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Tuesday, January 8, 2013

Easton Timeout

I've tried several things to make the burning stop, to feel like my feet are on the ground again.  That doesn't get better, no matter how hard I try.  But, today, for the briefest moment, I felt ALIVE. He was with me. He was beside me, in me, all around me and I FELT him.

A woman, who'd gotten my name from a mutual friend, called today and talked to me about her child and their battle with epilepsy.  This was the first time in a LONG time that I'd talked at length about something that had been literally every second of my life for  nearly two years.  When my son died, that part of me seemed to die with him. I'd lost that connection to a world that had become home.  We talked about therapies, medications, and diets.  But, most importantly we talked about how DAMN LONELY it is to live in the world of seizures.  We talked about how terrifying it is to discover the lack of information out there, the fear in the pit of your stomach that threatens to swallow you whole with every decision you have to make.  It was good to hear my old voice.  It was wonderful to know that I am still in here, somewhere.

After that conversation, my kids and I had our very first "Easton Timeout."  I'd encouraged others to take this special timeout with their families, but hadn't actually been able to do it myself.  You know how you work so hard at making a perfect life that you forget to live?  This is where the Easton Timeout comes in and saves you.  I got my children some ice cream after school.  It was before their dinner and it's the middle of winter, but I didn't care.  And then, something amazing happened.  I'd been wanting to do something like this for along time, but I felt, in that moment that my son was saying, "Right now.  Do it now."  We provided a little "pay it forward" sort of moment for some strangers there.  I attached a little note that said, "This is an EASTON TIMEOUT!  Be someone's superhero! In memory of Easton Zanger."  As soon as I handed it over to person who would deliver the message, I felt my baby right next to me.  I looked at his picture on my dashboard and I swear his smile grew a little wider. I felt life coursing through my veins.  I immediately started to cry.  Now I KNOW what I'm supposed to do.  THIS.  I'm supposed to encourage love for others in his name.  I'm supposed to be that voice on the other end of the phone for the scared and lonely mother who thinks she's drowning, but whom I know is giving her life to her child.  I'm supposed to remember.  I'm supposed to give. And I'm supposed to LOVE. 

I will, Baby.  As long as I'm here, there will be love.  There will be extra family time. And, there will be superheroes!!!!

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