Today's topic: Memory
This:
I got to hold my baby when he was ten days old, for fifteen minutes, while he was alive. It was the most beautiful fifteen minutes of my life. Weston Max Yoder died three months ago today.
I was out of town for the weekend, visiting dear friends from my undergrad days whom I had not seen in many years. It was just what I needed. We talked about Weston. My friends have suffered profound losses of their own throughout the years, and we talked about those losses as well. But, we had FUN, and we laughed a lot. It was wonderful to take a little break from my grief.
Today, two of us had to catch plane flights at two different airports, and another friend had to work. So there was not a lot of time to reflect today, on the three-month anniversary of Weston's death. But, even though my mind was busy, my body reminded me of my loss and my grief: my c-section scar has been aching all day. It REALLY hurts at certain moments. My surgery site is not back to normal by any means, but it has been months since my scar actually hurt all day. But I welcome the reminder.
While waiting at the airport today, I met a very nice man, who is a good friend of one of the friends I went to visit. He asked me if I have kids, how old, etc. Of course I wasn't going to leave Weston out, but I only had a split-second to figure out how to answer. At least today, I was not in the mood to drag others into my pain, which is probably a good thing.
So I told him that I have two kids. My daughter is three, and my son would be three months (actually, closer to four months now). Then he wanted to see pictures. Again, I couldn't leave Weston out. I showed him a picture of Caroline and then picked one of Weston with his eyes open and my wedding ring around his hand. As I scrolled through my phone to find the picture, I said, "My son actually passed away. Here he is with my wedding ring on his hand." Somehow, I kept my voice steady, and thankfully I was a little distracted by scrolling through my phone.
Maybe this guy was just really extraordinary, but he didn't miss a beat. He marveled at my wedding ring on Weston's tiny hand, and we talked about that for a second. Then he asked me his name.
And that was that. I held it together, and the conversation did not come to a screeching halt. I have no idea how the man really felt about the conversation, but he was so gracious, and genuinely interested in my children (and he must be a good person; this friend of mine deliberately surrounds herself with wonderful people). I can't fathom ever leaving Weston out of my family description, and I hope that future conversations with strangers go as well as this one did. I realize that most people won't be that interested in seeing pictures of my children, and that's OK. But, anyone who wants to know about my children is going to hear about all of them, dead or alive; my family is a package deal.
In other news, I am uneasy today. Hurricane Sandy is creeping up the East Coast, and my family is looking at a direct hit. My mom and her husband are under direct evacuation orders and are genuinely concerned that they will not have a house to return to (and my mom is not a worrier). Communication could be very unreliable in the next few days as well.
More seriously, my sister is nine-plus months pregnant. She lives in New York City, and the mass transit system has closed in anticipation of the storm. She does not need labor or childbirth to be complicated by transportation issues. I will breathe much easier when the storm has passed.
My family has been through more than enough heartache this year. We don't need any more trouble, whether it's major property damage or, God forbid, more pregnancy and childbirth issues.
2012, I hate you. In keeping with today's "memory" theme, 2012 will certainly not be a year that blends in with the others. It will stand out forever as the major dividing point of my life.
People tend to remember best the things they have felt most deeply.
~David Riesman, "Books: Gunpowder of the Mind," Atlantic, December 1957
P.S. I came home to a very happy little girl tonight. She was in bed already, and Shannon was reading her a bedtime story. She saw me and started laughing and laughing. She gave me a huge hug and rubbed my back. Then she said, "I'm laughing at you." I love that kid. After I put her to bed, I was greeted by a pile of cards and letters from family and friends. Being three months out from Weston's death, there are rarely piles of correspondence anymore, so it was quite a heartwarming surprise. The whole weekend underscored the irreplaceable support system I have. In that regard, I am a blessed woman.
I was out of town for the weekend, visiting dear friends from my undergrad days whom I had not seen in many years. It was just what I needed. We talked about Weston. My friends have suffered profound losses of their own throughout the years, and we talked about those losses as well. But, we had FUN, and we laughed a lot. It was wonderful to take a little break from my grief.
Today, two of us had to catch plane flights at two different airports, and another friend had to work. So there was not a lot of time to reflect today, on the three-month anniversary of Weston's death. But, even though my mind was busy, my body reminded me of my loss and my grief: my c-section scar has been aching all day. It REALLY hurts at certain moments. My surgery site is not back to normal by any means, but it has been months since my scar actually hurt all day. But I welcome the reminder.
While waiting at the airport today, I met a very nice man, who is a good friend of one of the friends I went to visit. He asked me if I have kids, how old, etc. Of course I wasn't going to leave Weston out, but I only had a split-second to figure out how to answer. At least today, I was not in the mood to drag others into my pain, which is probably a good thing.
So I told him that I have two kids. My daughter is three, and my son would be three months (actually, closer to four months now). Then he wanted to see pictures. Again, I couldn't leave Weston out. I showed him a picture of Caroline and then picked one of Weston with his eyes open and my wedding ring around his hand. As I scrolled through my phone to find the picture, I said, "My son actually passed away. Here he is with my wedding ring on his hand." Somehow, I kept my voice steady, and thankfully I was a little distracted by scrolling through my phone.
Maybe this guy was just really extraordinary, but he didn't miss a beat. He marveled at my wedding ring on Weston's tiny hand, and we talked about that for a second. Then he asked me his name.
And that was that. I held it together, and the conversation did not come to a screeching halt. I have no idea how the man really felt about the conversation, but he was so gracious, and genuinely interested in my children (and he must be a good person; this friend of mine deliberately surrounds herself with wonderful people). I can't fathom ever leaving Weston out of my family description, and I hope that future conversations with strangers go as well as this one did. I realize that most people won't be that interested in seeing pictures of my children, and that's OK. But, anyone who wants to know about my children is going to hear about all of them, dead or alive; my family is a package deal.
In other news, I am uneasy today. Hurricane Sandy is creeping up the East Coast, and my family is looking at a direct hit. My mom and her husband are under direct evacuation orders and are genuinely concerned that they will not have a house to return to (and my mom is not a worrier). Communication could be very unreliable in the next few days as well.
More seriously, my sister is nine-plus months pregnant. She lives in New York City, and the mass transit system has closed in anticipation of the storm. She does not need labor or childbirth to be complicated by transportation issues. I will breathe much easier when the storm has passed.
My family has been through more than enough heartache this year. We don't need any more trouble, whether it's major property damage or, God forbid, more pregnancy and childbirth issues.
2012, I hate you. In keeping with today's "memory" theme, 2012 will certainly not be a year that blends in with the others. It will stand out forever as the major dividing point of my life.
People tend to remember best the things they have felt most deeply.
~David Riesman, "Books: Gunpowder of the Mind," Atlantic, December 1957
P.S. I came home to a very happy little girl tonight. She was in bed already, and Shannon was reading her a bedtime story. She saw me and started laughing and laughing. She gave me a huge hug and rubbed my back. Then she said, "I'm laughing at you." I love that kid. After I put her to bed, I was greeted by a pile of cards and letters from family and friends. Being three months out from Weston's death, there are rarely piles of correspondence anymore, so it was quite a heartwarming surprise. The whole weekend underscored the irreplaceable support system I have. In that regard, I am a blessed woman.
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