I love my child more than you love your child, there, I said it. I am not saying this to be cruel or hurtful. I am not doubting how much love you have for your child. I am saying this because as any bereaved parent can tell you, it is true. I am completely aware of how much love a parent has for their child. From the moment I saw my daughter's puffy squishy face I fell hard for her. It's not the kind of love you have for a friend, or sibling or even spouse. It is it's own unique brand it is is unbreakable.
When I say that I fell hard for my daughter I mean it. People tell you that until you become a parent you can never imagine what that love feels like. That is true. I can't even begin to explain how much love I felt for my daughter from the moment I held her in my arms . My heart felt like it was going to explode. I literally couldn't take my eyes off of her. While there are many people in my life that I love, this love was so much more intense. I am not saying that I love my daughter more than my husband, I don't. There is no way to compare the two types of love, parental and romantic. All I know is if I met my husband for the first time covered in blood and amniotic fluid and he was naked and crying I don't think it would have been the same.
From my experience of having a child and knowing that kind love I do not doubt any parent's love for their child. Even in those moments when their patience is being tested to the max while their toddler is sprawled out on the grocery aisle floor flailing wildly and the parent is wondering if they can just walk away and pretend it is someone Else's child, there is love. It is a deep, ever growing, unbreakable love. It's the kind of love that enables a parent to get through the sleepless nights of caring for a newborn. It's the kind of love that endures the years of teenage angst. It is powerful stuff.
Even with the knowledge that I have of how deep a parent's love is for their child I can say with confidence that I love my child more. It is hard to explain how much deeper my love is now for my daughter than it was fourteen months ago, but it is.
After seeing two of my children die in front of my eyes, in the comfort of their father's arms, I am changed. I know that Penelope and James have given us many gifts, but the one that I am most thankful for is how they deepened my love for Gwenevere. There is not a moment that goes by that I am not overwhelmed with gratitude for my oldest daughter. There are many times that I just look at her and my eyes well up with tears. I revel in the miracle of her mere presence. She is here, she is amazing, and she is my child.
I have had many people tell me how my story has impacted their life. They hold their babies a little closer, give their children a few more hugs, and appreciate them a little more. I have know this feeling as well. Before my twins were born a close family member's daughter was born still. My heart ached for her family. I cried many tears over their loss. I touched my own pregnant belly and I felt guilty that my babies were still here and her baby was gone. I felt lucky. But to say that I was equally affected by her loss would be untrue. It wasn't until the death of my own children that I really knew what loss and despair felt like.
While I am appreciative of how my love for my daughter has changed since the death of my twins, I still wish it had never happened. I with that no other families ever have to go through this type of loss. Yes, I love my child more than parents who have never been through a loss do. But I would trade places with them in a heartbeat. Because I can't, I will relish this new love that I have for Gwenevere. I know a special kind of love that most mother's will never truly understand.
Monday, October 7, 2013
Monday, September 30, 2013
Proud Mom
Recently while chatting with one of my neighbors she brought up how much she respected the fact that we chose to celebrate our twin's birthday this year. She began to tear up as she told me the story of her brother that was born when she was twelve years old. Her brother only lived for several days and he was never held by anyone in the family, not even the mother. When he died the family never spoke of him again. My heart aches for her, for her family. I can't even imagine trying to go on with life pretending that my child never existed.
I have had many people comment to me how strong I am. They tell me that I am so brave to speak openly about the loss of my children. Most days I feel neither strong nor brave. I speak openly about my son and daughter because I love them. I carry pictures of them in my purse that I am just as willing to show people as pictures of my toddler. I am so proud to be their Mom and it is impossible to hide that from the world. I don't think it's brave of me to speak about them, I think it's essential. My family is everything to me and they are part of my family.
Although I have chosen not to be quiet about the death of my twins I respect and understand why some parents chose to remain silent. It is not fun to watch the face of a stranger contort from a smile to a twisted, shocked frown when you answer their question of "How many children do you have?" with the honest answer of "One living daughter and two in heaven". It is uncomfortable at best. I'm sure there are several people that I have met that are simply too taken aback and may choose not to interact with me again. I'm okay with that. Those are not the kind of people I need in my life.
