Six Months

Today marks exactly 6 months since I held you both for the first time.. and the last time. All at once, time seemed to halt, yet pass in the blink of an eye. It's truly still hard to believe that it happened at all. But the lingering ache reminds me that it did.

The grief has changed. It's more subtle most days.. like imagining your voices in the wind as it gently rustles through the trees. Or standing in the doorway to our spare bedroom -- knowing that two cribs should be in there by now. It's different, but not any easier.

This one is very short, as far as blogs go. But it's not for lack of feeling. It's just that I've used nearly all the words I have, to share so many moments of guilt, pain, and grief.

All that is left, and will ever be, is to say that we still miss you.

Due Date

Today, June 21st of 2014, was your due date. Sure, we expected you to arrive weeks ahead of schedule, as twins normally do. But 6/21 will forever be the date marked in my heart as the one when you were supposed to arrive.

I'll probably receive a slew of automated "Congratulations" from all the websites I made registries on. And it will sting -- just like all the reminders I've gotten to buy a stroller, or the samples of formula I've found waiting in our mailbox. These companies don't know that we met you months ago.. or that we already had to say good-bye.

And we're going to spend this day moving into our new home. A home you were supposed to be raised in -- with a nursery that was supposed to be yours. I know exactly where the cribs would have gone. I can picture you both in the bathtub splashing around right before bedtime. I can imagine you playing in the back yard. I can hear your laughter (and fighting) as you chase each other up and down the hallway. I will always feel your life in this place.

But the best I can do today, is to move your ashes there. To place them on the mantle above the brick fireplace. So I may ache, and I may cry, but I will be happy for one thing. --- That even though you didn't arrive into the world today, you will be coming home.

Father's Day

Just as Mother's Day has come and gone, Father's Day has become an equally raw and uncertain day. My husband and I have to wade through the murky waters of these holidays, with no idea how to be, and definitely not feeling as if we can truly celebrate anything.

We have just begun meeting with the fertility doctor again, hoping that my body and my hormones will be ready for another go around in a month or two. As anticipated, a baseline ultrasound was required, to make sure all my innards are still where they are supposed to be and functional. The problem was that it was done in the exact same room in which we first learned we were having twins, and where we first heard their heartbeats. As I laid there staring at the ceiling, tears were silently falling from my eyes. The tech was completely unaware, since they thankfully keep the room fairly dark.

But afterwards, as I made my way down the hall to sit in another office to wait on the nurse to go over results/costs/etc, I felt like I couldn't breathe. Being back in this place where it all began, knowing that their due date was only two weeks away, and that Father's Day was looming.. was just too much for me to hold in.

So I sat in this brightly lit office trying to pull myself together, taking a deep breath as the nurse popped in. But as soon as she asked innocently, "How are you doing?," I lost all composure.. blurting out "Not good at all," as tears burst from my eyes like a leaky dam. This breakdown went on for several minutes, with me apologizing and the nurse attempting to assure me it was okay. "You've been strong for too long. Eventually you have to let it out," she said.

She was right, but it didn't make me feel any less embarrassed or weak at that moment.

As we left that day, I started to question why I fell apart to such a degree. Sure, the location was a huge trigger. But something was clearly still lingering. A constant burdening ache just waiting to bubble over.

And sure enough, it still comes back to the guilt. The feeling that the whole situation, from beginning to end, was my fault. I was still overwhelmed with the feeling that I'm the reason my husband doesn't get to celebrate Father's Day in the way he should.

If all had gone according to plan, my husband would have two newborns at home today. And it breaks my heart, because he so deserves that experience.

For his part, though.. he has been amazing as a husband -- and a father. From sharing in the excitement of every appointment to the moment that he held them, he was is a dad in every sense of the word.

Ever since he gently supported our son and daughter in his hands, I have seen him in a new light. There is something markedly different about someone being my husband and someone being the father of my children. I didn't know at the time that we could be any closer or grateful for each other, but this year has been one of great loss.. and subsequent growth.

So to my husband, thank you for the support and comfort. Thank you for our beautiful babies. And thank you for loving them and caring for them in every way that you could. The man you were in those moments will be the man I forever see and love.

Happy Father's Day.

Changes

I wish I could say it was getting easier.

