The Gift of Remembering

The other day my girls and I were enjoying a play date at a friend’s house. We had lunch, the children played happily and we two Moms relished in much needed adult conversation amid winter break. Conversations varied from the chaos of the holidays, the amazement of our rapidly growing children and upcoming book club. The conversation somehow turned towards our children’s names. The two oldest daughters had come to join in at this time and were each glad to share the meaning of their name and comment on the lack of name popularity they both shared. We then talked about middle names of our kids and without missing a beat my friend asked what the middle names of our twins are. She asked this not with a whispered tone, but just as though they were in the other room playing. I happily shared that James’s middle name is Anthony, which is also my father’s middle name, and Penelope’s middle name is Ann, which is in both sides of our family. I laughed a bit at my regret of not spelling Ann with an e, as Anne of Green Gables did. Then our conversation continued and flowed into a new topic.

She may not have realized in that moment what a gift she gave me. To speak my children’s names and tell stories about them, all of them. Not just the two playing in her home that day. This is something so wonderful and rare for a bereaved parent. I cried when I got home. Not because I was sad or missing my babies more than usual. In fact quite the opposite. I cried because for a few minutes I was the mother of four that I truly am and my heart swelled with joy and pride. These moments are few and far between for the bereaved parent. We love our children, all of our children. Please remember that whenever you speak their names or allow us to share a piece of them with you it is truly a gift.

Another Curve Ball

About a year and a half ago Micah and I decided that we were ready to add another child to our family. We have always gotten pregnant very quickly and we expected it to happen within a few months. 10 months later we found ourselves seeking assistance from a fertility clinic. I was approaching the age of  38 and wondered if our chance had already passed. Blood work revealed that I was right. My egg reserve was low, very low. We were told that without fertility treatments we would most likely not conceive. So we ventured down that path. Several months of medications and injections and ultrasounds. All fruitless. We gave up and with heavy hearts we accepted that our family was complete. Then one day, several months later I was late. It couldn’t be! But there were those two lines staring back at me. Pregnant. 
We were shocked and elated! It surely was meant to be! I had zero anxiety. Sure that this would just work out. We spent the next two weeks texting each other Baby names and sharing a secret excitement. I don’t know where my optimism came from, but I was sure that everything would be fine.
Then the day of our first ultrasound arrived. We couldn’t wait to get a glimpse at our little embryo. Just over 6 weeks pregnant and we should be able to hear a heartbeat via ultrasound! The appointment was full of disappointment. No baby was to be found. Just a small empty sac. No heartbeat, no baby, no baby names, no fifth Fuerst.  I cried, hard. The Doctor explained that it didn’t look promising, but there was still a chance. I knew there wasn’t. We scheduled an appointment to come back three days later. Another ultrasound and another round of lab work. All confirmation of what we already knew. No baby. An “abnormal pregnancy “. “Not viable”. 

Why? Why after finally coming to terms with our family being compete did my body decide to get pregnant? Why trick us into believing that we could actually welcome a third child into our home? It’s cruel and unfair. I am so angry with my body. It has once again failed me. Failed our family. Our fertility journey has now come to an end on this sour note. I am all out of optimism. No more medications and shots. We are done, we are complete. This is not how I pictured any of this. I miss the naive woman who believed that she at she had control over her fertility. She believed that she could decide how many children she would have. Now I am a passive receiver of information. Talking to a fertility specialist about my “poor pregnancy history” and “mature eggs”. It’s all too much. I am so grateful for my two living daughters. And as much as I would have loved to bring home a sibling for them it is just not a reality. 
So now we hone in on our family as it is. We are a fabulous family of four. Two parents and two living children. This is not what we pictured, but it is our reality. And as much as we want to add another child it is simply not our reality. Once again we find ourselves facing the reality that we are done. Two beautiful daughters and twins that we hold in our hearts. 

I Opened Their Boxes Today

I opened their boxes today.  Gingerly pulled them out of the closet of the guest bedroom and set them on the bed. It's been about a year since they have been out. Each time I bring them out it’s as if I am pulling my heart out of my chest and laying it out on the bed, vulnerable and raw.

The first item that I pulled out was a soft knitted pink blanket.  Made by a volunteer that I will never know.  Below the blanket is the endless stack of sympathy cards, full of “I’m so sorry”s and  “Deepest sympathy”. Nobody knows what to say when a baby dies.

My face starts to flush and I can feel my heartbeat pounding in my throat.  Hot tears stream down my cheeks meeting under my chin and creating a grief waterfall onto my chest.  I peer over at the dresser and see the two matching urns sitting on the shelf and I feel a strong need to move them and make sure that they aren’t collecting dust.  Just a mother, caring for her babies.

My fingers find their way back to the boxes.  A blue knitted blanket, a set of Social Security cards that instruct not to sign until the card holders 18^th birthday, a day that will never come.

Tiny matching gowns, both white in color.  One with tiny blue flowers and the other with pink.  The pink gown has a stain on the inside, perhaps blood.  The only outfits that they wore.  I regret not have them cremated in the outfits.  Were they naked?  Were they cold?  A good mother would have ensured that they were properly dressed.

Ultrasound pictures from a lifetime ago.  A life when I was pregnant with two healthy babies and caring for a one year old at home.  A time when I was preparing our home for two new additions.

Death certificate, birth certificates, newspaper obituaries, funeral handouts, charity donations made in their honor.

Every item that was ever touched by them carefully folded up and contained in a small photo box.  That is all that I have of my children.  These two boxes.  Where I keep my mourning heart that I carefully and quietly pull out every so often and then carefully and quietly put away as to not make others too uncomfortable.

A grieving mother is living on borrowed time. “This is a tragedy” they say.  “Take all the time you need” they say.  “No mother should experience the loss of her child” they say.

But in time they grow inpatient.  “Don’t let this tragedy ruin your life”, “Don’t take too long grieving, it’s not healthy”, “You have other children to care for”.

It’s uncomfortable, someone else’s grief.  It’s painful, and raw and ugly.  And it quickly grows to a point of discomfort.  Of disgust.  Just move on.

Play with your living children and enjoy.  Keep your grieving heart in the box where it belongs.

Don’t carry on so, it’s unbecoming.

You’re depressed.

You’re not grieving properly.

You should be okay by now.

You should have gotten past this.

You can’t dwell on this forever.

You must focus on your living children.

You need to move on.

You need to forget.

You need to be strong.

You need to be brave.

It’s been years.