Last month while shopping with Gwenevere she spotted a sparkly shirt with two kittens and a balloon on it. In large words across the front it read "I'm The Big Sister". I purchased the shirt without much thought as well as several other sparkly shirts. She has worn it several times, for three days in a row at one stretch. I know she is not a typical big sister. There is not a baby in her home that she gets to help out with. However, she is a big sister. She has two siblings, both of which she talks about fondly. They are often woven into her pretend play and bedtime stories. I am aware that it will be awkward when a stranger asks her who she is a big sister to. I am okay with that. I am tired of the world being afraid to talk about pregnancy loss and infant death. If it means a few moments of discomfort with a stranger, I'm willing to do it.
It has been over a year since my son and daughter died. They feel just as much a part of our family now as they ever have. My love for them continues to grow as I find little ways to fit them into our daily lives. While they are no longer here, we have several treasured pictures and keepsakes that serve as beautiful reminders of them. I don't think I'm doing anything extraordinary by talking about them. I'm just being their Mom.
I have had many people comment to me how strong I am. They tell me that I am so brave to speak openly about the loss of my children. Most days I feel neither strong nor brave. I speak openly about my son and daughter because I love them. I carry pictures of them in my purse that I am just as willing to show people as pictures of my toddler. I am so proud to be their Mom and it is impossible to hide that from the world. I don't think it's brave of me to speak about them, I think it's essential. My family is everything to me and they are part of my family.
Although I have chosen not to be quiet about the death of my twins I respect and understand why some parents chose to remain silent. It is not fun to watch the face of a stranger contort from a smile to a twisted, shocked frown when you answer their question of "How many children do you have?" with the honest answer of "One living daughter and two in heaven". It is uncomfortable at best. I'm sure there are several people that I have met that are simply too taken aback and may choose not to interact with me again. I'm okay with that. Those are not the kind of people I need in my life.
Last month while shopping with Gwenevere she spotted a sparkly shirt with two kittens and a balloon on it. In large words across the front it read "I'm The Big Sister". I purchased the shirt without much thought as well as several other sparkly shirts. She has worn it several times, for three days in a row at one stretch. I know she is not a typical big sister. There is not a baby in her home that she gets to help out with. However, she is a big sister. She has two siblings, both of which she talks about fondly. They are often woven into her pretend play and bedtime stories. I am aware that it will be awkward when a stranger asks her who she is a big sister to. I am okay with that. I am tired of the world being afraid to talk about pregnancy loss and infant death. If it means a few moments of discomfort with a stranger, I'm willing to do it.
It has been over a year since my son and daughter died. They feel just as much a part of our family now as they ever have. My love for them continues to grow as I find little ways to fit them into our daily lives. While they are no longer here, we have several treasured pictures and keepsakes that serve as beautiful reminders of them. I don't think I'm doing anything extraordinary by talking about them. I'm just being their Mom.
Thursday, September 19, 2013
SAHM
Years ago, long before I had children of my own I would sometimes ponder the question, "What does a Stay at Home Mom do all day"? I mean really, how much work could actually be involved in caring for a child or children at home all day. I know there are things like keeping the house clean, grocery shopping, cooking, but those are all things that I do and I have a full time job. I never expected to find myself in the SAHM role, answering my own question. I had somehow completely neglected the fact that most of a Mom's day is consumed by, wait for it.... taking care of your child!
It's not that I was unfamiliar with the difficulty of caring for children. For years I worked in a child care center. Most of my time there was spent in the infant room. A job that was challenging on a good day and pull your hair out, leave work with a migraine on a bad day. Don't get me wrong, I loved my job. Babies are adorable and even on a bad day it's hard not to appreciate their cute chubby sweetness. However, at the end of an eight hour shift of wiping poopy bottoms, getting doused in breast milk spit up, having your hair pulled and being screamed at by multiple kiddos, I was glad to go home to a childless house. I always thought teenagers should be required to spend a month working full time in the infant room, it makes for excellent birth control.