I suppose in some ways it is. It is easier to laugh. To smile. To get lost in a tv show. But it's quickly followed by pangs of guilt. Because quite swiftly, my brain begins to question why I'm laughing or smiling. Or the television show will suddenly mention babies, pregnancy, death, or grief... No matter how brief the mention, that's all it takes. That's the moment when it all fades back out; leaving me chest deep in the raw pain I was in the day I lost them.

The only difference is that now I have so many distractions. Some make me feel better. Some make it exponentially worse. Unfortunately, there seems to be a preponderance of the latter.

Stressing about money.. Astronomical medical bills, fertility treatments, dentist bills, a windshield repair, buying a house. Oh, and did I mention we OWE on our taxes this year? Seriously. All while knowing that I won't be able to work full-time during treatments.

My husband and I have gone over this dilemma at every angle. To make this a little less abrupt, he did pick up a second job. Luckily, and surprisingly, it pays nearly the same amount per hour as his full-time job. Though it seems like a lot to deal with, and it is.. this really was the plan all along. He actually had applied to this job before we lost the twins. After all, in less than 3 months, I was planning on delivering twins and staying home with them, and it was going to be on him to make ends meet.

But still, I've felt a lot of guilt about it. I hate putting nearly all of the financial burden on my husband, when all of these bills are essentially mine -- even if it all is for a goal we share. On the other hand, I have to use my body as a lab experiment. He doesn't have to get poked and prodded day after day. I'm not sure which of us will have it worse.

Also of note, I feel like I need to explain this whole scenario since so many people are donating to our cause. I imagine folks asking themselves, "Why are they buying a home if they're so tight on funds?" (Answer: Our house payment will actually be $300 less per month than our current rent.) I want people to know that their generosity is not being taken lightly, and that it weighs heavily on me. I simply worry that people will see me as being 'lazy' or taking the easy way by accepting help from others, while at the same time, reducing my hours at work. So I hope the following explains it.

The reality is that when I start treatments again, I'll have doctor appointments and ultrasounds 3 or 4 times per week and I'll be taking injections daily. Not super conducive in a Monday thru Friday office job. And then, if/when I become pregnant, I'll have stitches in my cervix and likely will be put on bed rest. So one way or another, it became obvious that me working full-time just wasn't going to pan out. And this is all just logistics. It speaks nothing to the emotional toll that I pay daily at my current job.

All day, every day.. I deal with criminals and drug addicts who are all too eager to talk about how "Yeah.. I'm pregnant again. I'm hoping to keep this one," or "My woman is pregnant. I'm excited. I mean, I have a 13 month old, but this time it's with my fiancé.."

It's one thing to 'know' that these people are having children. It's another to watch it every day while you are struggling to conceive.

There were so many times I wanted to quit when we were going through treatments. Every time another person brought in their child to witness them taking a drug screen as if it were a normal errand, or said, "Just found out I'm pregnant. Grr. That wasn't supposed to happen again so quickly," I felt a deep fury of anger and sadness. But then, finally, I got pregnant, and nothing they said or did could bother me at that level anymore.

As I said, it was hard to manage when we were just trying. Now that I've held my two children and watched them slip away from me, I just can't anymore. I can't pretend that it doesn't gut me each and every time.. That more often than not I feel a cloud of depression following me home from work each day. Something had to give.

So, I've decided to drastically cut my hours and hire a replacement. Once I have my replacement trained, I'll mostly only be working weekends. I'm hopeful that reducing my contact with such individuals will allow me to be in a better headspace to conceive and carry another child, as well as allow me to cope with our loss in a more healthy way.

As much as I'd love to just walk away completely, financially I think it's wise to gradually adapt and see how we do. With so many variables swirling around, there is balancing to be done between financial responsibility and doing what is right for my emotional wellbeing.

I also need to thank my husband, who works long hours at two jobs to make this possible. He doesn't know how often I think of him with overwhelming gratitude and love. This has been, and will be, a stressful and uncharted journey for both of us.. just in very different ways. At first, he took on this challenge to take care of Bodhi and Jasper. Now, we can only hope it's to eventually take care of another son or daughter.

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

Complications

I'm not a believer in bad luck, but this year.. just a few months in.. is making me reconsider.

Despite being told that I have a "perfectly shaped uterus" and that my "ovaries respond like those of an 18 year old," I was the 1 in 100 who got severe hyperstimulation and required hospitalization. Then I was one of the minority that conceived twins, which in part, made me one of the minority that suffered from pre-term delivery. Then I was part of the minority that needed a procedure afterwards to remove tissue. Then, after a very uncomplicated recovery.. even after my 6 week check-up.. I end up being part of the minority that ends up having some sort of postnatal hemorrhaging completely out of nowhere.

