Has It Been 6 Years?

Today would be your 6th birthday.

It's taking me awhile to move past the pain of that sentence. The sorrow of a life missed out on -- where we would be having a party today. Last night, I should have been making cupcakes and wrapping gifts. And I will forever wonder which flavor you would have wanted. What gifts would have been on your lists.

It always hurts more today.

But underneath, it's that same ache you can never really numb. The grief. The price I pay for loving you.

We visited your room -- LDR 16. Sometimes we get to go in. But sometimes it's occupied and we just get as close as the hallway.

Today, as we approached -- and I could see it was unoccupied -- my throat began to tighten. Our liaison actually asked how it feels when we see the room right as it was happening. I touched my neck in reflex as I said, "It hits me right away. Like it just happened."

I suppose that could be interpreted as a 'lump in my throat,' 'choking back tears,' or 'losing my breath.' But that's not it. It feels like my body is squeezing down all those raw bellows that I've kept in since the minute we lost you.

A curdling scream that wants to come out as I crawl.. and cry.. scratching at the floors until my nails bleed.. and ripping sheets from the bed. Searching for you, even when I know you're not there.

I can never fully explain what that feels like. The primal instinct for a mother to cry out for her young.

It never leaves.

We stood in your room, mostly unchanged over the years, and remembered. Remembered that day. Remembered you. Remembered saying goodbye.

We donated dozens of books in your honor. Always the highlight of this day. Knowing how many people come together and donate because YOU inspire them. Knowing how many parents will read to their children and create memories -- because you existed.

And I imagine you there. Every time one of these books gets read in a NICU. Or pulled from the shelf in the nursery. Or set on the coffee table before bed.

I see you everywhere. It is my solace.

And, as per tradition, we read to your little brothers in the lobby. One day, they'll understand why.

To those walking by, we were just a family of four having a moment. But it will always be six.

Then off to WB Pizza for the garlic bread you both seemed to love when I was pregnant. Your brothers both ate some today too.

But.. I still wish it was cupcakes.. with you.

The PB & J Books Project

Okay, my dear followers and folks that stumble into my blog by accident. It's been many months since I last posted.

That is, in part, because I've been focused on doing something significant.

You see, several months ago, I approached my husband about the book donation we do every year on the twins' birthday. It had started with just us, delivering a few books we personally bought. The next year, a few friends and even a total stranger pitched in. And it got me thinking...

What if we do this as a legit charity?

Our goals are basically this:
We provide donated baby books (new board books) to maternity wards and NICUS, in loving memory of our twins, to encourage bonding, to promote literacy, and to help build precious memories.

I posted about my plans on Facebook, and the feedback and support was positive and swift.

I got to work making a logo and a Facebook page to share our story and successes.

Now, we're still sorting through all the red tape to make it official (ie: so people and companies can make tax-deductible donations). The IRS wants a lot of information, money, and paperwork to give us the stamp of government approval. So, please, bear with us for that.

In the meantime, people have been sending books and donations anyway. Most people donating $10-20 in money or books, aren't seemingly worried about the tax deduction <3

So, while we fine-tune our mission statement and organize a non-profit from the ground up, we need your support. Please follow us on Facebook and Instagram (@pbjbooksproject). Donate if you can. Tell others about our story, and what we're doing.

I am so grateful to get to do this in honor of my babies.

One Year

One year. 365 Days.

It feels like forever, yet no time at all.

Today, we're going to celebrate you both -- your far too short lives.

In just a few hours, we'll be headed to Indy. To the hospital where you were born. To the only place you ever lived. I have no idea how I'll feel walking in there again. Overwhelming grief? Peace? Grounded again in the place where I met you? My guess is it will be a blend of all of them.

The same as it was the day you were born.

Your father and I relive that day frequently.

Just this morning, I awoke to your father wrapping his arm around me. As I came out of my grogginess, I asked if he was okay.

"Just thinking about them... I just wanted to be close to you."

I rolled over into his arms, tucking my head beneath his chin. We talked about that day, tears falling down both our faces, as we remarked on how strong and beautiful you were -- and how we were so grateful that we got to meet you.

I said to him, "They were pretty amazing."

Your father gently moved his fingers through my hair, and whispered, "They got that from you."

You see, he likes to give me credit for your strength.. for your will to live. But the truth is, you were the best of both of us. The best thing we ever did. And I'm only so strong when your father is standing next to me. He's the one who walked me through the grief. The man who got into the hospital bed with me and stayed through the night. The man who would sit outside the shower when we got home.. just in case I broke down and needed him.

I like to think you were the best of us.. as a team.

And we're both so proud of you. Proud to call you ours. Proud of your strength -- to beat the odds -- and live long enough for us to be able to hold you both in our arms at the same time. Feeling you breathe, and wiggle your little arms and legs, as you lay upon my chest side by side ... Oh, I'll never forget it.

When we visit the hospital, we'll be donating some children's books to the maternity ward. It brings me a bit of peace to know that other parents will be bonding with their children -- because of you. Your spirit and your beauty will live on each night a child chooses one of the books we've donated in your memory.

The hospital also wants to interview us about you and that day. I'm nervous, but happy to do it.

People keep telling me how inspirational and strong I am for sharing your story. But really, I'm just like any other mother who loves to talk about her children. I don't get to talk about your spelling bees or your t-ball games. But I'll never stop talking about the love I felt in those hours with you.

I'm not inspiring. The magic in the story is yours -- it belongs to you.

So thank you. Thank you for bringing your father and I even closer together. Thank you for meeting us. Thank you for touching the world.

We celebrate you today. Happy Birthday, Jasper & Bodhi <3

- Your mother

Grandma Linda

Today is the eighth anniversary of my mother-in-law's passing. Sadly, I never had the opportunity to meet her. What I do know is that she was loved by many.. and adored by her son.

I lost my father too, but at a very young age. My husband and his mother, on the other hand, were very close. And she passed so unexpectedly. I know that the loss is a constant ache in his heart. I watch a piece of him mourn at every holiday, birthday, and even more so on days like today.

As you might imagine, when we finally became pregnant with Jasper and Bodhi, it brought up a lot of thoughts about what his mother, Linda, would think and say. Would she have thrown me a baby shower? Would she have liked their names? Would she have insisted on moving in to help us? ;)

Even without knowing her, I felt so connected to her when I was pregnant. I was carrying her grandchildren, after all.

And then, when we so tragically lost our babies, it connected us even more to her. She too had lost two infants in her lifetime. So again, we wondered, what would she say to us if she could?

I'll never really know what she would have thought of me, or me carrying her grandbabies. But what I do know is that she would have been so proud of her son. How he took care of me and was by my side, every step of the way. She also would have loved seeing him as a father, just as I did.

So...

Linda,

Thank you for raising Bradley to be the husband I love so dearly, and the father to our children that I love even more. I regret that I never got to meet you, but on January 27th, 2014.. you became a grandma to our babies. Our baby girl, Jasper Kaelyn, even has your middle name as part of hers.  

I hope that would have made you happy.

And I hope we get a chance to try again, so I can see my husband raise your grandchildren. To watch him pass down the life lessons and compassion you nurtured in him. You would be so proud of the man he has become.  

You would be proud of the way he lives his life. You would be proud of the way he loves me...

He misses you. And perhaps more surprisingly, I miss you.

We've decided to use this day, in memory of Linda, as the start of our fundraiser for our "Second Chance." Our hope is to have enough raised by Mother's Day to start another cycle of treatment. If you'd like to donate or just share our story, please visit our GoFundMe page. (http://www.gofundme.com/shilorfund)