It’s unhealthy to go on like this.

But don’t you see that I can’t?  Don’t you see the love that I have with every fiber of being in my body that I can’t?

I hurt.

I want to turn back time.  Even if only for one more moment holding them in my arms.  And with each passing year the memories grow fainter.  Each passing year it has been one more year since I have held my children in my arms.  Since I have gazed at their faces.  Since I have breathed in their scent.  Since I have stroked their cheeks.  Since I have touched their toes.  Since I have rested my hands on my belly and felt their gentle kicks and swishes.  Since I have lived in a time that they too had a future.

The pain is still here.  It is visceral and it is searing.  It comes in waves. Sometimes gentle waves lapping at my feet.  Other times a tidal wave comes and knocks the breath right out of me.

I go on.  Another day.  Another day with two of my children gone.  Another day of kissing two foreheads before I go to bed instead of four. 

I go on because there is no alternative other than to move forward.  And it is that in itself that is baffling and uncomfortable for onlookers.

How can this mother live her life and still be so grief stricken?

I have done the impossible.  I have woven my grief, my pain, my anguish, my tears, my anger, my raw devastation into my joyful life. 

I laugh every damn day.  I smile every time one of my daughters walks into the room.  I beam with pride when I see they have accomplished something new.  I am so incredibly happy.

I have the most amazing family.  My children are my everything and I am so joyful just having them in my life.  Sometimes I feel as if I may burst with love and joy.

How can joy and pain exist together?

How can a mother love the living and the dead simultaneously?

Yet it is this state of duplicity that all grieving mothers live in.  We are skilled beyond belief.  We thrive at having our toes in two bodies of water.  And in this way, we are wonders to behold.

It is not a skill that we have learned, but one that we have been forced into.  We have dug our way out of the trenches and come out  new women.  Emboldened by our pain.

Strong, yet weak.  Brave, yet terrified. Tired, but fighting. We are everything.

Our love transcends the explainable.  You will not understand unless you are.  And if you are, you are still not sure how you do it.

But we do it.  Every, damn, day.  Every hour, every minute.  We are.

We can, because we have to.

Nobody would choose this.  I did not choose this.  But this is where I am, and always will be.

Grief does not go away, we learn to carry it.  Some days we carry it with ease, like forgotten penny in a pocket.  Other days it is a boulder on your chest.  But it is always there.

I understand why the grieving mother is uncomfortable for our society.  It is not what we are used to.  There is no black and white with a grieving mother, it is all grey.  Happiness and sadness all blurred together into a messy blob.

But we are here. We have been here since the beginning of time and we will always be here.  Living amongst you in our messy joy and pain.

We didn't choose this.  But we are living this.  And for that we are extraordinary. We are the epitomy of love.  A love that trensends death and time. 

I put their boxes away today.  Neatly tucked into the closet of the guest bedroom. Eyes swollen and tired.  Heart tucked away neatly.

5 Years

In the 5 years since the birth and death of my twins it feels like a lifetime has gone by.  The day that they were born and died a part of me died with them.  I've spent these 5 years becoming a new me and let me tell you, change is hard. I am still getting comfortable being a Mom of children that died.  I have made choices that have shaped who I am now and still growing into.  I have continued to speak my son and daughter's name despite the sometimes uncomfortable silence or loud disapproval.  I have braved a terrifying pregnancy in the hopes of bringing one more living child into our family.  I have fought tirelessly through depression, anxiety and PTSD.  I have loved fiercely and unapologetically.  James and Penelope will always be my children.  

Tomorrow is their 5th birthday.  Five years gone.  Words can't explain how much a mother's heart aches for her children after death.  There is an emptiness.  A tight, aching emptiness.  But life goes on.  Most days now are filled with laughter and joy.  The sun rises and sets everyday.  My living children fill my heart with so much joy that sometimes it feels like I might burst.  That is the fickle opposition of grief.  Joy and sadness, all wrapped up in one neat package.

Tomorrow we will do what we do every year.  Celebrate and remember the children that never got to come home.  Cake, birthday cards, balloons.  I wish I could do more.  My love for them is so much bigger than that.  But I know that all that matters is that I know they were here, and they were loved.  As long as I am living they will not be forgotten.  To everyone that remembers them with me.  Thank you.  Thank you for your love and support over these past 5 years.  It truly means the world to me.

Penelope and James- Happy 5th Birthday.  You are so incredibly loved, today and always.

Firsts

This morning I dropped off my oldest child at Kindergarten.  Wow. I seriously can't believe it.  I remember cradling her as a newborn baby as all the seasoned parents would tell me "Enjoy!  It's goes so fast".  Boy, were they right.  In the blink of an eye my baby is five and half years old and off to school. How did that happen?

I didn't cry at drop off.  I didn't even cry on the ride home.  But as my youngest and I got in house and I said "It's just you and me today kiddo" the tears started to roll.  Tears of sadness, longing, pride, and just feeling overwhelmed.  Sending her off to Kindergarten is definitely bittersweet.  Yes, I struggle with the idea of her being at school all day.  And yes, I will miss her terribly.  But, I am happy to watch her grow up and go through all of these firsts.  Every time we encounter one of these big firsts my heart strings are pulled as I think of my two babies that will never have them.

I saw a meme recently that said "No one ever tells you that the hardest part of parenting is when your children grow up".  I get it, a little.  But not really. It is bittersweet to watch our children grow up and move on and not need us anymore.  But isn't that why we have children?  To watch them grow into amazing people?  I can't disagree more with this statement.  The hardest part of parenting is when your children don't grown up.  When you don't get to send them off to their first day of Kindergarten.  Or help them pull their first loose tooth.  Or drop them off at their first school dance.  Or drop them off at college.  

Yes, it's incredibly hard letting go of our children at these various stages.  I've cried twice already this morning.  But I'm so lucky.  I'm so lucky that my daughter is healthy and alive and going off to Kindergarten.  I'm so lucky that her little sister has turned into a wild toddler seemingly overnight.  These children just keep growing and changing.  And I'm so lucky to be a part of it.

On the Eve of Your 4th Birthday

My Dearest Penelope & James,

Tomorrow is your fourth birthday.  What I wouldn't give to have you here to celebrate with us.  To watch you open gifts and blow out candles and run around with your friends and family.  I don't really know what our lives would look like had you lived.  But I've pictured it a million times and no matter how crazy it would be, I wish you were here.