I won't get too much into the 'icky' stuff. I will just say that I'm amazed my husband doesn't have post-traumatic stress from the things he saw that afternoon.

As we made our way to the emergency room, that old familiar feeling came rushing back in. This was all too familiar. This was the emergency room where we first found out I was pregnant. This was the emergency room where they checked on them at 14 weeks when our dog landed on my stomach -- the first ultrasound where they looked like perfect little people.

From the check-in desk, to the orderly, to the nurse, then finally the doctor, I had to tell my brutal story repeatedly. "I gave birth a little over six weeks ago to twins, but they were preterm. They didn't survive."

When I told the orderly and nurse, they were each apologetic. But when I started to tell the doctor.. "I delivered a little over six week ago at 19 weeks, two days.." He interrupted, "Oh. I hate to ask this, but was it planned termination -- an abortion, medical necessity, or..?"

I felt my heart recoil in bitter grief, my face scrunched up in disgust. "No. No. They lived for an hour before they died."

"Oh," he replied.

I mean, it was a valid question, but I remember thinking how bizarre it was that he didn't ask about preterm delivery first. But I couldn't dwell for long. Within seconds, he said they were going to do a pelvic and an ultrasound. My body clenched up from the emotional desire to just flee. This was going to hurt in a way I wasn't at all prepared for.. and I knew it.

As soon as the gel hit my abdomen, the tears started to pool. I wanted so badly to just let it out, but I knew the technician would think she was hurting me physically. So I just kept breathing. Breathing through all the thoughts of my children, and how I felt so totally empty now. There was no pressure or firmness deep within my abdomen. Another unnecessary reminder that they were truly gone.

After all the tests were done, the doctor came back in. At this point the bleeding had slowed down dramatically. "It definitely doesn't seem to be a normal period. With it being so sudden and then relatively quickly slowing down, it's possible that you still had a piece of placenta or tissue in there.. causing clotting. Sometimes this will cause it to pass, but you may end up needing a D & C."

I sat there sarcastically thinking, "I'm so glad they charged me $7k for my placenta removal procedure for them to not get it all anyway."

He interrupted my bitter thoughts, "So let's hope this took care of it. I'll just want you to follow up with your OB, since this isn't my specialty. Today, we're going to give you some Cytotec. It'll make your uterus contract but should stop the bleeding."

I was familiar with this drug. It's what they gave me after delivery to try to get my body to pass the tiny piece of placenta naturally. It didn't seem to cause any contractions at the time -- hence me needing to have it manually removed. (Which despite being put under for half an hour and told that it went perfectly, didn't seem to work anyway.)

Apparently, what they gave me this time was much stronger, or my body was much more sensitive to it. Within 20-30 minutes, it felt like the height of labor. The nurse chimed in, "The bleeding will probably get worse before it gets better."

Lovely.

"Here's your script. We want you to take this in intervals for the next 24 hours."

So here I was, essentially being told that I'll have to go through the labor process again. I'm truly amazed that I didn't have a complete emotional breakdown right then and there.

But instead, I chose to be grateful for my husband who left work to be there for me. He then had to take the rest of the day off to keep an eye on me. He then told me, "I'll have to make up these hours somehow. I guess I'll have to work on one of the days I took off to watch March Madness."

I broke down in tears immediately. Yes, I'm aware that sounds like an overreaction. But at this point, it was everything just piling on top of what had come before.

"You can't do that! No. Please don't. I can't take another thing away from you."

He looked blankly at me, stuck between wanting to console me and, I think, realizing it was true.

I continued, "It's always my problems, my medical bills.. I just keep taking away from you instead of adding to your life."

Even my husband didn't have a good response this time. He just sat there, holding my hand. The dutiful husband. He feels like it's his job to support me in every way. I just wish he didn't have to do it so often and to such extremes.

Luckily, the weekend was uneventful once the medication was over and contractions finally stopped. But just to top it all off, as I backed out of my garage this morning, there was a large crack across my windshield. Apparently, a rock or something must have hit it, then with the weather changes over the weekend, it just split.

*sigh*

All of this on top of being denied for my hospital stay by insurance... When can we get one thing to work in our favor? I feel like I need an entire field of lucky clovers right about now..