By the time I decided to start a family of my own I was working in the toddler room. A job equally challenging, but with more perks. One and two year old children can give hugs, say "I love you", play games and just be hilarious. They also don't spit up and some of them can even use the toilet. As my due date drew near, I knew that I would go back to work after a 12 week maternity leave. I had no desire to quit my job and stay home with my daughter. It wasn't that I didn't appreciate what Stay at Home Moms did, it just wasn't appealing to me. I loved my job, watching the children grow and change, the social interaction with my co-workers, and the sense of pride when I knew I was doing a good job.
My 12 weeks of maternity leave were blissful. I snuggled my daughter, nursed her, played with her, enjoyed her every waking moment. The one problem was, her waking moments were few and far between. She slept a lot, and by a lot I mean pretty much all the time. If she wasn't nursing, she was sleeping. Sometimes she would even sleep while nursing. I kept asking our pediatrician if it was normal for a baby to sleep so much, she laughed and told me not to complain about it. Although my maternity leave was a bit on the boring side I did enjoy it. I watched seasons 1-3 of Dexter, got my house cleaner than it had ever been and pumped enough breastmilk to carry us through the next few months.
Going back to work went smoothly. My daughter continued to sleep her days away in the infant room while I played with the big kids. I would take a break every day to go visit her and nurse or pump. While I did miss her, my work day seemed to go by quickly and we got to spend the afternoons and evenings together. When I had my miscarriage in November, things changed. I started to realize how fragile life is. How lucky I was to have my daughter. As we started to try to get pregnant again I began to reconsider my life as a Working Mom.
By March the decision was made, I was going to quit my job. We weren't yet pregnant, but I hoped to be soon. I knew that I would have much more time with Gwenevere as my only child and I wanted to make the most of it. I also didn't want to go through another pregnancy lifting 30 pound children, setting up and cleaning up twelve toddler lunches while struggling with morning sickness and sweating through the summer in a building without air conditioning. My last day of work was the second week of April. That week we found out that I was pregnant again, this time with twins.
It's been a year and a half since I have worked, in the traditional sense. I am now a Stay at Home Mom and I must say that I love my new job title. Is it as difficult as being a working Mom? Yes and no. My schedule is more open and flexible. I have more time during the day to run errands, work out, even take the occasional nap. I also have to do all of this while caring for a toddler, a very busy toddler. Keeping the house clean now means picking up toys, sweeping crumbs, wiping pee of the floor, making meals and snacks all throughout the day. For every mess that is picked up, there is another mess being made. I can grocery shop whenever I want to, but it takes about twice as long. When Gwenevere goes down for her nap I can choose between working out, planning curriculum for her, cleaning or nothing. It is not always easy, but it's a good fit for me. Becoming a SAHM is a decision that I don't regret. I have one living child and I am glad that I am able to spend every possible moment I have enjoying her.
It's not that I was unfamiliar with the difficulty of caring for children. For years I worked in a child care center. Most of my time there was spent in the infant room. A job that was challenging on a good day and pull your hair out, leave work with a migraine on a bad day. Don't get me wrong, I loved my job. Babies are adorable and even on a bad day it's hard not to appreciate their cute chubby sweetness. However, at the end of an eight hour shift of wiping poopy bottoms, getting doused in breast milk spit up, having your hair pulled and being screamed at by multiple kiddos, I was glad to go home to a childless house. I always thought teenagers should be required to spend a month working full time in the infant room, it makes for excellent birth control.