Four years ago was my last blissful pregnant day with you.  I grieve the loss of you both.  But I also grieve the loss of who I was then.  The me before the flood of grief, anxiety, depression, insomnia and PTSD.  I was lighter, happier, more innocent. I am not the same person that I was four years ago.  It's hard getting comfortable in new skin.

But now here we are, almost four years later.  I've forged through the deepest depths and come out okay.  Most days are good.  I still think of you and miss you every day.  But life has leveled out.  Your two sisters keep me busy, very busy.  I often wonder how insanely busy our lives would have been with you here.  When I was pregnant with you I never really stopped to worry about how hard it would be to bring home newborn twins with an almost two year old at home.  I just figured we would make it work.  I'm sure we would have.

While losing you both was the worst thing I have experienced, please know that I don't regret you.  Not even for a second.  While it's been hard, extremely hard at times, I am so glad that you are my children.  You have taught me how to love in a whole new way.  A love that is so great that is crosses life and death.  You have taught me my own strength.  That even when I am faced with absolute devastation, I will survive.  You have given me voice for the baby loss community.  There may not be many people listening, but I will always speak of you.  I will not be silent just to make others comfortable.  You are my children and I will always speak of my love for you.  

So Happy 4th Birthday my loves.  I love you from here to eternity.

Love,
Mommy

19 Days

As I turned the calendar to August upon returning home from vacation, there it was in bold colorful letters- James and Penelope's 4th Birthday, on August 19th.  My heart sank a little.  Gwenevere was asking me a question as I felt my face getting hot and my eyes filled up with tears.  I couldn't really hear what she was saying and I didn't answer her right away as I thought to myself, "19 more days".

I've celebrated 5 birthdays with Gwenevere and 1 birthday with Victoria so far.  Not to mention 35 of my own.  I love birthdays.  I especially love celebrating a birthday through the eyes of a child.  Gwenevere absolutely adores birthdays. I think it's usually around February when she starts asking when her next birthday is, which isn't of course until December.  The cake, friends, gifts, candy, excitement, birthday wishes, all on this one special day.  Each birthday that we've celebrated is also a time to look back an marvel at how much our child has grown and changed.  It truly is a magical day.

Celebrating a birthday of a deceased child is complicated.  Honestly, it's depressing, but important.  Penelope and James' birthday is not only the day that they were born, but also the day that they died.  So yeah, it's sad.  But it's important to me.  Because while it marks the saddest day in my life it is also the only day that I ever got to spend time with two of my children.  It's the only day that I was able to see their faces, hold their tiny hands and stroke their tiny cheeks.  It's the only day that I was able to say "I love you".  It's the only day that I was able to hold them in my arms. To snuggle them and take in every little feature. It may have been the day that we said goodbye, but it's also the day that we met. That's a day worth celebrating.

This month is hard.  I'm pulled back to that place in time when they were born and died and it hurts.  There still isn't a day that goes by that I don't miss my son and daughter.  I don't think there ever will be.  Like grief tends to do, it ebbs and flows.  I will allow myself a few rough weeks this month.  We'll plan a special day on the 19th with cake and balloons like we do.  I will look at their pictures and cry.  Then I will pull myself together as best as I can and continue to move forward.  I miss them so much, but I can't change the past.  It's only 19 days. 

Girl Mom

To the world I am a girl Mom.  I have two beautiful daughters, ages one and five.  I don't have Hot Wheels or superhero figurines in my home.  Our toy shelves are overflowing with My Little Pony figurines, magic wands and stuffed animals.  I don't know the pain of stepping on a lego, because my daughter has no interest in owning them.  I am well practiced in washing, conditioning, brushing and styling hair.  I have drawers full of hair accessories. When shopping I can't help but stop in the girls section to browse all of the adorable frilly dresses.  I'm told by other parents that although my children may seem like a handful, they are nothing compared to boys.  I can't possible understand the energy and wildness that little boys posses.  My toilet seats are always down.  Almost always, I do have a husband.  I have never seen an episode of Star Wars: Clone Wars or Bob the Builder.  I don't have any boys.  Except I do.

I have always wanted a daughter.  As much as I'd love to pretend that I didn't have a gender preference, I did.  When I was pregnant with Gwenevere I secretly wished for a girl.  We held a gender reveal party to announce to everyone, including ourselves, whether we were having a boy or a girl.  As my husband and I cut into the cake I was chanting in my head "Please be pink, please be pink, please be pink".  When the cake was in fact pink I cried tears of joy and relief.  I was thrilled that I would indeed be having a girl.  I know girls.  I grew up with a sister.  All of my best friends have been females.  I love all things girly.  I don't know what to do with a boy. 

When we went in for our ultrasound with our twins my husband and I agreed ahead of time that we would want to find out the baby's genders.  This time I was a little more open to the idea of a son.  I just wasn't sure I could handle two boys.  So I went in hoping for at least one girl.  When the ultrasound technician announced that we were having one boy and one girl I was ecstatic.  I would be getting another daughter as well as son.  I would have two girls and a boy.  I could do this.

With Victoria I can honestly say that I had no gender preference.  I was so worried that I may never bring home another living baby that boy vs. girl didn't even enter my mind.  We found out at 14 weeks that Victoria was a girl.  I felt conflicted.  I was happy at the prospect of bringing home another daughter.  But knowing that this was our last baby, I felt sad that I would never bring home a son.  Then I felt guilty.  I should just be happy that our baby is healthy so far. 

Now that both of my girls are here I am getting used to being a girl Mom.  But I still yearn to be a boy Mom. I wonder what my family would look like?  How different would it be?  What is that Mother Son bond like that I hear so much about? 

I am not disappointed that Victoria is a girl.  I love having two girls, and she is a wonderful addition to our family.  I will just always wonder what life would be like as a boy Mom.

3 Years of Thank Yous

Thank you.  I can't say it enough.  There are people who will read this that I want to thank and there are countless others that will never see this. 

