Capture Your Grief, Day 13

Today's topic: Sign

Well, here it is: a LITERAL sign.

I've blogged about our annual trips to the beach in Connecticut and our extended trip this year after Weston died, so I won't repeat it here. But I saw the above sign while I was there.

I went running every day, on the same route I have always run there. Essentially, the whole route goes along the water. The house where we stay is on W. Shore Avenue, and I stumbled on this little gem of a street name less than half a mile from the house. I have run by it countless times in past years but never noticed it until this year. (And, we selected the name Weston years ago.)

So, while I think the "sign" concept for today was supposed to be more nuanced, I am so glad that there is a literal sign bearing my son's name. And I will get to see it every year.

Unfortunately, I don't get a lot of the other, more nuanced, type of signs. Perhaps it is due to all my anger that won't let me see past itself. So that has been discouraging. Letting go of anger is much more easier said than done. However, today I finally had a breakthrough (but not because the anger is gone: far from it!) Here was my "sign:"

For anyone who has ever lived in Flagstaff, Arizona, these are instantly recognizable as the San Francisco Peaks. I went on a run this morning at Buffalo Park in Flagstaff (where I have run many a cross country workout and meet) and took this picture during the run. It was chilly and pretty quiet out there. And, as you can see from the picture, it is a beautiful and peaceful place.

Whenever I run at Buffalo Park, it takes me back to simpler times, when my biggest worry was making it through practice and finishing all my homework. (Teenage Caroline, if you ever read this, homework is very important!) Today, as I ran, I couldn't help but long for those simple times even more, and I thought about my friend, D, who also ran cross country. What are the odds (not to mention the unfairness) that two girls from the same cross country team would go on to lose their sons at the same hospital one day apart?

But when I rounded the corner and saw the Peaks, I felt Weston with me. Just like that. The breeze picked up, just a bit, and I sensed his presence so strongly. I wish I could hold onto that moment forever.

Flagstaff sits at 7,000 feet elevation. It is always hard to run up there, now that I live in Phoenix; I can expect much slower times accompanied by shortness of breath. However, soon after I began to feel Weston's overwhelming presence, my running app told me that I had just run my fastest mile since I started running again after Weston died. And I didn't feel any more winded than usual. I went on to run my farthest distance since Weston died by about half a mile. He continues to affect me physically.

And I am not the only one. My dad was swimming at the exact moment that Weston died. He later told me he felt Weston's presence as he was swimming. When he finished the swim, he discovered that he had shaved a large chunk of time off his previous swims there.

I saw a few little boys enjoying the park with their families during my run. One little boy had an older sister about three years older: similar spacing as Caroline and Weston. This boy was just learning to run and was still unsteady on his feet. As I ran by, we locked eyes. I will see Weston everywhere I go; I just can't help myself.

My boy makes himself known in the mountains and in the water. Maybe we will have to move...