By the time I decided to start a family of my own I was working in the toddler room. A job equally challenging, but with more perks. One and two year old children can give hugs, say "I love you", play games and just be hilarious. They also don't spit up and some of them can even use the toilet. As my due date drew near, I knew that I would go back to work after a 12 week maternity leave. I had no desire to quit my job and stay home with my daughter. It wasn't that I didn't appreciate what Stay at Home Moms did, it just wasn't appealing to me. I loved my job, watching the children grow and change, the social interaction with my co-workers, and the sense of pride when I knew I was doing a good job.
My 12 weeks of maternity leave were blissful. I snuggled my daughter, nursed her, played with her, enjoyed her every waking moment. The one problem was, her waking moments were few and far between. She slept a lot, and by a lot I mean pretty much all the time. If she wasn't nursing, she was sleeping. Sometimes she would even sleep while nursing. I kept asking our pediatrician if it was normal for a baby to sleep so much, she laughed and told me not to complain about it. Although my maternity leave was a bit on the boring side I did enjoy it. I watched seasons 1-3 of Dexter, got my house cleaner than it had ever been and pumped enough breastmilk to carry us through the next few months.
Going back to work went smoothly. My daughter continued to sleep her days away in the infant room while I played with the big kids. I would take a break every day to go visit her and nurse or pump. While I did miss her, my work day seemed to go by quickly and we got to spend the afternoons and evenings together. When I had my miscarriage in November, things changed. I started to realize how fragile life is. How lucky I was to have my daughter. As we started to try to get pregnant again I began to reconsider my life as a Working Mom.
By March the decision was made, I was going to quit my job. We weren't yet pregnant, but I hoped to be soon. I knew that I would have much more time with Gwenevere as my only child and I wanted to make the most of it. I also didn't want to go through another pregnancy lifting 30 pound children, setting up and cleaning up twelve toddler lunches while struggling with morning sickness and sweating through the summer in a building without air conditioning. My last day of work was the second week of April. That week we found out that I was pregnant again, this time with twins.
It's been a year and a half since I have worked, in the traditional sense. I am now a Stay at Home Mom and I must say that I love my new job title. Is it as difficult as being a working Mom? Yes and no. My schedule is more open and flexible. I have more time during the day to run errands, work out, even take the occasional nap. I also have to do all of this while caring for a toddler, a very busy toddler. Keeping the house clean now means picking up toys, sweeping crumbs, wiping pee of the floor, making meals and snacks all throughout the day. For every mess that is picked up, there is another mess being made. I can grocery shop whenever I want to, but it takes about twice as long. When Gwenevere goes down for her nap I can choose between working out, planning curriculum for her, cleaning or nothing. It is not always easy, but it's a good fit for me. Becoming a SAHM is a decision that I don't regret. I have one living child and I am glad that I am able to spend every possible moment I have enjoying her.
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Am I Crazy?
This week I met with the Perinatologist (high risk pregnancy Doctor) for a preconception consultation. I sat down in his office with my short list of questions. There was really only one pressing question that I knew he wouldn't be able to answer. Should I really try this again? He went over my charts and began to discuss with me the possible causes for the loss of my twins. Cervical deficiency, preterm labor, infection, all possibilities. Not really knowing what the cause was, it is difficult to choose a path for a future pregnancy.
He drew pictures, made charts and answered all of my questions. As I left the office he said "I'm sure we'll see you soon"! I am not so sure.
Since the moment I gave birth to my first child I have known that I wanted another. Even while in labor I kept saying "Next time we should...". I have always pictured my family with two or three children. I understand the one child family, I grew up as an only child for 9 years and I have no complaints. But it is hard for me to temper my desire to have another baby to love and watch grow up. I also know that giving birth is not my only choice. There is adoption, a choice that I have considered. Unfortunately the financial and emotional toll to go through the adoption process in not a possibility for my family right now. There is also the option of finding a surrogate, once again very costly. There are many reasons for me wanting to try again. But mostly, I'm not ready to give up my dream. My dream of carrying a baby through 9 months of pregnancy, giving birth and bringing a healthy baby home from the hospital. I also know that there are no guarantees with any pregnancy. It is always a gamble.