To our OB that delivered James and Penelope, thank you.  Thank you for being there to deliver our son and daughter.  For listening to their tiny heart beats with your stethoscope and letting us know they were still alive.  For carefully and quickly getting them cleaned up so we could have as many minutes as possible with them before they died.  Thank you for asking us what their names were.  Thank you for telling us how beautiful our son and daughter were. To our Labor and Delivery nurse, thank you.  Thank you for giving us time to snuggle our precious babies.  Thank you for carefully dressing them in their tiny gowns and wrapping them in blankets. Thank you for taking pictures of them, both dressed and undressed, knowing that those pictures would be all that we would have to look back on to remember what they looked like.  Thank you to the volunteers that made those tiny gowns, hats, booties and blankets.  For knowing that parents giving birth to a one pound baby does not come prepared with micro preemie clothes.  Thank you to our families.  My parents and sister that stayed in the delivery room with us the whole time.  Thank you for staying to meet your grandchildren and niece and nephew.  To my husband's parents that drove as fast as they could from out of state to be with us and meet their grandson and granddaughter.  Thank you to our friends that took in Gwenevere for the day while we faced the hardest time in our lives.  Thank you to the nurse that cared for us in the Special Care Unit.  For letting us keep James and Penelope in our room all night.  For being patient while I held them both one last time before being wheeled off to be cremated.  Thank you for calling me at home the next day to let me know I had left my bra at the hospital and that you would hold onto it for me if I wanted to pick it up.  Thank you for understanding that my lost bra was the last thing on my mind and I couldn't go back to that hospital.  Thank you for every friend and family member that sent us a card or flowers or e-mails.  Thank you for letting us know that we were not alone in our grief.  Thank you for every prayer that was said and every candle that was lit for our family.  For every person that brought our family a meal, thank you.  Thank you for knowing that grocery shopping and meal planning were not going to be happening for a while at our house.  Thank you for keeping us fed.  Thank you for understanding that thank you cards did not get sent. Thank you to my husband's coworkers and boss.  Thank you for giving my husband all the time off that he needed.  For bringing heaping bags of groceries to our house and sending dinners.  Thank you to everyone that attended Penelope and James' funeral.  For sitting with us in grief and acknowledging our profound loss.  Thank you for the friends that visited us during the days and weeks following our loss.  Thank you for showing up and being there.  Your presence meant so much.  Thank you for asking if we wanted to talk about the tragedy that had unfolded.  Thank you for listening to our story when we did want to talk and thank you for understanding our silence when we didn't. Thank you for your kind words at a time when you really don't know what to say.

Thank you for the ongoing support.  Thank you for not being afraid to say our baby's names.  For attending our one year memorial.  For knowing that the grieving period never ends, it just changes.  Thank you for donating money to charity in honor of our twins.  Thank you for joining us at various walks and fundraisers.  Thank you for the get togethers and play dates that I often showed up to with red puffy eyes from crying.  Thank you for acknowledging that James and Penelope are still part of our family.  Thank you for realizing that Victoria is not a replacement child.  Thank you to my expansive medical team that got me through my pregnancy with Victoria.  To the nurses that gave me progesterone shots every week.  To the Nurse Practitioner that recognized my fear and called me at home after hours with my test results.  To the ultrasound techs that checked my cervical length every other week.  To the nurse in Labor and Delivery that sat with me in triage for almost two hours at 2am while we waited for an ultrasound machine because I was alone and having a panic attack.  To my parents who were always there to watch Gwenevere during my countless appointments.  Thank you to everyone that has liked and commented on my blog posts.  Thank you for letting me pour out my guts when I felt like my world was crashing in.  Thank you to my amazing support group.  To the strongest group of parents I know.  Thank you for sharing your stories of loss and listening to mine. 

Most of all thank you to my husband, my partner in grief.  Thank you for grieving with me.  For being strong when I couldn't be, but also showing your own grief so that I knew I wasn't alone.  Thank you for always taking my side when it felt like nobody understood the nightmare that I was living.  Thank you for your unfaltering support and love.  Without you, I don't know where I would be.  Thank you for helping me gather enough courage to try again.  For listening to every worry I had and both comforting me and acknowledging my fears.  Thank you for being the best husband and dad that I know. 

Awareness Month

These days it seems like everything has an awareness month.  Every type of cancer, illness, disorder gets it time to shine.  Since 1985 Ocotober has been Breast Cancer Awareness month.  Breast Cancer deserves a month.  It deserves year round awareness.  One in eight women will be diagnosed with breast cancer.  That's a pretty terrifying statistic.  You have a friend, neighbor, or coworker who has battled breast cancer.  While treatment options have gotten much better over the past 30 years it is still a horrible diagosis.  Many women fight and survive.  Many women fight and sadly lose their battle.  So what is the point of an awareness month?  

Fortunately most breast cancer can be detected early on through screening processes.  Monthly self breast exams and annual mammograms can help detect breast cancer early.  The earlier the cancer is found, the better the chances of treatment being successful.  The other purpose of an awareness month is to simply rally support.  It wasn't that long ago that the word "breast" caused people to blush.  Women had to keep their diagnosis to themselves and suffer in silence.  We have come so far.  Breast cancer awareness is everywhere.  Pink is everywhere.  Pink water bottles, pink ribbons, talk show hosts in pink, football players in pink, breast cancer walks, go pink day.  Women and men that have struggled with breast cancer are finally getting the support that they deserve.  Money is being donated to help fund continued research towards breast cancer.  There is still a long way to go.  Ideally all breast cancer will some day have a cure. 

Because there are only 12 months in a year, many causes have to share the spotlight.  October is also National Liver Cancer Awareness Month and National Down Syndrome Awareness Month.  And while I couldn't even find it on the official list, October is also National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month.  I think we can all understand why awareness is important for cancer.  Awareness can help raise money for finding a cure.  It can also encourage people to do early screening and know what early symptoms look like and when to go to the doctor.  So why awareness for miscarriage and infant death?

One in four pregnancies end in miscarriage.  One in 160 pregnancies end in stillbirth.  Six babies out of every 1000 born will die before their first birthday.  Parents of these babies are everywhere.  They are your friends, neighbors and coworkers.  Yet, you may not know it.  There is still a stigma associated with pregnancy loss.  It quietly happens all the time, but it is often hushed and swept under the rug.  So many families are left to grieve alone.  

When I had my first miscarriage I was heartbroken.  I was 10 weeks and we had only announced to our immediate family and a few friends.  I knew a couple other Moms that had been through a miscarriage.  But I never thought it would happen to me.  I didn't realize how common pregnancy loss is.  I didn't know what the grieving process was like, because I had never seen it.

I got pregnant again three months later with my twins.  There wasn't a day that went by that I wasn't afraid of losing them.  As time went and I got through the first trimester I started to relax a little.  After their anatomy scan at 18 weeks I started to finally believe that we would be bringing two healthy babies home with us.  I had no idea that I could even go into preterm labor at 22 weeks.  But I did, and they were born too tiny to survive.  

