A Birthday

How does one celebrate a child's birthday without the child? I learned the answer to that question today. Lucky me. Unlike the parents of most one-year-olds, I had been dreading this day for 344 days.

We went out of town for the holiday weekend, and we were with some of my family. Everything was very festive, as expected around July 4, so I hid out at the house for the most part. In a way, yesterday was worse than today, because we had at least anticipated and planned out today.

Although my grief has never left me since Weston died, it has been building for the last several weeks, until now it is almost as intense as the first days after his death. God has sent me several gifts and signs in anticipation of this horrible month, thankfully.

I made a cake last Wednesday night before we left town, so I could just quickly frost it when we got back today. I've turned into a pretty good cook and baker, but I managed to screw up the cake, and it got stuck to the pan when I was removing it. It looked awful, with a huge gaping hole...until I looked closer and discovered it was shaped like a heart.

As an aside, try not to salivate...it actually tasted pretty good.

I had hoped to spend some time alone in nature over the weekend. However, that plan had to be abandoned when a BEAR was sighted at the house. That is no joke.

For those of you who are my friends on Facebook, I started doing a little countdown on July 4, reflecting on what was happening on the same date last year. July 4 and 5 were such good days. July 6 was beyond terrible. I went back and read my blog posts chronicling July 6 and Weston's birth story (which spanned July 6 and 7) and found that I remember almost everything. Even rereading the rest of his birth story now, it's unnecessary: I still remember everything (except, of course, my son's actual birth). But, I had forgotten until today another pleasant aspect of July 4: I got to go outside that day. It was cooler out, only 100 degrees, so Shannon took me outside in my wheelchair.

July 7, 2012 was wonderful and terrible: wonderful because, of course, it was Weston's birthday. I got to meet him. It was terrible because I met him four months too soon, and his birth was incredibly traumatic to all of us.

So, last night: I had a good talk with my mom. I have been wrestling with some serious doubts lately, which I may or may not ever talk about here, and her insight was both sensible and comforting. Then Shannon and I talked and cried together for a while, and then he went to bed. I wondered if I would wake up at 2:19 a.m., the time of Weston's birth.

As it turned out, I didn't need to wake up, because I couldn't fall asleep in the first place. I laid in bed with Shannon. Then I went to the other room and laid in bed with Caroline. I was about to go lie on the couch until I remembered that the two-story windows would let in a lot of light very early. I think I finally dropped off to sleep around 3:00 a.m.

Morning dawned. I woke up to this photo from the MISS Foundation dedicated to Weston:

The hole in my heart...just like the cake. I'll add that I saw a couple of rainbows over the weekend.

(I don't believe the pain ever stops, and neither does the MISS Foundation, as stated in the caption, which is not visible here. I am hopeful, though, that the pain will ease someday.)

I finished a novel today. In it, millions and millions of monarch butterflies descend upon a small town in Tennessee hundreds, if not thousands, of miles north of where they should be in Mexico. They are quickly followed by scientists trying to figure out why. Oh, and the protagonist's first baby died. Today I read in the book that many people believe that monarchs are the souls of dead children. The little girl talking about this belief then looks up at the millions of butterflies in front of her and says, "So many." Indeed.

As we were leaving to drive back to Phoenix today, I walked out the front door of my mom's house and saw three butterflies.

I have asked people to do random acts of kindness in Weston's honor, and I have done some myself. On the way home, we stopped at the store so I could get one item for Weston's cake. As I was checking out, the man in front of me said he had forgotten his wallet and left to get it. It dawned on me after he walked away that this was my opportunity...I told the store employee that I would pay for his groceries. She was shocked and kept saying, "That's so nice of you." In my head, I was thinking, I'm not really that nice; I'm just doing this for my son. I quickly looked through my wallet for a Random Act of Kindness card, but I didn't have any. I wanted to tell the employee to tell him I was doing this for my son, Weston, on what should have been his first birthday with us, but I knew I wouldn't be able to open my mouth without bursting into tears. So I just smiled and left. I saw the man in the parking lot returning with his wallet, but I couldn't stop to tell him either.

So they will ever know why I did what I did. I suppose that's fine. I was just heeding the opportunity that Weston dropped in my lap.

Once at home, the tears really started...again. Caroline walked in the office during one of my crying spells, complete with mascara all over my face. She looked me and said, "Want a tissue?" I love that girl: so practical.

We each picked something from Weston's chest to put at the center of the dinner table in addition to the urn (Shannon's idea). Caroline chose his little dolphin, I chose his two little pillow rolls, and Shannon chose the little blanket he was wrapped in after he died. You know, a typical birthday party centerpiece:

Caroline decorated the cake with three little cars that she plays with. She blew out his candle. We sang Happy Birthday, but I couldn't choke out the words, so Shannon and Caroline had to carry the tune.

I'm glad today is almost over. Interestingly, I don't really remember much from the evening of Weston's birth. I was still on a lot of pain medications; maybe that's why. I will be playing the "this time last year we were..." game for the next three weeks.

I don't know what else to say. I wouldn't wish a day like today on any parent. Earlier, I tried to imagine what today would have been like if Weston were here, and I just couldn't do it. My heart won't let my mind go there yet.

Many people have mourned, cried, prayed, mailed cards, done random acts of kindness in Weston's honor, and otherwise reached out to me in these last couple of weeks. In that aspect, my cup runneth over, and I am truly grateful. Thank you for caring about Weston and our family.