As the Perinatalogist explained, I may have no problems with another pregnancy. I may be able to carry a baby to term without a hitch. However, something could go wrong again. I keep weighing my options, trying to decide what the best decision is for me and my family. I know that my husband is on board with whatever I want to do. I am so lucky to have his support. I also know that he is scared. Not only did he suffer the loss of his son and daughter, but he had to watch his wife unravel with no way to help. I think he is not only afraid of losing another child, he is afraid of losing me. I have come back from my son and daughter's death, but I don't know if I could come back from the loss of another child.
Throughout this decision making process I keep wondering if I am crazy to even think about trying again. Maybe my body is done, maybe this isn't going to work. But I don't want to give into the fear. I might be crazy, but if there is a chance that I can bring home a healthy baby I have to try. I am filled with fear, which is not a great way to start. I want so badly to be the blissfully ignorant person I was when I got pregnant with Gwenevere. I read the books, I knew things could go wrong, but I never thought it would happen to me. Now I know I will never feel the same way looking at a positive pregnancy test. It used to mean "I'm going to have a baby"!!!!!, now it just means "I'm pregnant".
When we will start this next leg in our journey we don't yet know. I know one thing though, I will not wait to announce my pregnancy. I will need all the good thoughts and prayers that I can get! If I have to be paranoid and anxious for 9 months, everyone else around me should share the burden as well. I have learned from my 1st trimester miscarriage that keeping a pregnancy and loss a secret does not make the healing process any easier, it makes it harder. I can't imagine where I would be without the endless love and support I have received. The kindness from family, friends and acquaintances means more to me than I can say. Knowing that support system is there helps give me the strength to think about trying again, even if it's a little bit crazy.
He drew pictures, made charts and answered all of my questions. As I left the office he said "I'm sure we'll see you soon"! I am not so sure.
Since the moment I gave birth to my first child I have known that I wanted another. Even while in labor I kept saying "Next time we should...". I have always pictured my family with two or three children. I understand the one child family, I grew up as an only child for 9 years and I have no complaints. But it is hard for me to temper my desire to have another baby to love and watch grow up. I also know that giving birth is not my only choice. There is adoption, a choice that I have considered. Unfortunately the financial and emotional toll to go through the adoption process in not a possibility for my family right now. There is also the option of finding a surrogate, once again very costly. There are many reasons for me wanting to try again. But mostly, I'm not ready to give up my dream. My dream of carrying a baby through 9 months of pregnancy, giving birth and bringing a healthy baby home from the hospital. I also know that there are no guarantees with any pregnancy. It is always a gamble.
As the Perinatalogist explained, I may have no problems with another pregnancy. I may be able to carry a baby to term without a hitch. However, something could go wrong again. I keep weighing my options, trying to decide what the best decision is for me and my family. I know that my husband is on board with whatever I want to do. I am so lucky to have his support. I also know that he is scared. Not only did he suffer the loss of his son and daughter, but he had to watch his wife unravel with no way to help. I think he is not only afraid of losing another child, he is afraid of losing me. I have come back from my son and daughter's death, but I don't know if I could come back from the loss of another child.
Throughout this decision making process I keep wondering if I am crazy to even think about trying again. Maybe my body is done, maybe this isn't going to work. But I don't want to give into the fear. I might be crazy, but if there is a chance that I can bring home a healthy baby I have to try. I am filled with fear, which is not a great way to start. I want so badly to be the blissfully ignorant person I was when I got pregnant with Gwenevere. I read the books, I knew things could go wrong, but I never thought it would happen to me. Now I know I will never feel the same way looking at a positive pregnancy test. It used to mean "I'm going to have a baby"!!!!!, now it just means "I'm pregnant".