Following their death I couldn't contain my grief.  I was unable to grieve alone, so I reached out.  I started attending a support group for bereaved parents.  I started writing my blog.  I posted pictures of my son and daughter on facebook.  I poured out my grief where ever I could. I was shocked by how many women came forward to tell me about their loss.  I don't blame any of them for keeping quiet about their pregnancy losses.  We live in a society where miscarriage and infant death is taboo.  Nobody is comfortable hearing about it and very few people are talking about it.  I for one, am tired of the silence.  

So as you wear your pink this month in support of breast cancer.  Think about doing something for miscarriage and infant loss awareness as well.  Wear a pink and blue ribbon.  Post something on facebook, or twitter or instagram.  Light a candle for all the grieving parents.  While we are not fighting for a cure, we are fighting for awareness. And if you are one of those grieving parents know that you are not alone.  It may seem like you are, but we are here to listen to you, hug you, support you and help break the silence. 

Cherishing Milestones

"I wish they could stay little forever" and "I wish I could just freeze time" are phrases often said by parents.  When you are a parent, time flies.  Sometimes I look at my older daughter, soon to turn five years old and I seriously wonder "How did we get here"?  It really feels like just yesterday I was holding her as a tiny baby in my arms.  Then seemingly overnight she has grown into a walking, talking, silly, wild preschooler. Before I know it she will be taller than me and moving out.  It goes by in a heartbeat.

While I understand the sentiment behind wanting your babies to stay babies forever, I don't feel that way.  Yes, I love my children just as they are today.  I love my sweet innocent four year old who is still willing to snuggle on my lap from time to time and who still tells me how much she loves me every day.  I love my adorable 9 month old with her roly poly arms and legs, who I get to rock and snuggle and nurse every day.  I love them just as they are right now and I cherish every moment.  But I really don't wish they would stay like this forever.  I know what it's like to have a baby forever.

The day that James and Penelope were born was the only day that I had with them.  I spent hours holding them.  Staring at them and trying to burn their images into my brain.  Their tiny little bodies will never grow a day older. They will always be my babies.  There will be no first smiles.  No first time crawling or first steps.  No first words and saying "Mama" for the first time. I will never watch them ride the bus off to their first day of kindergarten.  I won't argue with them as teenagers about keeping their rooms clean or doing the dishes.  I won't hold back tears as I drop them off at college.  I won't be there on their wedding day or watch them become parents someday.  They are just my babies and that's all they can be.  Forever frozen in time.

So although it's bitter sweet to watch my living children grow up, I cherish it.  I know that each day that goes by is another day that I am lucky to be their mother.  They will get bigger, and louder, and messier.  Their will come a day that I hear the dreaded words "I hate you Mom".  They won't always want to hug me.  They will grow up.  I and for that I am incredibly thankful.

A Picture Is Worth 1000 Words

The days, weeks and months following the death of James and Penelope are a blur in my mind.  I remember little flashes of time.  Still images of our suddenly broken family.  I look back at pictures and gleam little pieces of what was going one.  I remember puffy eyes, headaches, dying flowers in vases, visitors, sympathy cards in the mailbox, laying on the couch watching Trailer Park Boys, a busy and cheerful toddler running around and a feeling of emptiness.  I remember a strong pull to run away from everything.  Some pictures that I look back at I am flooded with strong memories.  Everything comes rushing back.

 About a week after the twins were born I felt a pull to get away.  I woke up that morning and I just needed to go somewhere.  My breasts were engorged and lumpy from my milk coming in for the babies that I never got to nurse.  My belly was soft and empty.  My head hurt and my eyes were practically swollen shut from crying. Our stale closed up house was feeling like a prison.  I wanted to be somewhere where nobody knew me.  Where I could be a Mom, a wife, a regular person.  Not a bereaved mother.  I came downstairs and announced to Micah that we were going to the beach.  We grabbed a few beach towels and got in the car.  We stopped at CVS on the way to get a shovel and bucket for Gwenenvere to play with.

Once we got there I felt foolish for not planning ahead.  I looked around at all of the other families with their beach umbrellas, coolers and kids running around in bathing suits.  We brought a bucket, shovel and two towels.  Gwenevere was 21 months old and instantly drawn to the shore.  She had on an adorable little ice cream outfit on that was a gift from my Mom.  Initially we tried to keep her out of the water.  But eventually the toddler won and she played in the lake in her clothes.  I rolled up my pants and got in the water knee deep with her.  We ate ice cream, walked up and down the beach and drew pictures in the sand. We took several pictures of our day in our best attempt at being a normal family.  

 The pictures from our beach day are the first pictures we took after we left the hospital.  I look at them now and I see so much.  I see a mother that has just given birth to babies that died.  I see a father trying so hard to keep it together for his wife and child.  I see a carefree toddler that doesn't understand why her parents keep crying.  I see a family that is holding on for dear life.  I see hope that the future will be better.  Hope that the intense pain will lessen.  This picture of Gwenevere and me is special to me.  It is a picture of a big sister and a mother of three.  My tired eyes behind my sunglasses, my necklace with two gold rings given to me by the hospital.  My sweet daughter just wanting to play.  My physically tired and sore body from giving birth a week ago. Me, trying to take a momentary break from grieving to have a picture with my child.  Micah behind the camera, being an incredibly supportive husband and father. Through those blurry days, weeks and months following our loss this day stands out.  It was our family's first steps towards healing.  While it was an attempt for me to try to escape my grief, it served as a much needed break and the beginning of a long journey that still continues. 

They Say, "You'll just know"

Amidst the usual parent chatter about children there are a few questions that always make my heart sink a little.  "How many kids do you have?", and "Are you going to have any more?".  Those are questions that I always find myself stuttering awkwardly to answer.  I still don't have a go to answer for how many kids I have.  It depends on the person and the situation.  If you're just meeting me in a casual social setting and I may never see you again you will probably get my easy answer of two children.  If I suspect that we will continue to run into each other in social settings and I'm prepared for the awkward conversation that will follow you will get my real answer of two living children.  If I'm particularily brave that day I might expand on my answer and say four children, two living and two that died at birth.  But sometimes just getting those words out is too difficult. 