 

If you would like to help us get our second chance, please visit gofundme.com/shilorfund

Six Weeks

Today was my six week postpartum check-up. A day I had been dreading, but also eager to get past. The last six weeks have been such a rollercoaster.

The memorial. Becoming engorged. Dealing with my own guilt. Meeting with the fertility specialist. Doing our fundraiser. Gaining weight so quickly. Finding out insurance is denying a claim from my OHSS hospital stay. Everything was whirling around so fast that I couldn't ever find my bearings.

But as this day gradually approached, I knew it was going to be one of those days that ripped all my wounds right open. This was, after all, the office where I started that fateful morning. This was the doctor that had the look of dismay on her face -- when she knew it was over, even if she didn't want to tell me so.

I would have to relive that morning...

I burst into tears during the short drive to the office; steaming up my own sunglasses. But I pulled myself together quickly. Upon arrival, I made my way to the elevator. While usually empty in such a small building, I ended up in the elevator with a woman and her toddler son. As the elevator climbed, my heart sank into my gut.

Exiting the elevator, I made my way to the restroom as I felt the tears welling up. Luckily, it was empty, so I took a minute to myself.. to just let it out. I kept thinking, this was the last place where I heard their heartbeats. The precious heartbeats of my two children -- an impossible sound to forget. They were so strong and perfect, but I said goodbye to that sound forever in this building.

Those thoughts were like pinpricks in my heart. I could feel all the pain, loss, and love flowing out of me -- landing on the floor.

As I checked in at the desk, I was instructed to sit on one side of the waiting room, where a father was sitting with yet another toddler. This child was playing with a car on the floor, but was noticeably nervous about getting near me. Little did he know, I was more scared than he was.

Finally, I was called back. The doctor allowed me to ask questions first. And my doctor is the kind of sympathetic person, with a kind, soft voice, that makes you want to cry even when you're feeling fine. So it took all I had to keep my calm as I asked all the questions that had been bothering me.

"Do you think it was a case of incompetent cervix or preterm delivery? The doctors seem to be disagreeing. I had read that an incompetent cervix would have no symptoms and I clearly did."

She replied, "Well, technically, you are correct. An incompetent cervix will dilate without any pain. And you were having pains for hours, so I would be inclined to say it was preterm delivery. That said, at this point, we'd plan on doing a cerclage just as a precautionary measure."

"I know it's impossible to know, but I've really been struggling with 'what if I had come in the night before?'"

"The 'what-ifs' are always going to be your biggest enemy, but I know it's impossible to not question things. You had an unexpected event. No doctor would have expected it, so there's no reason you should have. And in my honest opinion, there's no way to be certain, but I highly doubt coming in sooner would have made any difference in the outcome. Even if we could have stalled labor for a week or two, they still would have arrived too soon."

Then a quick pelvic exam showed all was well. My body is healed. Now I just have to give my heart some time.

If you would like to help us get our second chance, please visit gofundme.com/shilorfund

Four Weeks

Tomorrow will be four weeks.. Four weeks since I had my children, and four weeks since I lost them.

Who knew that a month could go so fast, yet so painfully slow at the same time?

I'm reminded frequently that even when I think I'm doing okay, it just takes one question, one crying baby, or one doting mother to rip my insides right out.

Just yesterday, I was on bridesmaid duty. Meeting the bride and the other bridesmaids to try on dresses. I knew ahead of time that it would be trying. I had called the store in mid January to schedule myself for after the twin's birth. But here I was, no longer pregnant. It meant that I was going to try on dresses, repeatedly looking at my body in the mirror. I would be looking at what still feels like a stranger's body. Not pregnant, but still bloated -- deflated.

So, I was planning on being upset, though hoping to not be overwhelmed.

Unfortunately, as the salesperson was talking to us about styles and said she'd be taking measurements, I needed to tell her that I wasn't yet 'back to normal' physically. So instead of giving loads of details, I simply said, "I'm not down to my usual size yet. I gave birth last month."

She took it in stride, and went about doing her job.

But later, when all the wedding party were gathered around, she decided to take my measurements. So as I stood with outstretched arms, a tape measure pulled around my waste, she asks from behind me, "So, what did you have? A boy or a girl?"

My hands went numb, my mouth dried, and my heart fell to my feet. I kept my gaze forward, only to notice the bride was now looking at me with the look of apology. She knew I had just been crushed in that instant.