When we will start this next leg in our journey we don't yet know. I know one thing though, I will not wait to announce my pregnancy. I will need all the good thoughts and prayers that I can get! If I have to be paranoid and anxious for 9 months, everyone else around me should share the burden as well. I have learned from my 1st trimester miscarriage that keeping a pregnancy and loss a secret does not make the healing process any easier, it makes it harder. I can't imagine where I would be without the endless love and support I have received. The kindness from family, friends and acquaintances means more to me than I can say. Knowing that support system is there helps give me the strength to think about trying again, even if it's a little bit crazy.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Moving Forward
When you lose someone you love there is no going back. No matter how many times I wished and prayed it was all a terrible dream, my babies were still gone. Since there is no going back, one might assume that you move forward, through the grief. This is not always true. Many days I have been at a standstill. Stuck in the deep pit of despair. The thought of moving forward is sometimes terrifying. There is a deep sense of guilt that if I move forward I am letting go. The last thing I want to do is forget about my son and daughter, they will always be a part of me. However, I know that I can't live my whole life in such intense pain.
Moving forward through grief is a very delicate process, one that I have just begun to experience. It has been one year since my babies came and went. Most of this past year has been spent in survival mode. I have relied heavily on routine and keeping busy, afraid if I stop to think I will break down. I have no shame in crying, but it can be physically and emotionally draining. While I slowly takes steps forward, moving away from the pit of despair, I have to proceed with caution. I have many fears. I worry that my memories will fade, that my love will fade, that I will move too quickly and fall backwards. As I leave survival mode I begin to come to terms with my new identity. I am not a freshly grief stricken parent anymore. I am a wife, a mother, a daughter, a stay at home mom, a friend.
My husband and I have recently discussed the idea of trying to have another child. Just the discussion alone brought up so many negative feeling for me. Mostly I felt angry. I should not be having this discussion, we should be done having children. I have given birth to three children and that is enough. I don't want to go through the stress and anxiety that another pregnancy will bring. I want all of my children here with me. I know I will never be able to replace my son and daughter and I worry that having another child will feel that way. But I also want to have another living child. I want to have a healthy baby that I can nurse, snuggle, change diapers, bathe, and love. I want Gwenevere to have a living sibling, one that she can play and fight with. I want to see my husband as a new father again. I want to see my parents with a new grandchild. I want to go through the whole nine months of pregnancy. I want to feel baby kicks, heartburn, exaustion, and excitement.
I am so thankful every day that James and Penelope are part of our family. They have changed me in ways I could have never imagined. I see the impact that they have had on our family and friends and it warms my heart. I move forward knowing that they will never be forgotten. They are forever a part of me and a part of you.
Moving forward through grief is a very delicate process, one that I have just begun to experience. It has been one year since my babies came and went. Most of this past year has been spent in survival mode. I have relied heavily on routine and keeping busy, afraid if I stop to think I will break down. I have no shame in crying, but it can be physically and emotionally draining. While I slowly takes steps forward, moving away from the pit of despair, I have to proceed with caution. I have many fears. I worry that my memories will fade, that my love will fade, that I will move too quickly and fall backwards. As I leave survival mode I begin to come to terms with my new identity. I am not a freshly grief stricken parent anymore. I am a wife, a mother, a daughter, a stay at home mom, a friend.
My husband and I have recently discussed the idea of trying to have another child. Just the discussion alone brought up so many negative feeling for me. Mostly I felt angry. I should not be having this discussion, we should be done having children. I have given birth to three children and that is enough. I don't want to go through the stress and anxiety that another pregnancy will bring. I want all of my children here with me. I know I will never be able to replace my son and daughter and I worry that having another child will feel that way. But I also want to have another living child. I want to have a healthy baby that I can nurse, snuggle, change diapers, bathe, and love. I want Gwenevere to have a living sibling, one that she can play and fight with. I want to see my husband as a new father again. I want to see my parents with a new grandchild. I want to go through the whole nine months of pregnancy. I want to feel baby kicks, heartburn, exaustion, and excitement.
