Christmas in July

Well, we had a baby! William Andrew Yoder (Will) was born on July 5, his due date, at 8:33 a.m. He weighed in at 8 pounds 5.6 ounces. He had an echo when he was about eight hours old, and his heart is perfect! I'll have to write down his birth story at some point, although I am in no danger of forgetting.

July is obviously the most difficult month of the year for our family, as it includes Weston's birthday and the day he died. Last July, we had an incredibly healing vacation in Colorado. This July, we had a baby!

I can hardly believe I have a living, breathing baby to hold and love. Over the past ten months, I have only let my mind wander to the place of holding a baby occasionally. Even as I pushed Will out, with my family saying excitedly, "There he is! There's his head! He's here!", I could not let my mind imagine the reality of a live baby until he was on my chest where I could see him, and crying, so I knew without a doubt that he was alive. He is such a gift.

Will arrived two days before Weston's second birthday. That reality hasn't sunk in yet, although Weston's birthday was a very hard, emotional day. My heart and mind need to work through the birthdays, but I'm simply too tired to do so right now.

Will looks exactly like Caroline did when she was a baby. Weston has a lot of strong similarities to the two of them as well. I imagine the similarities would be even stronger if I had any pictures of him both alive and not covered in tubes.

My first big "test" came only eight or so hours after Will was born. Shannon had left to pick up Caroline, so I was alone with Will. I knew he would need a repeat echo on his heart, and I was emotionally prepared. I was not prepared, however, for the echo to take place in the NICU.

Merely seeing the doors to the NICU causes my chest to tighten and my heart to race. I could not imagine going in there. The nurse came to get Will for the echo, but there was no way I was going to let him go without me. As his mother, it was simply not an option.

With the powerful motivation to be present for Will, I did not fall apart this time. I did not have to scrub in, which was a relief, and we were led to an area about twenty feet from Weston's bed. There were only one or two babies in Weston's pod, including one in Weston's spot in an identical bed. The NICU was very quiet that day. I don't think I heard any alarms. I sat there in that eerily quiet NICU with my healthy child, directly in front of the spot where my sick child was taken off life support.

But I was OK. I got a big hug from one of Weston's former nurses. She had enabled Shannon to hold Weston for an hour one night (I wasn't there). I wonder if others thought it was weird that we were reminiscing about such a painful time, but I am grateful for my memories and grateful that she was willing to share hers.

We were discharged late in the afternoon of July 6. As I was wheeled outside with my family, and a healthy baby in my arms, I remembered the late afternoon of July 6, 2012: I was taken to the high risk unit and began the terrifying countdown to Weston's birth about ten hours later.

In case anyone is wondering, we are very happy with our decision to give birth at the same hospital where Weston lived and died. That building will now forever hold the most painful and some of the most precious memories of our lives.

The monsoons are here, which means…rainbows. I still have only seen one rainbow since Weston died, not counting the one we saw the day he died. However, other people have told me about their rainbow sightings in recent days, for which I am grateful.

We had newborn and family photos taken the other day. I had set up the session several weeks ago. I told the photographer about Weston and let her know we'd bring a few objects to represent him in the family pictures. We were at her studio all day, and I was blown away at her ideas to incorporate Weston into the pictures. I cannot wait to see the finished product. It was a special day; I loved watching my family interact for these pictures, but I did not expect to feel Weston's presence so strongly there.

We were all exhausted when we went home from the photo session. I got the mail on my way inside, which included a large envelope full of cards and a letter from the Postal Service. I figured they were congratulatory cards for Will's birth. I scanned the Postal Service letter, which said something about being sorry that our mail got damaged. I looked closer at the cards and discovered that they were all postmarked December 2012. They were Christmas cards from our first Christmas without Weston.

Somehow these several cards were lost in the Postal Service system for 1.5 years, only to materialize in July? Like Will's birth falling so close to Weston's birthday, this was no coincidence. I was so overwhelmed that I had to put the cards aside to read them later. One card was written by someone who has since died; it was surreal to see her handwriting, expressing her sympathy.

I have mentioned previously that I gave myself permission not to observe Weston's birthday this year and not to feel guilty about it. Although I didn't feel guilty, it was still an incredibly painful day. I had figured, with the happy chaos of a new baby, Weston would fall to the wayside for a while. I couldn't have been more wrong. His presence is everywhere, and others are remembering him too. My heart is full.

And I am not the only one. For some reason, July is a tragically busy month in the bereaved parent community. But these children are everywhere. There are random acts of kindness happening, vivid dreams, and unmistakable signs.

Caroline and Weston will always have a bond; they were alive together, after all. Today, on Will's ninth day of life, the bond between my two boys is unmistakable. I am grateful.