Through new eyes?

With all my holiday wallowing consuming my thoughts this past weekend, I forgot to mention a weird - weird in a different way - thing that happened at my optometrist appointment on Friday.

When I last had my eyes checked in February 2005, I was just about through the first trimester and was almost convinced that my pregnancy was in cruise control. As part of the usual questioning, my eye doctor asked if I was pregnant, to which I responded with a cheerful and excited, "Yes!" He extended his congratulations to me and on we went with the appointment.

Until I walked into the eye doctor's office on Friday afternoon, telling him about Ryan was just about the furthest thing from my mind. I was more concerned about trying to drive home - into the setting sun, no less - in rush-hour traffic with dilated pupils, as well as trying to follow the assistant from room to room after she had me remove my contacts. Not a nice game to play with a terribly near-sighted individual such as myself.

The doctor came in, did a quick review of my chart, and then commented on how when he saw me last year I was pregnant and due in August. I answered him with an affirmative, but didn't say anything else. Naturally, his next question was to ask how the baby is.

So, I told him.

I told him that I had my baby, yes. I paused for a moment and then added that my son died two days later due to complications from severe heart defects.

Even though my doctor was sitting just a few feet from me, all I could see was a very blurry figure - I can't make out exact facial expressions or see people's eyes without my glasses or contacts. But I didn't need to see his face to know what sad look was written across his face. I've seen that look so many times on the faces of others who've heard my story, that on Friday it was almost a relief to not see that painful look yet another time.

It was a very strange feeling, though. I knew that the doctor was shocked by my unexpected news, but maybe because I couldn't read that awful look in his eyes, it didn't affect me as much as telling Ryan's story had in the past.

I don't know if I turned a different corner Friday or if it was just coincidence since I was blind as a bat and couldn't see my doctor's face when I delivered my unfortunate news; I'm so heavily influenced by the depth of emotion in a person's eyes. Or, maybe telling the story for the ump-teenth time has desensitized me in some way, so sharing the news almost seemed routine.

So, what does this all mean? Am I growing stronger in my ability to share Ryan's story, without it turning me into a blubbering mess? Does it mean I'm moving on and really beginning to heal and recover from Ryan's death? Or, does it mean nothing and I'm merely over-analyzing the whole incident?

My head feels too full to try and sort this all out.