I am so thankful every day that James and Penelope are part of our family. They have changed me in ways I could have never imagined. I see the impact that they have had on our family and friends and it warms my heart. I move forward knowing that they will never be forgotten. They are forever a part of me and a part of you.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Yes, I'm Still Grieving
Next week will mark the one year anniversary of the birth and death of my son and daughter. I have come so far from where I was last year. If someone were to offer me a billion dollars to go back to the first day after they were gone I would never accept. That was the most intense sadness and emptiness I have ever experienced and don't think I could survive it again. Now if I were able to go back to the day that they were born and be able to hold them in my arms again, even for one minute, I would do it all over again. I realize that may sound crazy, but I would give anything to be able to see their beautiful faces and hold their precious bodies in my arms. I would take pictures, tons of pictures. I would hold them, dress them, kiss them and snuggle them. Those short moments that I had with my babies were priceless.
Whenever I think of what it was like in the days and weeks after their death my heart hurts. I remember who I was at that time; a grieving mother. I remember the emotions I felt, the anger, the despair, the guilt, the desperate desire to go back in time and change it all. I remember bursting out weeping throughout the day. I cried and cried and cried. My eyes nearly swelled shut and my face was blotchy and red. I remember my empty soft stomach. I remember my breasts engorged with milk. I wanted to pump, but I knew that I couldn't handle seeing the milk that was supposed to be for my babies. I remember people coming and going with meals and messages of sympathy. I remember wanting to pray to God for comfort but feeling too angry. I remember feeling broken. I remember feeling like I wasn't even real.
Nearly one year later I am the same grieving mother. It may look different, it may feel different, but it is the same. I still cry sometimes when I remember that my twins aren't here with me. I wonder what they would be like. I got so little time with them, I feel like there was so much more to them that I will never know. My body has recovered and gone back to normal. I don't feel broken anymore, I feel changed. I realize that the world may no longer view me as a grieving parent. My story is no longer fresh. But it is fresh to me. The wound still stings and I still feel the pain. I know as time goes on I will continue to heal. But I also know that I will always grieve the loss of Penelope and James. I am forever changed by them and I will always grieve their death.
The days leading up to James and Penelope's 1st birthday have been challenging. I have been hit with emotions that I haven't had to face in months. Sadness, bitterness, jealousy, anger and guilt. I know the day will come and go like any other day. But I also know that the world is a better place because of them. I am different because of them and if their story touches or inspires just one person, their lives had meaning.
Whenever I think of what it was like in the days and weeks after their death my heart hurts. I remember who I was at that time; a grieving mother. I remember the emotions I felt, the anger, the despair, the guilt, the desperate desire to go back in time and change it all. I remember bursting out weeping throughout the day. I cried and cried and cried. My eyes nearly swelled shut and my face was blotchy and red. I remember my empty soft stomach. I remember my breasts engorged with milk. I wanted to pump, but I knew that I couldn't handle seeing the milk that was supposed to be for my babies. I remember people coming and going with meals and messages of sympathy. I remember wanting to pray to God for comfort but feeling too angry. I remember feeling broken. I remember feeling like I wasn't even real.
Nearly one year later I am the same grieving mother. It may look different, it may feel different, but it is the same. I still cry sometimes when I remember that my twins aren't here with me. I wonder what they would be like. I got so little time with them, I feel like there was so much more to them that I will never know. My body has recovered and gone back to normal. I don't feel broken anymore, I feel changed. I realize that the world may no longer view me as a grieving parent. My story is no longer fresh. But it is fresh to me. The wound still stings and I still feel the pain. I know as time goes on I will continue to heal. But I also know that I will always grieve the loss of Penelope and James. I am forever changed by them and I will always grieve their death.
The days leading up to James and Penelope's 1st birthday have been challenging. I have been hit with emotions that I haven't had to face in months. Sadness, bitterness, jealousy, anger and guilt. I know the day will come and go like any other day. But I also know that the world is a better place because of them. I am different because of them and if their story touches or inspires just one person, their lives had meaning.
Saturday, July 20, 2013
Party Planning and Death Certificates
I find it absolutely shocking when I realize how quickly Penelope and James' first birthday is approaching. It honestly feels like just yesterday. I miss them so much every day. How is it possible that it has been eleven months since I last held them in my arms? Their beautiful faces are still fresh in my mind, burned into my memory.
