Autopilot

I'm back. Today, anyway. It's funny (interesting funny, not humorous funny) that the concept of autopilot is the catalyst that leads to this blog post, because blogging is decidedly NOT part of my routine these days.

Life without Weston has settled into a new autopilot: "Fine, thanks" in response to "How are you?" (It used to be, "Good! How are you?" Because I genuinely felt that life was good most days.)  Churchless Sunday mornings. Shannon stopped asking if I was coming along months ago. Sadness as my default emotion. Avoiding babies and pregnant women. Tears. Avoiding parties. Avoiding chance encounters with friends and acquaintances I don't communicate with regularly (because I will cry if they bring up Weston, and feel awkward if they don't). Avoiding small talk with strangers at all costs. Especially that one. Hating holidays (especially the next one, Independence Day, which will forever fall exactly three days before my precious baby's birthday that he will never get to celebrate). Pulling away from my loved ones when I'm especially sad (that's where I've been lately, loved ones).

As an aside, it's interesting (by interesting I mean...pathetic, I guess) that this "autopilot" life of mine consists mostly of avoidance, rather than action.

But, there are other things I used to do on autopilot that I avoid at all costs now. There are too many to list, but only the vitally important parts of my life are still around. The others, whether they are people, events, or things, are painful reminders of the blissfully happy and blissfully ignorant life I used to live, and I push them away.

Today, though, I ventured back into pre-Weston autopilot life. I used to go to a certain local coffee shop every day on my way to work. My favorite barista whips up a mean latte and, more importantly, has a contagious smile. Being on bedrest certainly didn't allow me to continue going there after I stopped working. A couple of days after Weston died, I went there to write a letter to him; it was read at his memorial service. Favorite barista was there that day, and we had this encounter. That was almost a year ago, and I have barely been back since.

Somehow, I ended up at that coffee shop this morning. I was reallyreallyreally thinking about going to Mass (at a renewal center, not at a church). I can count on one hand the number of times I have been to Mass in my life, but I have been quite drawn to Catholicism over the past several months. I've been feeling more distant from God lately, and I'm eager to feel him near me again. For whatever reason, I was drawn to the coffee shop today, more so than Mass, and I think God had something to do with it.

It was packed. Favorite barista was there. I just figured we'd chitchat while I was waiting for my latte. But he had a lot to say. As it turns out, he has had a rough several months: he suffered the loss of a big dream. (I'm being intentionally vague. You know, to protect the privacy of the unnamed barista at the unnamed coffee shop in the fifth-largest metropolitan area in the United States. One can never be too careful.) I'm paraphrasing and summarizing, but he had an intense encounter with a friend and a book, made some changes in his life, and he is back living his dream, better than ever. He ended his story by reminding me that God loves us and is always trying to tell us something, and this truth has helped him be positive.

My dream is for Weston to be here, alive, with me. I know that's not going to happen in this lifetime. However, favorite barista is right. Although I can't possibly fathom the how and the why, something positive will come from the life-altering event of losing my son. I might even feel actual joy again someday.

(Please note that this is MY conclusion. Favorite barista did not apply his situation and new outlook to my life. No one is allowed to do that. Sorry for slipping back into anger. I have let go of 75% of my anger, I really have, but then I had the misfortune to start a horribly judgmental book about grief that brought the anger right back. Ugh. Unfortunately, I don't have the emotional fortitude to ignore what deserves to be ignored yet. Rant over.)

So, favorite barista made me cry again. It doesn't take much; I have been crying 1000 oceans these days (see the Tori Amos song). As I approach Weston's first birthday and the anniversary of his death (which I have also heard characterized as death-o-versary and, even better, shit-o-versary), the grief and trepidation is almost more than I can bear. I am doing no better than I was almost a year ago (except I have lost the anger and regained my appetite. And Caroline makes me smile every single day.). And I wonder when joy will overshadow mourning. But, after today's encounter with favorite barista, I do believe it will happen someday. Someday, my life will consist of proactive purpose, rather than avoidance and autopilot. And that promise of someday got me through today.