I took a deep breath and said, "I had twins.."

But before I could finish, the sales girl let's out an "Aww."

I had to swallow back my pain. "But it was preterm. They didn't make it..."

Then, silence. There was nothing left to say.

The bride approached me and gave me a hug as the others just stared, unsure of what to say or do.

I wish I could say it got easier from there, but it didn't. There were groups of flower girls trying on dresses, proudly parading for their wedding parties. I tried so hard not to stare.. wondering to myself what Jasper would have looked like with long curly hair, in a little white dress. How her giggle would have sounded as she ran around a store with her friends. I have no idea, yet I can hear it with my heart.

There was also a woman carrying around her newborn son. Everyone was oohing and ahhing over him. Me? I avoided looking at all costs. Just hearing his babbling and coos, on top of all the women doting on his cuteness and smallness, was too much to bear. I knew I couldn't do anything but keep my back to him if I had any chance for keeping myself composed.

So many times I felt like I was going to cry. For no reason at all. For every reason you can imagine. Each time, I would purse my lips and just exhale..

That is, until I made it back to my car. I fell apart, curled up in the driver's seat.. until finally reaching out to the sun catcher hanging from my rear view mirror -- engraved with both their names. As the sun glinted off each prism, I took another deep breath. "I miss you so much..."

If you'd like to help us get our second chance, please visit our fundraising page at gofundme.com/shilorfund

Mondays And "How Are You?"

Most everyone has a disdain for Mondays. But few actually feel emotional, and sometimes, literal physical pain from its arrival. But that's precisely what I have now.

Sunday nights start brewing with all the thoughts and guilt of how my labor started on a Sunday, but I was unaware of it. So, true to course, I collapsed in tears while taking my shower last night. Sobbing out apologies to my children as the water poured over me.

Not until the warm water runs out do I convince myself to stand up, dry my now puffy eyes, and put on my pajamas. I then made my way to bed, where my husband had been asleep for an hour or so already. I curled up close to him.. not just because I wanted to.. but because I knew I'd fall apart again, almost instantly, if I didn't.

He woke up for a few minutes as I explained that I fell to pieces in the shower, and that for at least a few minutes, I needed to feel close to him. I stayed in that nook; with my head on his shoulder, until I felt content enough to roll away.

But as usually happens before falling asleep, at random moments, I'll feel an instant weight in my lungs and tightening of my stomach. My whole body will begin to shake as I curl into a fetal position and just cry for a few seconds.

I never have the heart to wake my husband up when this happens.. So, I didn't last night either.

I proceeded to have several dreams about giving birth; waking up each time in tears -- until finally morning arrived.

But Monday is no emotional reprieve. As the hours tick by, I recall the moment I went to the doctor's office, when I arrived to the hospital, glancing at the clock when I began to push, and the moment that each of them arrived in the world -- quickly followed by the moment each of them left. Mondays are now memory minefields.. just waiting to tear me apart without a moment's notice.

I peaked today, when a client asked, "So how are the babies?"

I'd managed to avoid this question for weeks now, but here it was. I struggled my way through an answer. "Well, we lost them 3 weeks ago today. I went into preterm labor..."

"I'm sorry. What a dumb thing to ask," she interrupted.

"It's okay, you didn't know," I replied. "They lived about an hour and then passed."

As she left I felt like I got through it fairly well, but as I made my way back to my office, that familiar sinking tightness in my chest began to appear. I quickly diverted to the employee bathroom, locked the door, and braced myself against the wall. With my arms pushed out in front of me, I looked down at the floor. Watching water droplets fall onto the tile. Drip. Drip. Drip.

I waited for the tears to slow, then dried my eyes.

This is Monday for me.

I'm not sure what is worse, Mondays in general, or when people ask me "How are you doing?" Inevitably, I've been asked this unintentionally loaded question dozens of times.

I know they're unsure and uneasy about what else to say or ask, and it comes from a good place. But the truth is, it rips the wounds wide open again.. because it demands an answer.

So I usually have to lie, saying I'm doing okay or "eh" .. because nobody is prepared for the honest answer. The answer that repeats itself over and over in my head.

"Both of my babies died in my arms. Both of my babies died in my arms. Both of my babies died in my arms..."

That says it all. It says everything I'm thinking. Everything I'm feeling. But it's everything I'm still scared to say out loud unless I'm alone in the shower on a Sunday night. It's like a mantra of pain, built only for one.

