Science Lesson

With Weston never leaving the hospital and dying so young, I have talked about my fears that he will be forgotten. I imagine that is a fear of anyone who loses a loved one, young or old, to some extent. The vast majority of the people I know did not get to meet Weston, so they do not have memories of him.

I have let go of that fear somewhat...at least today. It is clear that Weston has touched so many people. BUT. There are additional reasons why he will not be forgotten, on a microscopic level.

I love science. And NPR. I listen to NPR obsessively. No, I have never donated during their pledge drive. Don't judge!

A few weeks ago, I stumbled onto another child loss blog and came across a piece entitled "You Want a Physicist to Speak at Your Funeral." It was written by...an NPR commentator (Aaron Freeman). It's impossible to paraphrase, so here is the whole thing:

You want a physicist to speak at your funeral. You want the physicist to talk to your grieving family about the conservation of energy, so they will understand that your energy has not died. You want the physicist to remind your sobbing mother about the first law of thermodynamics that no energy gets created in the universe, and none is destroyed. You want your mother to know that all your energy, every vibration, every Btu of heat, every wave of every particle that was her beloved child remains with her in this world. You want the physicist to tell your weeping father that amid energies of the cosmos, you gave as good as you got.

And at one point you'd hope that the physicist would step down from the pulpit and walk to your brokenhearted spouse there in the pew and tell him/her that all the photons that ever bounced off your face, all the particles whose paths were interrupted by your smile, by the touch of your hair, hundreds of trillions of particles, have raced off like children, their ways forever changed by you. And as your widow rocks in the arms of a loving family, may the physicist let him/her know that all the photons that bounced from you were gathered in the particle detectors that are her/his eyes, that those photons created within him/her constellations of electromagnetically charged neurons whose energy will go on forever.

And the physicist will remind the congregation of how much all our energy is given off as heat. There may be a few fanning themselves with their programs as he says it. And he will tell them that the warmth that flowed through you in life is still here, still part of all that we are, even as we who mourn continue the heat of our own lives.

And you'll want the physicist to explain to those who love you that they need not have faith; indeed, they should not have faith. Let them know that they can measure, that scientists have measured precisely the conservation of energy and found it accurate, verifiable and consistent across space and time. You can hope your family will examine the evidence and satisfy themselves that the science is sound and that they'll be comforted to know your energy's still around. According to the law of conservation of energy, not a bit of you is gone; you're just less orderly.

Amen.

I love this. Incidentally, I copied it from a blog called thankgodforevolution.com. Right up my alley. Maybe the "Amen" ending is not original to Freeman's piece. Sorry. I never promised I wouldn't get into religion on this blog, though...

Weston has left a physical, indelible mark on the world. The world will never be the same because he existed on this earth. And he is still here. But I do want him to be more orderly; that's where faith comes in, I suppose.

So, after the physics lesson comes an anatomy lesson. A few weeks ago I read an article in The Week magazine about how being pregnant with a boy changes the mother on a cellular level. I do not remember the specifics, and of course I threw the magazine away.

But after one of my most recent posts, a friend commented on this topic, which she heard on...another NPR show. (And, pardon yet another digression, but I love how the circle of caring, empathetic people in my life has widened exponentially over the past few months.) I couldn't find the NPR story online, but I found another blog post talking about it here.

So, the gist is that our children's DNA stays in our bodies for the rest of our lives, because fetal cells cross the placenta. This is true even if the baby dies in utero and very, very early in the pregnancy. Furthermore, these cells help to fight harmful cells, bacteria, etc. when the mother gets sick. Some fetal cells might even help to prevent certain cancers. They can contribute stem cells, help regenerate neurons in the brain, and help to heal Mom's heart. These cells can also be shared from one pregnancy to another.

Weston is not only floating through the universe, but he is also floating through my body, and he will continue to do so until the end of time. This is incredibly comforting.

There continue to be visible signs of Weston in the universe, seen by others. Caroline and I played outside for quite a while this afternoon in an area of our backyard that is shaded by a large tree, so I couldn't see the sky. Two people told me at different times that they saw a beautiful rainbow today and thought of Weston. We were probably outside during the rainbow show.

This warms my heart. It has been an emotional day. Caroline is starting to talk about Christmas; she is so excited. So the difficulties continue as we march steadily toward the holidays. Today, while talking about Christmas, Weston came up in conversation. Caroline mentioned that Weston is with God. Then she said, "God is holding Baby Weston like this," and rocked an imaginary baby in her arms. I immediately got teary. She gave me a hug and said, "Mommy, don't cry." It was a difficult, yet priceless, moment.

So, it turns out that Weston is literally in my heart...and lungs, and bone marrow, and brain. And, he is also literally everywhere I look.