Hours before dawn

It just past 4 AM, and my house is filled with sounds of my family sleeping.

Except for spawn. He is awake and wriggling. A good preview, perhaps, of the days to come, when it will be just he and I, up together, in the haze of sleeplessness that is a newborn.

I was awakened by Shea, but now find myself too crowded with thoughts to go easily back to sleep. In a few hours, I need to catch a flight, which is never a time for easy sleep, in any event. As tired as I am, I'm almost glad Shea woke me up, giving me one last chance to cuddle my boy in his soft airplane PJ's before I leave him for several days.

My grandmother died today, my last remaining grandparent. This is sad, but not tragic, as she'd been sick for a long time, and passed very peacefully at 92 after a life well lived.

"I'm kind of sick of death," I told Lou, in between coughs, because in addition to everything else going on, I've manged to catch his cold.

And that's the truth. This week has felt like a nonstop parade of dying. There have been what seems like an avalanche of recent SLOS babies born who have either died or are in serious condition, and hearing about them, seeing their pictures, brings me back each time to those days with Harper.

It puts me on edge, makes me distracted, catches me off guard with moments of sadness.

And I'm not sure I'm ready to attend another funeral. It reminds me that Harper's ashes are still on the shelf. So are London's, for that matter. I'm still not ready to deal with either.

But I will go to my grandmother's funeral, because she would have wanted me there. Because she loved nothing better than having the family together to hug, to scold, to laugh with, to cook for, to tease, and to bask in the attention of the generations she'd worked hard to raise.

All of the talk of death has brought me back to thinking a lot about heaven. I recently saw a preview for a new movie "Heaven is for Real" about an alleged real life story of a boy who had a near death experience and was able to describe heaven on his arrival. I watched the preview and wondered if I could stand to watch such a movie?

I don't really believe in heaven, or an afterlife of any sort. But I like the concept. I still like the idea of Harper's spirit living on. Of my grandmother having the opportunity to meet her latest great-grandchild. "Hello, dolly," she's probably say, "Come here and see your grandmother." Thinking about that makes me smile, makes me cry.

Mostly, though, talk of death now serves to make me tired. ("Everything makes you tired, right now," Lou points out. "Maybe you should only tell me when you're not tired, and we'll just assume you're otherwise exhausted.")

I am weary of summoning up the energy to mourn. I am ready for the sunshine of the springtime, for walks with my new son, for a sense of renewal. I am ready to feel awake again.