The Days Are Passing So Slowly

I keep wanting to post updates, but my thoughts are beyond scattered.

I've spent every second of the last few days impatiently waiting for the funeral home to call, letting us know we can come and get our babies... but every single day, we get told something needs to be signed or something just got signed.. and it should just be just 'one more day.' We just got told the same thing a few hours ago. And while I know it's just their ashes, I'm longing to have them here.. to finally bring them home. Because the truth is, every night I still wake up looking for them -- waiting to hear one of them cry. And the silence, the lack of them here, just breaks my heart all over again. And for awhile, the urns might make it worse, but I'm hoping they'll provide some closure and comfort in the long run.

Otherwise, this week has so far been a ride of ups and downs. Mostly downs.

I was scheduled to return to work on Monday. I didn't feel ready at all.. but there were things that needed to be done in the office that only I know how to do. And Brad had already been back to work for several days, so I felt bad for complaining. But within ten minutes of my arrival on Monday, a coworker came in and said, "Listen, we've all talked it over. Finish whatever you need to, and we'll cover you for the rest of the day." I could barely express my appreciation without crying.. because I knew I wasn't ready for a random client to ask me how the pregnancy was going, or to see yet another pregnant woman abusing drugs. The latter was emotionally trying enough when we were just trying to conceive. Now, it would just push me over the edge.

So, I gladly accepted their offer, scheduled myself off for the rest of the week, and made my exit.

On my way home, I decided to stop at Target for a few things we needed. My first outing into the public other than for the memorial service. And of course, I noticed every last child in the store. But I managed to not linger on it.

The last thing I picked up at the store was a fabric covered storage box. I decided we'd need a larger one for all the mementos we kept from their birth, memorial service, and pictures. But as I was checking out, one of the metal corners popped off as the cashier put it in the bag. Great... I just wanted to get out of there, but now I had to go return it at the service desk.

As would be my luck, there were two people in front of me. The one being helped apparently didn't have a receipt and the person working was taking forever to look it up. And the woman right in front of me was standing with her son -- around 6 years old. For some reason, he stood right next to his mother's leg, but turned around and stared at me the entire time.

And all I could think about were my kids. What would they have looked at 6 years old? Would Bodhi have had his dad's eyes? Would Jasper have my laugh? What toys would be their favorites? Would they be more drawn to science or music?

"Who were my son and daughter supposed to be?"

I felt my eyes welling up with tears as I just looked at this little boy, asking myself a million questions about the people my children would have grown up to be.

And those are the questions that haunt me the most. After all, I mourn for their potential. Their promise. The wide open future that they should have had. We so badly wanted to see that unfold for our children.

Perhaps that's why, in my gut, I can't give up on trying again. Not to replace what we've lost. Nothing ever could. But it's a nagging voice in my head -- a tugging at my heart.. It's just that refacing all those same hurdles, especially the financial part, feels so daunting. Nearly impossible, actually. And as I've said before, we have a lot of healing to do before exploring that road. I just wish I knew that the option was there.

But for right now, I'm still working through all the guilt and the questioning of every little thing that I did. Was it that last root canal? Did it cause an infection that went to my uterus? Did I just drink a little bit too much caffeine? What if I had gone in the night before? Could I have done anything to prevent it? I wish it wasn't the case, but many times I've sobbed while telling Brad, "I feel like it's my fault. I'm the reason they're not here."

I know, logically, that it's not fair to do that to myself. The truth is, I was super cautious. Never missing a prenatal vitamin, taking naps almost daily, never exceeding the recommended threshold for caffeine, refusing to walk on ice without spikes strapped to my feet, eating a balanced diet, calling my OBs office about every little thing, medicine, or procedure... I did everything right.

And every single doctor and nurse that saw me in the hospital that day expressed to me that there was nothing I could have done. There were no signs of complications or an explanation of why it happened. It just did. Unfortunately, that lack of a definite cause leaves you to question every decision you made. It's going to take a long time for me to let that go.

But I'm trying...

I know living in that guilt, no matter how unfounded, will only weigh me down, and won't change anything. For now, I need to be the person that Bodhi and Jasper would be proud to call "Mom." And that's not a person wallowing in guilt. That's a woman that's trying her damndest to stay optimistic, hoping there will be another chance in our future. The woman who is a support for her husband during moments of unimaginable pain...

The woman who will forgive herself for breaking down, while knowing that she's strong enough to recover.