Still

Still. It still feels the same as it did the day we lost them...

Taking my evening showers and trying to fall asleep are still the hardest parts of my day. No distractions. Just me and my haunted memories swirling furiously in the evening stillness.

The other night, I found an envelope with scribbled notes.. On it were the times that I felt contractions the night before I went to the hospital. I had been writing them down to try to decipher if they were random Braxton Hicks or true contractions. I was instantly overwhelmed with the memory of how the contractions felt, and calling the doctor that night. Knowing now that I should have rushed to the hospital, no matter how small the chance was that they could have been saved, still eats away at me every single day.

My husband had already gone to sleep for the night, so I found myself in the solitude of the shower, weeping uncontrollably.. thinking all the what ifs and should haves.

I finally made my way to bed, but couldn't stop the tears. It was hitting me exceptionally hard. Eventually, my husband woke up, and through the grogginess asked, "Are you okay?"

I had no words. I just cried as he rolled over to hold me. He knew what was wrong..

Then, last night, it happened again. I was showering as I started to imagine them as children. Their faces. Their laughs. I pictured them fighting over toys and throwing food from their high chairs. I could almost hear it when I imagined how they would have said "Mommy."

I felt so empty as I braced myself against the shower wall, shoulders hunched over, as I cried into the falling water.

This time, though, my husband was awake when I got out. I had stopped crying, but I needed to tell him that this was happening.. with growing frequency and intensity.

I sat down next to him in the dark. "Showers are really rough for me." I knew that was all the context I needed to give.

He sat up to look at me.

"I think about them all the time, and I don't feel like you do," I continued.

"I think about them most days," he replied.

"No. I mean.. all the time. Nearly every minute of my day. I relive that day constantly. I see their faces every time I close my eyes." I paused. "I'm not saying it in a negative way, like you should be feeling how I do.. but I just don't think you can relate to what I'm feeling and thinking."

"Of course I can't," he responded quickly. "I didn't go through what you did. It all happened TO you -- not me. But you need to know I'm here for you."

I continued, "Brad, it's so much guilt. I should have known to go to the hospital. I should have trusted my gut that something was wrong." Individual tears began to streak down my cheeks.

"But the doctors have even told you it probably wouldn't have mattered."

"Probably. But I'll never know for sure. Even if there was only a 1% chance of saving them, I didn't take it.. and that is my fault."

"We didn't know.." he began to explain.

"That doesn't make me feel better. I know the odds were against us. I know we didn't know any better. But none of that makes me feel less guilty. Nothing you say will ever take that away."

Concern spread across his face. "I don't want this to eat away at you."

"I will be dealing with this for the rest of my life," I said matter-of-factly. "I'm just telling you because I don't want to hide it all the time. I hide it all day, from everyone, because they're tired of hearing about it. And I need you to know that it's getting worse instead of better." I continued, "I know I've been more short with you lately..."

"It's understandable," he interrupted.

"It's not fair, and I'm sorry. I just need you to know when I'm being like that.. it has nothing to do with you. I'm just so angry. Angry with everything, but mostly myself."

Why is it getting worse? It'd be a lie if I said I knew for sure. But I have a feeling it's a combination of so many things. Fighting the insurance company, making me relive and describe my pregnancy over and over. Buying a house, which we were doing because we were expecting them. So when I look at rooms I always imagine which one would have been their nursery. My husband is now working some overnights, leaving me to be alone with my thoughts more often. Mother's Day is quickly approaching.. along with their due date. Add all that up, and it's crushing me.

I smile, but I don't mean it. I laugh, but I don't mean it.. not in the way I used to. Joy is so shallow now, and the pain feels like a bottomless abyss. The reality is, I don't have 'good' days anymore.. ever. I just have 'not-as-bad' days. And they are hard to come by.

(If you'd like to help us get our second chance, please visit GoFundMe.com/ShilorFund)