So, should you find yourself in such a position, asking someone how they are because you just want them to know you care.. simply say, "I'm thinking about you." Something that doesn't require an answer, a trip down memory lane, or a baring of the soul that they're not ready or willing to do. Something that just says, "I'm here."

With Love

First, I have to share a little story about a very special card we received yesterday. I had gone home for lunch and fetched the mail. I immediately noticed a small manila envelope that was hand addressed from someone within our city. But I didn't recognize the sender's name..

I assumed it was someone my husband knew, sending us a card with their condolences. Still, this wasn't a normal card envelope. So, I opened it to find one sealed card, one open card, and a letter stuffed inside.

I pulled open the card that wasn't sealed and noticed it was signed to someone else. For a few seconds I was confused, "Why would someone send us a card made for someone else?"

But I kept reading...

"I was so sorry to hear of the loss of your son. Steve and I lost 2 boys of our own 2 years apart of different complications. We were so thankful that we already had Brad in our life. It does get a little easier as the years go by. The holidays and special days are the worst..."

I skipped to the signatures to confirm what I had just figured out. This was a card that my husband's, now deceased, mother sent to one of his classmates when they lost a child.

My eyes began to well up with tears. These were the words his mother would have told us if she was still here. I still wish, desperately, that I had gotten to meet her. But my husband and I were just coworkers and acquaintances when she passed. I knew, as I read her words, nothing would be more impactful for my husband. I was filled with happiness for the comfort I knew he'd find in his mother's words.

I then made my way to the letter, written by Rachel, who sent the package. She explained the whole story of how they lost one of their twins and received this card from my husband's mother. She went on to say that she was reading these blogs and found them true to her experience as well.

Of course, I texted Brad to warn him. "We just got something in the mail that will make you cry."

He quipped, "A bill?"

As soon as he got home that evening, I pulled him over to the counter where the card was. I had repackaged it all back into the larger envelope just as I received it. He too, opened the card from his mother first, but unlike me.. he recognized her handwriting immediately. I just stood there, watching him read -- his eyes filling up with tears.

He didn't say anything.. just pulled me in tight for a hug. A long, silent hug.. which is husband code for "If I talk, I'll cry."

He took a moment to reminisce about his mother, how kind she was, and how he remembered visiting his two younger brothers' gravesites with her.. and how she'd always cry.. but he didn't really ever understand her pain until now.

Long after her death, her words and her legacy are teaching my husband life lessons and bringing him peace. I am forever grateful to Rachel for saving the card and thinking, so generously, that she should forward it along to us.

So with love, I say thank you.

Which leads appropriately to the fact that today happens to be Valentine's Day. Though, not at all like the one I had pictured and hoped for. This day was supposed to arrive with my two greatest loves still growing inside me; with my husband spoiling me as the soon-to-be mother of his children.

But that's not what I'm getting.. and it stings.

The unwavering bright spot in all this is my husband. I had said to him on the day our babies were born that their gift to us was that they brought us closer and even more in love. I have no doubt in that statement, and it seems to be even more true by the day.

In fact, I recall just a few days after coming home from hospital, as we got into bed.. I said, "I love you." And I felt everything sort of pause. Those words felt entirely different. It wasn't a phrase of habit or just a way to say goodnight. It was something, that now, I felt down in my bones. Even on the most ordinary of days in the most ordinary of moments -- the love I was claiming felt extraordinary.

I cuddled up next to him, looked up at him and asked, "Does that feel different to you when you say it?"

He responded, "Yeah. It means more..."

Happy Valentine's Day, my dear..

My partner in all things; good and bad. Our love created two very special people. And because of that, we'll never be the same. I love you.

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.

Recovery, Memorial Preparation, and Emotional Triggers

I've decided to blog a bit about my (and our) recovery, since I find it cathartic and I know so many people are reading this blog now. I sincerely hope that sharing these experiences will help or prepare others that have gone through, or may face, a similar situation.

Physically, the recovery has been easy. In fact, feeling 'normal' has been emotionally difficult. I yearn to feel the 'fluttering' and heaviness in my stomach. Now I literally and figuratively feel empty.. and it's still so hard to wrap my head around that.

Emotionally, well, that's another matter. People keep asking us how we're doing. The truth is, it changes by the minute.

