Resolutions

2013: it's a big deal. On the one hand, it delivers me from the worst nightmare of a year anyone could ever have. On the other hand, it takes me from the year that I had my son on earth, with me. Yet another paradox, another symptom of the divided life.

We all know that the turnover of the calendar year is the time to make New Year's resolutions. Some years I make them, some years I don't. I am pretty sure I have never stuck with them, and I am certain I have never written them down.

This time last year, I knew big changes were coming: I was going to quit my job, and I expected to get pregnant and have a baby. In the context of New Year's resolutions, I was hoping to spend much more time with my children, simplify my life, and be less stressed. I did not care about the most common of New Year's resolutions, losing weight: I was going to get pregnant. I did not care about the other common resolution, getting organized: I was going to have another baby. And I did, in fact, quit my job, get pregnant, and have a baby.

But I did not expect to spend a third of the year on bed rest and a month of the year as a hospital patient. I did not expect that my son would be born in the heat of the summer instead of the cool of the fall and that I would be discharged from the hospital without him. Most of all, I did not expect Weston to die.

My outlook on life has changed. I am simply unable to look ahead to all of 2013: it scares me too much. I was so excited for the big changes I expected for 2012...and look what happened. They say lightning never strikes twice, but they also told me my placental separation would heal. (Who is "they," anyway? I have always wondered.) I cannot look to the future with positive expectations anymore, because nothing is guaranteed. I have lost my innocence.

So, what to do? Live in the moment. Drink heavily, abdicate all responsibilities...just kidding. Actually, I am not kidding about living in the moment. Be present, in the moment, with those you love. Don't worry about taking a picture or capturing the moment for Facebook: put down the iPhone. Go out for dinner or a drink with that friend you haven't seen in a while. If your child throws a tantrum in public, take a DEEP breath, and just hold your child tight. (I do get it; I have a three-year-old.) Thank God that your child is HERE, with YOU. SPEND TIME with the people you love, instead of BUYING THINGS for them. Get enough sleep. Read a book. Help someone less fortunate. Learn something new. Do yoga (or something else that will de-stress you). Make music.

Looking at the previous paragraph, those seem to be New Year's resolutions of a sort. They are also things that seem to come naturally after experiencing a monumental tragedy, at least for me. I switched to survival mode when my pregnancy complications began: I had to do what I could to keep myself and my relationships healthy. And that has continued. Except the getting enough sleep part. And the reading a book part: I have NO attention span anymore. I can handle blog posts and NPR articles; that's about it. Even New York Times articles are too long for me now. Grief causes major brain drain, I'm not kidding. And the inability to stay on topic.

I am still railing at God for taking Weston from me. But I am also so thankful (to God) for the many blessings I have: the most spirited, compassionate, and beautiful daughter EVER. She danced FOREVER at the Zoo Lights last night, stopped in her tracks at one point, starting doing push-ups, and announced, "I doing yoga!" Just had to slip that in. I have a loyal, patient, and loving husband. A roof over my head and plenty of food. A family of origin that walks this terrible road with me, even when I am a silent partner. A good education. The ability to help others. Enough money. Friends who love me and are lining up to spend time with me, even when I have nothing to offer back to them. Physical health (except when growing a baby: still railing about that one too). The generosity of others, even strangers, and their willingness to help me.

And...three weeks with the most perfect, strong, beautiful and inspirational baby boy. The statistics say that more 24-weekers make it than don't. But I know the parents of the 24-weekers that die, and most of them didn't get anything close to three weeks with their babies.

Damn it. That last paragraph just broke my heart all over again.  THREE WEEKS. That's it? It's only a lifetime too short. Weston should be a roly-poly two month old baby.

2012 gave me a beautiful world of two babies and then took it away. It also gave me strength: I have survived five months without Weston. Therefore, I can survive anything. But I hope and pray that 2013 gives me something better than survival. Mere survival sucks. At this point, I don't know what "something better than survival" looks like. But I want it.

P.S. I have been at this blogging thing for half a year now. Thank you for hanging in there with me. It has been an intense ride, I know. I can't promise it will get less intense, but I will continue to write authentically, from my heart. Blessings in 2013.