As for the question of "Are you going to have any more?", that's a lot harder for me.  The real, 100% honest answer is no.  I am not going to have anymore children.  And just typing those words onto the computer screen brings tears to my eyes.  While I am so incredibly thankful to have my two amazing girls my heart breaks a little to know that we are done.  I am not done.  I don't think I will ever be done.  But emotionally and physically I am spent.  I have heard many Moms talk about how they knew they were done having kids.  I have often heard the words, "When you are done having kids, you just know".  It's like there is a sense of completion.  Like that first, second, third or tenth child is it.  You're family is complete.  I don't think I will ever have that sense of completion.  My family will always have a huge gaping hole with two children missing.  And I know in my heart that no number of living children will fill that hole.

Having Victoria has done so much healing for my heart. But, she has not filled the hole.  That's not why we chose to have another child.  The loss of Penelope and James left a hole that cannot be filled.  Not by another child, or another four children.  All we can do is heal and try to find peace, and I find myself doing that every day. 

We are approaching the third anniversary of James and Penelope's birth and death.  So much has changed in those three years.  Our family has gone from one child, to three children, to one child, to two children.  It's been an emotional roller coaster.  While I will always miss my twins, I love our family as it is today.  My marriage has been put through the wringer and we have come out stronger than ever.  We have seen each other at our weakest point, and helped build each other back up again.  Our oldest daughter has experienced death and loss as no child should have to.  She has a unique perspective on life and death and I love hearing her talk about her ideas of how her brother and sister live on in the universe.  She has become a big sister to Victoria and taken on that role with full force.  She is Victoria's favorite person and loves to make her smile and giggle.  And our sweet rainbow baby Victoria has brought with her so much joy and light to our lives.  She has been far from an easy baby.  With colic and reflux she has kept us on our toes.  Many sleepless nights and tears, from her and me.  But everyday, through all of the frustration, I have felt nothing but thankful for her.  When Penelope and James were born there was just silence.  Their little bodies struggled to breathe with their tiny lungs, but they were to tiny to cry.  So even though dealing with a fussy baby has it's moments, every time she cries I am reminded of how healthy and strong she is.  For that I am grateful.

So my family is complete.  Although it will never really feel that way.  We are a family of six and we will stay that way.  If I keep waiting for that moment when "I just know" that I'm done, I will wait forever.

Dear Mama of Twins

Dear Mama of Twins,
I see you around, here and there.  You have your two beautiful babies in tow.  You make it look so effortless, so wonderful.  You may have both babies in car seats or one in a sling.  You have only been a Mom to these two babies for a matter of months, but you have it figured out.  Or at least you appear to. 
I see you walk in and I feel my heart sink.  It's not your fault, or your babies fault.  It is the fault of my life circumstances.  You see, I am a Mama of twins as well.  But you will never see them.  I carried them for 22 weeks and 5 days and in a moment they were gone.  I had that same moment that you probably had when you found out you were carrying not one baby but two.  That holy crap, excited, scared and totally shocked moment.  My belly, like yours, grew at a rapid rate.  I started scrambling to figure out how our family was going to make room for two new lives.  But those two new lives were over in less than an hour.
Every time I see you I want to talk to you.  I want to tell you so much.  I want you to know that those babies of yours should never be taken for granted, not even for a second.  I want to tell you that you are so lucky.  But I know that while you love those babies with all of your heart, there are hard times too.  There are times when there is twice as much crying and dirty diapers and you just don't have enough hands.  I know that caring for two babies is hard, emotionally and physically and sometimes you feel like it's just too much.  I know your pregnancy wasn't easy.  Well, at least not compared to singleton pregnancy.  I'm sure carrying around the weight of two babies was more than uncomfortable.  I'm sure that the balancing act that is your life now is sometimes overwhelming. I just wish I could somehow convey to you how lucky you are without diminishing your challenges. 

If there was just one thing I could tell you it would be to always be grateful and love those babies with all of your heart.  Please don't think that I am calling you ungrateful.  I am sure that you are grateful for your babies every day.  And know that I don't mean you shouldn't complain.  Life is hard and raising children is one of life's biggest challenges. But in those moments when everyone is crying, the laundry is piling up, dinner needs to be cooked and you haven't had a moment to yourself all day just try to see all that you have.  After coming home from the hospital without my son and daughter there were many heartbreaking moments.  But one of the hardest things was the quiet moments.  Those moments were sometimes too much to handle.  

I now have a baby, as well as my four year old daughter.  My laundry is piling up, my older daughter goes through the house each day like a tornado and my baby has colic.  It's hard, emotionally and physically exhausting.  Some days I want to cry, some days I do.  But in the back of mind is always gratitude.  I have to stop at times and just remember how incredibly lucky I am to have my two living children.  I know what it's like to come home with empty arms and to have my arms full is truly a gift.  

So if there is anything that you take away from this I hope that it is love and appreciation for your babies.  Please give them one extra kiss every day.  Please tell them "I love you" just one more time.  Please give them an extra minute of snuggles at night.  Please be gentle on yourself and know that you are being the best Mom you can be and that twins are not easy.  Please don't feel guilty that you have your babies and I don't.  That is not your burden.  Just know that while your arms are incredibly full right now, so is your heart and that is something to truly be grateful for.

One Day at a Time

Throughout my pregnancy with Victoria I had a mantra that helped get me though "One day at a time".  When I was only 10 weeks along and I was puking all the time and terrified to see blood every time I went to the bathroom I would remind my self that I could get through today.  When I was 22 weeks, the same week that I gave birth to Penelope and James, and I started to have contractions I reminded myself that I could get through today.  Often, even thinking of the next day, let alone the weeks and months ahead of me was just too overwhelming.  At times I would find myself in a panic and I would have to go back to my mantra,  one day at a time.

It never really occurred to me that my mantra would also help me while parenting my rainbow baby.  I just assumed that once she was born alive and healthy my anxiety would melt away and I would be a blissful parent.  Almost 5 months in I have discovered that this is not the case.  Some days are great.  Victoria is no longer a needy newborn.  Although she is by far fussier than Gwenevere ever was and wants to nurse more often than not, we are getting into our groove.  I can put her down for short periods of time.  Gwenevere is pretty understanding of me needing to share my attention between her and her sister.  And two and a half years following the death of James and Penelope my grief has taken a back seat.  However, there are still the hard days.  The days where I feel my anxiety creeping up.  The days when Victoria is crying, Gwenevere is whining and I am doubting that I could have ever managed twins and a two year old if I had the chance.