Micah and I decided that we didn't want their birthday to pass without some sort of acknowledgment. We wanted to find a way to celebrate and honor their short lives. We wanted to be able to do what most parents do for their children on their first birthday, throw a party. This may seem odd or morbid to some people, but for us it just seems natural. If nothing else we are celebrating that we are still here. We have survived perhaps the most devastating event of our lives and we are okay. With the strength and support of our friends and family we have pulled ourselves out of the pit of grief and we have survived. Not only have we survived the death of our beloved twins, but we are stronger. Our hearts have changed for the better.
Not only do James and Penelope deserve to be celebrated, so do all of our support system. Everyone that cared enough to place a well timed phone call, sympathy card, bouquet of flowers, caring e-mail, a warm hug, or just sending warm thoughts and prayers our way. To say we felt your love and support is a true understatement. It carried us through the darkness. So we are throwing this party as a thank you as well.
I have recently been party planning in an attempt to get ready for the weirdest 1st birthday party ever. I have done this before, my daughter Gwenevere had a 1st birthday party and it was wonderful. However, I have never thrown a birthday party for someone that is no longer living. I don't really know how to do it and the Internet is not exactly full of suggestions. I have been going through their memory boxes recently, trying to find special items that we can display. As I was gingerly going through the hand knit blankets, and doll sized clothes I stumbled upon two official envelopes I had never seen. I opened them up to discover that they contained the death certificates of Penelope and James. I hadn't seen them before, when they came in the mail I handed them to Micah and he looked over them. It just seemed so wrong. I know they died, but to see it typed up on an official paper just hurt. They even had a box checked off to let us know that they didn't die of a "tobacco related illness".
When I was pregnant with my twins I never imagined that I would be looking over their death certificates while planning their first birthday party. This is my new reality. I don't want their party to be sad or depressing, I just want to remember them and honor them. They are my children, numbers two and three. I love them and I will always love them.
Micah and I decided that we didn't want their birthday to pass without some sort of acknowledgment. We wanted to find a way to celebrate and honor their short lives. We wanted to be able to do what most parents do for their children on their first birthday, throw a party. This may seem odd or morbid to some people, but for us it just seems natural. If nothing else we are celebrating that we are still here. We have survived perhaps the most devastating event of our lives and we are okay. With the strength and support of our friends and family we have pulled ourselves out of the pit of grief and we have survived. Not only have we survived the death of our beloved twins, but we are stronger. Our hearts have changed for the better.
Not only do James and Penelope deserve to be celebrated, so do all of our support system. Everyone that cared enough to place a well timed phone call, sympathy card, bouquet of flowers, caring e-mail, a warm hug, or just sending warm thoughts and prayers our way. To say we felt your love and support is a true understatement. It carried us through the darkness. So we are throwing this party as a thank you as well.
I have recently been party planning in an attempt to get ready for the weirdest 1st birthday party ever. I have done this before, my daughter Gwenevere had a 1st birthday party and it was wonderful. However, I have never thrown a birthday party for someone that is no longer living. I don't really know how to do it and the Internet is not exactly full of suggestions. I have been going through their memory boxes recently, trying to find special items that we can display. As I was gingerly going through the hand knit blankets, and doll sized clothes I stumbled upon two official envelopes I had never seen. I opened them up to discover that they contained the death certificates of Penelope and James. I hadn't seen them before, when they came in the mail I handed them to Micah and he looked over them. It just seemed so wrong. I know they died, but to see it typed up on an official paper just hurt. They even had a box checked off to let us know that they didn't die of a "tobacco related illness".
When I was pregnant with my twins I never imagined that I would be looking over their death certificates while planning their first birthday party. This is my new reality. I don't want their party to be sad or depressing, I just want to remember them and honor them. They are my children, numbers two and three. I love them and I will always love them.
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