Hodge Podge

Writer's block continues. There are a lot of thoughts and emotions whirling around my mind and heart right now. Although it is entirely subconscious, usually I only have to concentrate on one thing at a time: my grief is more "organized." Heh. Only a hopelessly neurotic type-A person would say something so ridiculous.

But it's true. With grief being such exhausting, hard work, God/the brain/the heart tend to give me a single grief "theme" at a time to wrestle with. It could be anything from worrying about Caroline, to how my grief is affecting my relationships, to being incredibly angry that Weston is not here, to wondering what God is up to with all of this, to wondering why our society is so uncomfortable with death, to trying to figure out my new purpose in life, to simply missing Weston so much it hurts.

Well, right now I'm thinking of all of the above and more. My mind and heart are a disorganized mess. A hodge podge, if you will. So that's what you're getting on this lovely 70-degree Saturday that I'm spending inside because I'm sick.

Sweet Caroline. (Bum bum bum.) She is hurting. I took her to a counseling session the other day, and she said and did some things that surprised me. I haven't talked through everything with my counselor yet; I'll learn more next week. Although three-year-olds are not exactly secretive or tactful, this blog is not the place to air all of her struggles (she can speak for herself when she is old enough). Suffice it to say, death touches everyone, even the youngest ones who do not even fully grasp the concept. Every time we drive by the hospital, she wants to go in and see Baby Weston. And she always wonders if there is another baby in his crib. I know the answer to that question is probably yes, but thankfully all the cribs look alike, and I will never know definitively when another baby is occupying HIS crib.

Grief touches and affects every relationship. Again, I am not speaking for others, and I will respect the privacy of the people in my life, but everything has changed. Grief affects marriages, parent/child relationships (both as the parent and the child), sibling relationships, friend relationships, in-law relationships, work relationships. No person and no relationship is immune. Some long-standing relationships die or are otherwise irreparably damaged; some formerly casual friends surprise the griever with their presence and support; and new, often deep, relationships form.

The most random events can just knock me flat. Last night, it was an innocent question from a fellow music lover: what is your favorite song? Tears, tears, tears. Holy shit. Music touches me differently and more deeply now. I did think about the question later and came up with an answer, in case you're wondering: my "favorite" song right now is "1000 Oceans" by Tori Amos. That will be my favorite song for at least the rest of today.

In thinking about what the upcoming year holds, I feel bittersweet. My best friend will be here in two weeks for our half marathon. The last time she was here, Weston died. I went to visit her within a couple of months of having both of her children, and she did the same with me. If Weston had been born on time, we would not be running a half marathon together on this visit: she would be meeting Weston, my healthy three-month-old son. We are excited to see each other, but we are also both apprehensive about the feelings and memories that will inevitably come up when she arrives.

Then, I am going to New York (alone) to visit my sister and her family and meet my new nephew, Silas. He will be three months old by then. The last time I went to visit them in New York, I was nine weeks pregnant with Weston (and blissfully unaware of what was to come), and my sister was six weeks pregnant with Silas. I was hoping we would be together late enough in our pregnancies to take some fun belly pictures together; that obviously never happened. We do have some pictures together from that trip last year, in which neither of us looks remotely pregnant. They will have to suffice. And clearly I will not be bringing Weston along to meet his cousins on this trip.

I remain convinced that God exists and that he is good. I read a book called When God Weeps that was incredibly helpful. It was written by a woman who was paralyzed in an accident as a teenager and has spent decades as a quadriplegic. She knows suffering. I just finished the book yesterday and need some time to process what I read. There are too many things flying around my head about this topic to write a coherent post on it now, so it will have to wait. Plus, I am tired. And sick, sicker than I was a few days ago. No 15-mile run today.

It has even entered my mind to go to church. I'm not sure if I'm ready to go to my own church, but I am interested. I am still mad at God, but I am a little more inclined to listen to what he has to say.

Random strangers are pissing me off. Apparently, there are people out there who think the Sandy Hook massacre was a hoax. Some of the ridiculousness is based on the interviews of the parents who lost children in this horrific tragedy. Evidently, complete strangers (who, I bet, have never lost a child) are grief experts and know how parents who have lost children "should" be acting. Because they don't appear "sad enough" a day or two after the event, they must be LYING about their children being dead. Assholes. Since Weston died, I have cried at inappropriate times, laughed at inappropriate times, forgotten basic information, spoken publicly about Weston without shedding a tear, broken down to complete strangers, gone to funerals, parties, and concerts, drank too much, celebrated holidays and birthdays, blogged about crazy shit, held and refused to hold baby boys, sent Weston's story and picture to every major publication out there (slight exaggeration), run through illness, told people "I'm horrible, thank you" when they ask how I'm doing, etc.

I will say this over and over: please just let us grieving parents be. If you haven't been there, you couldn't possibly understand. What is wrong with you that you would take something as tragic as a massacre of first-graders and their teachers and twist it in such an ugly fashion, based on your judgmental and ignorant reactions of the PARENTS? For God's sake, leave them alone.

Oh! I almost forgot: Weston made it onto NPR! You can listen to his 15 seconds of "fame" here. We're in the beginning; it won't take long. Nothing else I talked about made it onto the show, but now NPR listeners know Weston's name and date of death.

To whom much is given, much will be required. This is a saying I have heard all my life. I always thought "much" was referring to certain attributes such as intelligence, money, power, influence. One who is given any of these blessings is required to put it to good use. Use your intelligence to give people health. Use your money to give people shelter. Use your power and influence to encourage others with these blessings to do the same and to help right wrongs. In other words, pay it forward. (I am full of cliches today. Damn writer's block.)

But now I interpret this saying in a different way. I have been given "much." Way too much of what I never wanted. I was given a healthy, beautiful baby boy. Healthy until he was forced to make a too-early entrance into this world, anyway. Weston's early entrance was too much for him. His death is way too much for me. I have been given much mourning, much sorrow, much despair, and every other synonym for grief you can find.

However, this means that much will be required of me. I don't know what that looks like yet. I don't have enough intelligence, money, power or influence to do anything great. But I do have compassion like I've never had. I have perspective. I have resolve. I have courage (or recklessness, depending on your perspective). I have love, both on the giving and receiving ends. I have a computer and Internet connection.

Right now, as far as Weston is concerned, the "much" I have been given requires that I keep writing and blogging about him, even though doing so has been a little stressful and scary lately. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, it means I continue to be the best mother, wife, daughter, sister, aunt, and friend that I can be. Time will tell what the rest of the "much" will look like.