Parenting a baby after loss can be emotionally overwhelming.  I am so incredibly in love with my daughter and I am so thankful that she is here with me.  I know that I appreciate her so much more than I would if I had never gone through infant loss.  But I also feel a longing for my twins.  I look at Victoria and I can't help but wonder what her brother and sister would have been like.  Would they have had her blond hair and dark eyes, or Gwenevere's dark hair and blue eyes.  James already had a full head of dark hair when he was born.  Every new thing that she does I grieve a little that James and Penelope will never get to reach that milestone.  I also know that had Penelope and James lived, Victoria would not be here.  It is a hard concept to grasp.  I love all of my children and I could never choose who I would rather have with me.  Of course I love Victoria and I am glad she is part of our family, it feels like she always belonged.  But I also wish that my twins could be with us.  Our family feels incomplete without them. 

Parenting my rainbow baby has been more emotionally complex then I imagined it would be.  Most days are good.  But some days are hard.  Some days I just want to cry, still.  Grief has a funny way of showing up randomly when you least expect it.  On those days that it feels like I will never stop missing my twins I try to go back to my pregnancy mantra.  Once day at a time.  Lately the good days outnumber the bad.  I often find myself with tears of happiness welling up in my eyes while playing with my girls.  At times I can't believe how lucky I am to have two wonderful daughters and an amazing husband too.  So on the days that I am overwhelmed I can remind myself that I can get through the day.  Tomorrow is a new day.

Between Two Worlds

During my pregnancy with my first daughter I was about as joyful as a pregnant woman can be.  I had some nausea, heartburn and general discomfort, but I was so thrilled to be carrying a tiny life inside of me that it didn't really matter.  I bought dozens of adorable baby outfits, decorated the nursery and planned to bring home our beautiful baby. Towards the end of my pregnancy my husband and I decided to enroll in childbirth classes.  We were hoping to have a natural, drug free birth and we figured that talking classes geared towards this would be our best bet.  We started our childbirth classes about two months before my due date.

I remember the first class well.  We walked into the room with several other expecting couples.  All told, there were six pregnant Mom's in the class.  I looked around the room and felt the same excitement I had for myself with all of these other first time parents.  We were all just weeks away from experiencing a true miracle!  After a few weeks of class one of the other couples suggested getting together for dinner before class the next week.  We agreed on Olive Garden, because pregnant ladies and unlimited bread sticks are a winning combination.  My husband and I walked in and the hostess looked down at my large belly and smiled at us, she knew right where we were headed, to the table with all the other Preggos.  We sat and chatted with the other expecting couples.  It was wonderful to be able to share all of the same feelings of excitement and nervousness. Even after our birth classes ended we stayed in touch with several of the families.  Our children have had many play dates together and the parents have become good friends.  It has been wonderful to have these new friends that we share so much in common with.

Now with Victoria everything is different.  I am no longer the naive excited Mom that I used to be. I have since become involved in the baby loss community.  I have made new friends with other baby loss Moms.  We share something in common as well, but it is grief.  Once I became pregnant with Victoria I found myself feeling a disconnect from this community.  Once I started showing I stopped attending the support group that I run with another Mom and let her take over.  I remembered all too well coming to the support group one month when I was fresh in my grief and seeing a pregnant Mom in the room.  She was a loss Mom as well, but just being around a woman full of new life was too much for me.  I went home that night and cried.  I couldn't bear being that trigger for another Mom. I felt like I no longer belonged, although I was still grieving.  I wanted to jump back into the "regular" Mom community.  I considered taking a childbirth class series again since it had been almost four years since I had given birth at full term.  But the thought of sitting in a room full of parents that were full of joy was just too much for me.  I also felt a disconnect from those parents.  The instructor that taught our first classes was kind enough to come over to our house for a private refresher course.

Since Victoria's birth I have attended several Mom groups for breastfeeding support.  Every time I go I have a mini panic attack.  Will someone ask me how many children I have?  How will I explain without upsetting the other person while still acknowledging my twins.  What if I am triggered?  What if I start crying?  So far I have been fine.  I want to connect with these other Moms.  We share so much in common.  But I can't help but feel like an outsider.  When Moms start complaining about the day to day trials of caring for a baby I have a hard time relating.  Of course I understand the challenges, I face them every day.  The constant feeding, attention, crying, sleepless nights.  It's hard, I get it.  I just feel so thankful for all of that.  I have been wanting that again desperately for the past three years.

So now I find myself in the awkward place.  I am a baby loss Mom and I am a Mom of living children.  I am lucky enough that most of my friends have stuck with me through all of this.  I need the support more than ever to continue navigating through these new challenges.

Dreams

It has been two years and four months since the birth and death of Penelope and James.  In that time I have not once had a dream about them.  I have longed to see them in my dreams, since that is the only place that they still exist.  Last night it finally happened.  It was weird, nonsensical and disjointed as dreams often are.  But they were there.  I held them in my arms, kissed them, took pictures of them and told them how much I loved them.  They got to be held by their big sister, something they never experienced in real life.  They looked nothing like what they actually looked like, but it didn't matter, it was still them.

I woke up feeling happy this morning.  I got to see my babies again, even if it was only a dream.  Then as I started trying to explain my dream to my husband I started feeling a lump in my throat.  The realization began to hit that it was just a dream and I will never again be able to hold my precious daughter and son in my arms.  The harsh reality hit me all over again and it was heartbreaking.  Even over two years later it sometimes hits me just as hard as it did that first day.  It literally takes my breath away and uncontrollable tears well up in my eyes.

I know these intense moments of grief will pass as they always do.  I will soon be distracted by life.  Caring for my four year old and newborn daughter, laughing with my husband, Doctor appointments, folding laundry and wrapping Christmas presents.  James and Penelope will once again fade in the dull aching in my heart.  But for now, this morning I grieve.  I cry all the tears I need to cry.  I sit in the anger and bitterness and unfairness that they are gone.

Our Rainbow Baby

I have had mixed feelings about the term "Rainbow Baby" since I first heard it following the loss of my twins.  A Rainbow Baby is a child that is that is conceived following the loss of a pregnancy or infant, the rainbow after the storm.  It is a term that is often thrown around in the Baby Loss Community and now that I was part of that world I was seeing it a lot.  The time I first heard this term I was fresh in my grief from the death of my twins.  I was in the eye of the storm and I honestly couldn't even imagine life ever being happy and beautiful again.  I had given birth to two beautiful babies and watched them slowly fade away before my eyes.  I was surviving, but barely. 

