October is finally coming to a close. A month ago this time, I thought I would be relieved to get through the month. But I'm not. I'm back to breaking down in public and generally being a mess.
I also thought I would feel relief at getting past my due date. But now I actually feel worse. Today is five days past my due date, so it is highly likely that I would not have been pregnant anymore. I would have been holding my little boy in my arms.
It doesn't hurt as much to see pregnant women now. Now it's the babies, and thinking about everything Weston will never experience.
Like Halloween today. Weston should be here. I had planned a home birth, and, back in the early days of my pregnancy, I was actually worried that I might be giving birth on Halloween, with all the kids banging on my door for candy in between contractions. It was more of a joke than anything, and a problem I would give anything to have.
If I had, in fact, given birth to Weston before Halloween, the holiday would have been a little tricky. It is so much fun to watch Caroline enjoy Halloween, but I would not have wanted to take a days-old newborn out and about so soon, and I would not have wanted a lot of kids at my house, even though it would just have been at the front door. So we would have had to figure out how to watch Caroline have fun without exposing Weston to any germs. Another problem I would love to have.
Tomorrow's calendar turnover to November marks yet another month removed from Weston's life and death. And it means the holiday season is officially upon us. Cliche alert: time marches on, but I find that time is not healing this wound. In fact, it feels worse.
So, here come the metaphors. The sun is setting on this Capture Your Grief project, on Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month, and on my due date month. We are entering the fourth month without Weston on this earth. And I'm transitioning from longing to still be pregnant to an even more acute longing to have Weston in my arms. Because that is where he would have been by now, whatever the outcome. If I had carried the pregnancy to term, he would probably have been born by now. If he had not died on July 28, he would probably be home from the NICU by now. Our lives would not be normal by any means, but we would have a LIVE baby at home.
Weston would not have experienced August, September, and most of October 2012 (outside of the NICU, anyway). But Weston would have experienced Halloween. He would have experienced the beautiful cooldown we are finally having. Instead of my daily runs, we would be taking daily walks with him in the stroller (well, maybe not quite yet!). He would be at the Thanksgiving holiday in a few weeks that I am dreading so much, and he would experience the general holiday frenzy that generally drives me crazy but that will make me want to perpetually bang my head against the wall this year. As I walk through life now, I will wonder every moment, what would Weston be doing right now? Would he like this? How would he look in his little Halloween costume? On his first day of kindergarten?
The natural world has been in a frenzy lately. Hurricane Sandy just blew through the East Coast. It toppled giant trees in my sister's neighborhood and caused severe property damage at my mother's house. But things could have been so much worse for them, so we are thankful.
I have mentioned previously that my uncle died forty years ago, before I was born. My grandparents lived in Texas at the time. They were given a small ficus tree when he died and planted it in their yard. It grew well, and, when they moved back to Phoenix thirty-five years ago, they brought the tree with them. It survived the move and is currently alive and well at their current house. I love everything about this story.
Now, I cannot even keep cactus alive. That is a true statement. We were given some beautiful potted plants when Weston died. My dad asked me if I wanted them after the memorial service. I remember very clearly thinking about my grandparents' tree...and my black thumb. I thought about it and concluded that whatever plant I took from the memorial service would represent Weston. If the plant were to die on my watch, I would never forgive myself.
We used to have two giant pine trees in our front yard (probably over 50 feet tall). With the way our house is positioned, they shaded the street a bit and framed the view of the entire street (we live close to the end of the block). They both died, and the second one was removed early this year. It was unfortunate, of course, to lose such old, big trees, and it changed the view of our street entirely.
Early last week, my mom called and said they wanted to have a tree planted for Weston at our house. In the back of my mind, I was worried about my black thumb, but the thought of a live, growing, breathing piece of nature to represent Weston at our house was too wonderful to pass up. She wanted to have it planted last week, the week he probably would have been born, but the nursery was not able to come out until yesterday.
So, here is Weston's tree!
As my mom said, it is a baby tree, like Weston. And, now that my grief is evolving away from pregnancy-related issues with my due date passing, the timing of the tree planting is perfect. In time, it will grow until it frames the street, like the pine trees once did. Our yard will never look the same, but Weston's tree will always be there. And he has changed the landscape of our hearts.
We cannot live at peace with death...I shall try to keep the wound from healing, in recognition of our living still in the old order of things. I shall try to keep it from healing, in solidarity with those who sit beside me on humanity's mourning bench.
~Nicholas Wolterstorff, Lament for a Son at 63
Loving you fiercely... Sigh.
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