MISSed Opportunities

My heart and soul have been quite busy lately. How to be Weston's mother at this point in my life is coming into clearer focus. This is a very good thing, although it doesn't make living without him any easier.

Recently I was asked if I have ever felt any nudges from God or if I have felt led to do anything. My answer, unfortunately, was that I had never felt led to do anything until Weston died. But this is not entirely true. I loved my job and career, loved being a working mom, and thought I would do it forever. Looking back now, I am certain that my sudden desire to stay home was a nudge, or calling, or whatever you want to call it. There is no doubt in my mind that I am right where I should be. And that I was right where I should be, career-wise, during bed rest, my 27-day hospital stay, Weston's three weeks in the hospital, and the hell that has followed.

But lately there have been some different nudges. I have talked about the MISS Foundation before: the nonprofit that supports parents (and grandparents and siblings) who have lost children at any age from any cause, and how much it has helped me. Well, recently I became aware that MISS needs contributors for its newsletter that it issues every other month. My initial reaction was, Do it! So I sent an email stating that I'd like to help. Within half an hour, Dr. Joanne (the founder) responded and said YES. So, you're looking at (the typed words of) the newest regular contributor to the MISS newsletter!

I am very excited about this opportunity (and a little nervous). I'm excited because I will be able to tell Weston's story to a wider audience. With the target audience being bereaved parents and the professionals who help them, hopefully my contributions will be helpful and/or comforting. I'm excited because more people will read what I write about Weston. And I'm nervous because more people will read what I write about Weston. 

(By the way, my responsibilities also include obtaining content from others. It can include poetry, photography, whatever. If you are a bereaved parent, aunt or uncle, grandparent, friend, etc. or professional that works with bereaved families and are interested in submitting something, leave a comment or message me.)

About a week later, another opportunity (or nudge?) arose. MISS puts on annual walks for bereaved families to honor their children and raise awareness. The March of Dimes walks are coming up. March of Dimes is HUGE (and wonderful), and their walks attract a lot of people and raise a lot of money for prematurity awareness and research. Besides, y'all know I am obsessed with running.

So, I was thinking that the MISS walk should be as big and money-making as the March of Dimes walk. I kid you not, I got a message less than ten minutes later from a MISS board member asking me to help with the walk this year, which is going to be changed up from previous years. Once again, I said yes.

I suppose, then, that my post title is a little misleading.

Life has been, and continues to be, extraordinarily difficult since Weston died. It is still hard to talk about Weston without crying (unless I'm talking to family or close friends who hear about him all the time anyway).  I still need so much help and support. So, before seizing these opportunities, I wondered if is it too soon to take on responsibilities of helping others when I am still such a mess myself. (To be fair, I didn't think very hard about writing for the newsletter. I have been writing on this blog for months and already know how helpful writing is for me.)

But my gut instinct was to say yes, to help out, to offer whatever I can of my shared experience of losing a child, and my unique experience of losing Weston. It has been six months, and I have met many people who have lost children since Weston died. Sadly, I am no longer a newbie. Well, I guess I'm an old newbie. But I am convinced that at least part of my purpose on this earth now is to keep other bereaved parents company as they walk this horrible road. And the favor has been, and continues to be, returned.

I don't want to become complacent in my grief. Right now, I feel a sense of urgency that my life needs to change drastically, and I need to act on it. Especially when the opportunities arise as obviously as they have. Even though I am emotionally fragile, there is no better place to have a meltdown than at  the MISS Foundation. I will be in a safe place.

My contributions to MISS are my way to be Weston's mother. Mothers have primal instincts when it comes to knowing what's best for their children. I am firmly convinced that these instincts don't disappear when a child dies. Weston's death does not change the fact that I am his mother. That I will ALWAYS be his mother. Being the parent of a dead child is the hardest job in the world, but I have to do it. To fail at this job would be failing Weston. I still have my mothering instincts, and I am following them.

I have felt other nudges lately, but this post has gotten long enough. Karen, my BFF, was here over the weekend, and we had a really great time. We were worried that her visit would be very difficult, because she was last here when Weston died. But it was so wonderful to be together. Her presence was a much-needed distraction from my daily, oppressive grief. And, I must add that we ROCKED the half marathon on Saturday! Karen came within a minute of her personal best, and I blew all of my goals out of the water (and came within about four minutes of my personal best). We ran through the desert and saw the sunrise. Weston was with me. It was an unforgettable race.

My daughter is wide awake. I would normally be quite frustrated (it's after 9:00 pm), but she's in bed singing "Happy Birthday" to Weston. I can't help but smile.