How am I Doing? Depends on the MINUTE.

Today was a perfect example of how my emotional state can change on a dime. Today was both harder and easier than normal. Harder because I broke down in public again. Easier because I matter-of-factly told someone (indirectly) that I have a dead child.

Does "dead child" sound a little harsh? Some people might think so, but I don't. It is my reality: I have a dead child. I cannot and will not sugarcoat my daily reality. And it's safe to say I'm not the only one, as shown in this article posted by a fellow bereaved mother today. It's a really good article; you should read it if you're in the mood for some light reading. The author took the thoughts right out of my head. To quote her, being the parent of a dead child is the hardest job in the world. People die. Children die. When people die, they are dead. Is that hard to hear or read? Try LIVING it. I would gladly listen to the phrase "dead child" or "dead baby" constantly for the rest of my life if it would bring Weston back.

She talks about not caring about potty training anymore. That's me: I am the proud mama of an almost 3.5-year-old girl who still wears diapers. Not a single person in our immediate family cares. And pretty much everyone who meets my daughter thinks she is awesome. Because she is.

The article talks about now thinking of the worst case scenario constantly. That's me. Statistics show that death by car accident is more common than...a lot of other ways to die, I think (I read in some article a long time ago (that, ironically, I thought was over-the-top alarmist at the time) that the best way to keep your newborn alive was to not drive). So do you know what I do now? EVERY SINGLE TIME I buckle Caroline in her carseat, I give her a kiss. Even if she is in the middle of a tantrum. I do that in case...I'm not even going to type it out, but I'm pretty sure you know where I'm going with it. And it's not just a rote habit: I actually think that exact thought every time.

Welcome to my life.

Anyway, today. I was walking down the hallway at the gym approaching two women. They were both old enough to be my mother. One mentioned her daughter, and the other asked her how many children she has. I tensed up immediately: that is the ultimate nightmare scenario of a question. And it wasn't even directed at me.

Without missing a beat or changing her tone, the woman said, "I had two children." HAD. I knew what this meant. I had already walked by them, so I couldn't turn around and look more closely at this woman: did she look sad? Did she look like me? Did she just blend in with the crowd? She went on, "One of them died..." and I missed the rest.

So there is a mother like me, at my gym. I wonder: if she lost the child in infancy, did it take her an entire generation to get to the point that she could mention her dead child as casually as she mentioned her living child?

But that was not when I broke down. I headed to the treadmill and did my run. As always, I thought about Weston a lot. But there was a woman running next to me, quite a bit slower, so I decided (please don't hate me) to see how long it would take me to "catch up" to her (i.e., surpass her in mileage). That was a good distraction for a long time...until she kept speeding up and eventually was running FASTER than me. She probably saw me staring at her treadmill and got pissed. I don't blame her.

In case you're wondering, she slowed to a walk after a while, and THAT'S when I caught her. I know, I know: I'm petty.

I went to stretch after my run (in a semi-private hallway), and that's when I started thinking about it again: saying my final goodbye to Weston. For some reason, I have been thinking about that moment a lot lately. Excruciating doesn't begin to describe it.

I had to walk away from my child forever. I had already put Weston down in the little bassinet, but I just couldn't take my hand away. His little arms were already a little stiff, and my hand fit perfectly between them, with his hands resting on mine.

(This picture was not taken during our final goodbye.) It was so natural, so meant to be: mother and son fitting perfectly together. And it was so unnatural to have to walk away from that togetherness forever, clutching only a blanket. Navigating the maze of hospital hallways back to our car, passing normal people who looked happy. Wanting to SCREAM. Wanting to die.*

*I am not suicidal. Leave me alone.

So that's when I lost it. And fumbled my way through my five sun salutations, the crying completely defeating the purpose of yoga's deep breathing.

Then I walked by the kids' room on my way back to the locker room and saw Caroline, perched in a chair, reading aloud quite animatedly to herself. I couldn't help but smile.

Less than an hour later, when I was getting my coffee, the barista mentioned Caroline's awesomeness again. Nothing makes me happier. Then, it came up that his fiancee works for NPR, for the same show Weston and I were just on for 15 seconds. So, you can see where the conversation was headed...until, "So, what was the show about?" Yikes. But here is where I was just fine: I gave a little disclaimer, "Well, it's a really intense topic." Followed by, deep breath, "It was about how to cope after losing a child." He agreed that it is, indeed, an intense topic, handed me my latte, and that was it. We were all fine. Fine, fine, fine.

I don't understand it. I don't know why I opened my big mouth about the NPR show, but I must have known in my heart that I could handle the conversation today. Even after I was literally a puddle of tears on the floor of the gym an hour before.

This is my daily life. It's why being the parent of a dead child is so exhausting and, indeed, the hardest job in the world.

On a final and completely unrelated note, my blog was nominated for an award. Yay! "Accepting" the nomination requires me to answer some questions posed by the nominator (is that a word?). They are thought-provoking questions that require careful thought and soul-searching on my end, so I want to take my time to ruminate on and answer them. I feel quite honored by this nomination, so my answers need to be worthy.

If you got this far, thanks for continuing to read. I know I have been pissy, ranty, and sarcastic lately. You know, the BEST version of myself. I miss Weston. Sometimes missing him just makes me...pissy, ranty, and sarcastic. Depends on the minute, right? Hopefully my calmer, more reflective self will appear soon.