Technically Penelope and James were my rainbow babies.  I had suffered a miscarriage about four months before finding out I was pregnant with twins.  Although I struggled greatly with my pregnancy loss I had great hope for this new pregnancy.  Once I found out I was carrying twins it was like everything was right with the world.  I bought into the whole "everything happens for a reason" and figured that this was all just part of some great plan.  I had lost one baby, but now I was carrying two.  I was able to reason with myself that surely something was wrong with the baby that I lost and these two were healthy and meant to be part of my family.  These were my rainbows, although I wasn't familiar with that terminology yet.  I was optimistic and ready to bring home our twins.

Following the loss of James and Penelope my optimism was gone.  I could no longer believe in those ideas that got me through my first loss.  How could everything happen for a reason?  I could think of no reason great enough to take my two babies away from me.  If this was all part of some great plan it was a plan that I wanted nothing to do with.  It was around this time that I started hearing talk of rainbow babies and feeling unsettled about it.  It felt to me like a rainbow baby was a cure all for the grieving parent and the faster you "caught your rainbow" the better.  It was like a sick race that I didn't want to be a part of.  I wanted my son and daughter and I didn't even want to think about being pregnant again.  Of course, I did understand the strong desire of some parents to get pregnant again quickly.  After losing a baby the ache of empty arms can sometimes be unbearable.  Another thing that didn't settle right with me was the question of what about the parents that never get their rainbow.  What about those that either choose not to try again or are unable to conceive?  What about those parents like me that lose their rainbow?  Are we doomed to live forever in the storm?

As time went by I became more comfortable with the idea of a rainbow baby.  I realized that while many baby loss families strive for a rainbow baby it is not a goal or reality for everyone.  This does not mean that those parents are doomed to be stuck in the storm.  I learned by working through my own grief that many things help heal the pain of pregnancy and infant loss.  Crying, talking, yelling, hugging, remembering, more crying and just allowing your heart to heal.  I knew it wasn't my path to race to a rainbow baby.  I needed time to grieve and heal.  I am so glad I took that time because it was through that process that I was able to realize that I would be okay, even if we never brought home a rainbow baby.  I learned that while there would always be a part of my heart that was broken I could be okay, I could be better than okay.

Now that Victoria is here I have fully embraced her as our rainbow baby.  I know that it was not her birth that healed me, or brought me out of the storm.  I was able to do that hard work on my own.  She is just her own wonderful person.  She is a part of our crazy little family and she doesn't have to carry the weight on her shoulders of fixing anything, she just is.  She is a baby that was wanted. Not because we needed her to get out of the storm, but because we wanted another child.  She is my fourth child and she is amazing.

Tears of Joy

It has been 17 days since our family welcomed it's newest member.  Baby Victoria Grace came into this world on November 21st at 5:17 am.  She was pink, crying, covered in vernix, wide eyed and one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen.  She was immediately placed in my arms, while still attached to me via umbilical cord.  I held her in my arms and immediately began to weep tears of joy.  I looked at Micah and back at Victoria, I couldn't believe she was actually here.

My labor began on Thursday morning around 3:30 am.  I woke up for one of my frequent bathroom trips and noticed a contraction.  I went back to bed, but I couldn't go back to sleep.  I went downstairs, turned on the TV and every ten minutes or so I felt another contraction.  Since around 22 weeks I had been having Braxton Hicks contractions, so I was hesitant to think this could be the real thing.  By the time Micah got up around 6:30 am the contractions seemed to be getting stronger, so he decided to take the day off.  As the day went on I had contractions on and off.  They would get stronger for a while, and then lighten up.  We went to the mall to walk around for awhile, then out to lunch with my Mom where I would periodically sit back and breathe through a contraction.  Finally around 9pm they seemed to be consistently strong and regular, we decided to go the hospital and call our Doula.

When we got to the hospital I was checked into triage and the nurse checked me.  I was dialated to about 4cm.  We walked around the halls for an hour and I got checked again, I was between 4 and 5.  We again walked the halls for another hour, this time with our amazingly helpful doula.  By now my contractions were strong I was started to feel back labor.  I would lean on the hallway handrails, hold Micah's hand and Hattie our Doula would put counter pressure on my back.  By the time I got checked again I was close to 6cm dialated.  I labored for a while longer before our labor and delivery nurse Paige arrived to transfer me to our delivery room.

Once we got settled in our new room I got in the shower and labored there for a while.  Then I came out and not long after my Doctor arrived to check on me.  I was lucky enough to have built a good relationship with my Obstetrician over the past two years.  She was the Doctor that delivered James and Penelope and had seen me for every appointment following their birth and with this pregnancy as well.  She had offered to deliver Victoria even if she was not on call and even gave me her personal cell phone number.  I was still around 6cm and she offered to break my water in hopes of speeding things up.  At this point I had been in labor for over 20 hours and anything to speed things up seemed like a good idea so I agreed.  She broke my water bag and the next contraction was crazy intense.  I couldn't believe how much more painful it was.  After a few more contractions I started crying and telling Micah and my Doula that I couldn't do it anymore, I needed an epidural.  We called the nurse in and she set up an IV for me.  She said once the bag was empty we could start the epidural.  Within about 20 minutes of sitting on the birth ball and doing some deep breathing I was handling the contractions much better and I told her I didn't need it.  Within an hour the contractions were more intense again.  My legs were shaking and once again I asked for an epidural.  This time our nurse Paige suggested checking me first to see if I had progressed.  I was almost 10 cm dialated, I was almost done and I knew I could do it without the epidural.

I got back on the birth ball and a few contractions later I started feeling the urge to push.  I begrudgingly got back into bed and our Doctor was called back in along with a Resident.  Pushing went pretty quickly and after about 20 minutes Victoria came out.  The physical pain of labor and delivery was worse than I had remembered, but the pure euphoria of holding your newborn baby was even better than I had remembered. It had been almost four years since I had given birth to my first daughter and a little over two years since I had given birth to my twins.  All three births were completely different experiences.  I just held her in my arms, crying and telling her how much I loved her. 

Victoria has been home with us for a little over two weeks now and I can't imagine our family without her.  She is just perfect and watching Gwenevere in her big sister role is precious.  Every moment with her is a gift, but it is also bittersweet.  Every moment I have with her is a reminder of what I never got to have with Penelope and James. I am so grateful to have her here, but I can't help feeling sad for my my son and daughter than I never got to bring home.  I am also aware that if my twins had survived we would not have gone on to have another baby and Victoria would not be here.  She is a piece of our family's puzzle and she makes us a little more complete.  But we will always be missing two pieces, James and Penelope.  They will always be loved and missed and they will always be part of our family.