There are times when we're falling apart, in full sobs, and then there are others when it doesn't even feel like any of it really happened. When for a fleeting moment it doesn't even feel like the pregnancy was real. But I've decided to share some of the former moments with you all.

First breakdown occurred when we arrived home from the hospital. No surprise since I was emotionally dangling by a thread to begin with. But I expected my trigger to be the diapers we had already purchased, or the Babies R' Us catalog sitting on the coffee table. But I was numb to all of that. Instead, it was when we were returning the car seats to the store.

Yes, I know, it's asking for trouble to do anything baby related the day after losing your babies. But I felt that having two huge car seats sitting in my living room would be far worse in the long run. So, I asked my brother to bring his SUV into town.. giving us one less thing to worry about later.

We loaded them up into his SUV, and originally, Brad was just going to follow him to do the return while I stayed at home. My gut kept telling me that wasn't fair to Brad. I needed, and should, go with him. By the time we got to the first stoplight, behind my brother's vehicle, tears were already falling. Everything inside me was saying, "I don't want to return this stuff. I want to USE this stuff. It belongs to my babies..."

By the time we arrived to the store, I could barely breathe. Brad held my hand, and gave it a squeeze that said he'd be right back. Clearly, I couldn't go in. As I sat there in the car, my face turned away from the store, the car door suddenly opened. I hear my brother's voice, "Are you okay?"

The flood gates immediately opened. We hugged until I stopped crying...

The next hurdle would come later in the evening, and it took me by complete surprise.

Brad had already fallen asleep, and I assumed I would take a shower.. like I do every evening. But I was suddenly paralyzed, crying as I sat on the bed, unable to even approach the bathroom. Of course, Brad woke up to this, trying to decipher what was going on...

I struggled to explain the depth of the emotion I felt, so worried that he wouldn't understand. That he couldn't grasp that I hadn't showered since I delivered our children. Tears streaming down my face, in near fetal position, I explained that I still felt them on me. That I didn't want to wash them off. That I didn't want to wash that day off of me.. That I just couldn't.

He implored me to just wait, and try in the morning. "You'll sleep better if you just wait."

So I did.. But the morning proved no easier.

Before even going into the restroom, Brad offered, "I'll come in and sit while you shower if it helps." But I assured him I could do it. It wasn't fair to him to make him take care of me. I should be able to shower on my own.

I was wrong.

I made my way to our bathroom, removed most of my clothing, and then froze again. I started to cry from deep within my gut. Blood dripping down my legs. I admitted defeat and called out for my husband.. who made me look at him as he told me repeatedly that nothing ever could wash away our babies. That moving on from that day doesn't make me a bad mother. All the things that I had been trying to tell myself, but I only start to believe when my husband says it.

Sure enough, he sat in the restroom for my entire shower, which I cried my way through. But once I got out, I wrapped a towel around me, and Brad just held me until some sense of normalcy returned.

A few hours later, we were off to the funeral home to pick out urns and plan a memorial service. (If you were wondering, we've decided to do an informal candlelight memorial.) Strangely enough, neither of us were emotional there. It was just too businesslike to elicit anything. But I also knew that it would mean planning some things at home, like music selection, that would get me a few times. But all in all, the planning has actually given me something to focus on, instead of allowing me to dwell too much.

That was until tonight. We had just finished dinner, and suddenly my breasts HURT. And I just happened to have one arm pulled back and realized that my breast looked like I had a rock implant in it. So I touched it, and sure enough, the rock implant description was even more accurate. I was taken aback.

I turned to Brad, "You have to feel this. What is this? This can't be.... I'm making milk."

Right on time. Three days after delivering, I was engorged. I remarked bitterly, "Sure. THIS my body can do when it's supposed to."

Within 30 seconds, the tears came again. My body was making milk for the babies I didn't get to bring home. And I have to expect it to last at least a few days. A reminder that I can't ignore, overlook, or distract myself from. Just an 'in your face' statement from my body that I should be feeding my babies.

I felt utterly gutted. And again, grateful to have an understanding husband to console me.

He hasn't had an easy go of it either, but his triggers are completely different. His body isn't sending him cues and his hormones aren't fluctuating.. Just random moments throughout the day are difficult -- a specific post or message we receive, a conversation we're having, or just a quiet time during the day. It starts with a quivering chin, but ends up with us holding each other.

We know it's all "normal" .. but normal isn't easy.