering dyeing my hair, but I didn't think much about it after that. I hadn't had a haircut in many months, so it was past time to get one, and I just decided it was time for a change.

Pregnant women are not supposed to dye their hair. The chemicals are not good for the baby. Wouldn't you know it, after the dye had been in my hair for almost an hour, I freaked out for a moment because I thought the dye was hurting my baby. I just still can't fathom that my baby is really gone.

Blonde signifies happiness, youth, and lightheartedness. That is not me anymore. Having experienced death, I am now an old soul. Propriety and decorum will eventually require that I do not talk about Weston every waking moment and that I do not cry in public. I am not there yet by a long shot-I cried at happy hour (what a misnomer!) with a couple of good friends the other night, and I cried at the gym yesterday. But that is what I mean when I say grief is so isolating: when I go about my life in public, no one knows that Weston ever existed. There is no pregnant belly, and there will be no newborn in a few weeks to show the world that I have a son.

So, instead of tattooing "I have a son in heaven" to my forehead, I dyed my hair. I have said before that my biggest fear is people not knowing or forgetting about Weston. Dyeing my hair is a visible expression of the monumental loss and change that has taken place in my life.

On the upside, I like being brunette. My fabulous sister-in-law does my hair, and she always does a great job. And today was a better day than yesterday, which was better than the day before. I am very slowly venturing out and learning that time with friends is immensely helpful. So, local friends, free up your schedules!

Caroline has some thoughts about crying too. Last night, we had this conversation:

Caroline: My baby [her doll] is crying. She misses Baby Weston.
Me: Do you miss Baby Weston?
Caroline (with a big smile): No!
Me (the mom who just can't let it go): Are you going to cry about Baby Weston like your baby?
Caroline: No....I will cry later.

I wear Weston's ashes in a necklace around my neck. I wear a black rubber bracelet that says "In Mourning." These items, combined with the dark hair and the tears that threaten to spill over at any moment, make me a walking shrine to my son. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

My grief lies all within,
And these external manners of lament
Are merely shadows to the unseen grief
That swells with silence in the tortured soul.
~William Shakespeare