Because I like to drive myself crazy...

    Or am overtly morbid, or just like to cry, I am not sure which; I decided to take a drive through the cemetery where our little twins are buried at the  Memorial to the Unborn. It's a big, old cemetery right next to the hospital. I didn't realize quite how big it was, because I thought I could just drive right up and see the place where the hospital buried our little boys. As I drove through, I realized it was almost dusk and I wouldn't have a whole lot of time to look. I drove around and around, sure I would be able to spot the Monument to the Unborn. The place is so huge, and it was getting darker and darker, so I, being me, started to panic.

Perfectly reasonable response, right? Well, for me it is. It's sort of a learned response. When I am pregnant, I often have nightmares that I can't find my baby. When Caleb was born, they whisked him away to another hospital and I wasn't allowed to go with him. I had the same nightmare/feeling all the time I was away from him.  When we found out we had lost our twins, I had that same nightmare over and over.  It actually just stopped a couple (mostly) a couple of weeks ago. Driving through that cemetery and not finding where the babies were buried just brought all that scary/sad/traumatized feeling back. I often say I like to torture myself. I cannot imagine any other reason I had to go traipsing through a cemetery that was about to close, trying to find something when I hadn't the first clue where it might be.

 I left because I was afraid they would close the gate with me still in there. I just wanted to sit where they were for a minute. They would have been born by now. The doctor told us they would take mono/mono twins by 35 weeks - get them out where they would be safer. I just wanted to be with them for a few minutes. I know they are not really here. I know where they are, but that doesn't stop the feeling, in the middle of the night, or afternoon, or anytime, from sneaking up on me and making me feel desperate to get to them. I know I am dwelling. I don't let myself, very often. I haven't even looked at their pictures in weeks, because I don't want to cry. I just stopped. I don't want to stir it all up. But, knowing they were recently buried, and that had they lived, they would be in my arms by now...I just wound up at the cemetery on my way home one day.

Someone said something to me the other day, I can't even remember what it was now, but it made me think, "Well, if that hadn't happened, we would never have had the twins." It made me realize, that even with losing them, even with all the sadness, I am still so very grateful they were ours. Even though it was brief. Even though the Lord had other plans for them. They are a blessing. Our family was blessed by their presence. We were even blessed with their loss. A friend told me they were a different kind of blessing, and at the time, though I believed her, I didn't feel it yet. All I felt was loss. Now I feel it. They were beautiful. They were here, they are our very special intercessors in heaven, whom we ask for prayers every single night.

Thank you, Lord, for the gifts our sweet George and Gabriel. Hold them close for me, Blessed Mother, until I can hold them myself. Amen.

Thankful for the Joy...

Losing our sweet little babies took me to a dark place. I was so, so very sad. Heartbroken. Far more heartbroken than I have ever experienced. I have lost babies before, ended relationships. But never before have I been this heartbroken. I felt so much anger. I felt like no one was hearing my prayers.

It has been a little over a month now. I am still sad, still cry so easily. Any emotion at all brings the tears to my eyes. My husband. Oh my. He and I have come through all of this so very much in love. It's weird, how something so painful can bring about a level of love and closeness that is astonishing in it's strength. I don't quite know how to describe it, but I have been marveling at it, and reveling in it. I am so grateful for it, because it has brought so much joy back into my heart. I am so grateful for him. Thank you Lord, for the gift of my husband.

The kids are sweet. They were sweet the whole time, but I was having to really dig to feel the joy they usually bring me. It's back. Some of it is a little bittersweet. My Yebbi - the babies really looked like him. The shape of his head, his legs, they will allow me glimpses of what our little George and Gabriel would have looked like. My Ben has been sick this whole time. Usually this would have made him extra grumpy, but I don't know if he is picking up on the warm, sweet vibe running through our house, but he has been pure joy. Sweet, kind, huggable. Wanting to snuggle and be held. He, Yeb and Luke have been full of funny things to say and I have been savoring each and every one. I am so glad to be "back"! I love being in love with all these kids. I love tucking a little boy under each arm to read stories and say prayers at night. I love how smart and funny Kolbe is. I love how much Jonah loves his brothers and spends so much time playing with them. I love how he likes to stand close to me, to prove how tall he is, and that he is gaining on me rapidly. I love how my Jenna is such a help to me, and loves to chase after Yebbi and grab him up for a snuggle. My Kenzie Rose, she is like my right arm. We sing in the kitchen, in the car, doing laundry. It is so good to want to sing with her again. Thank you, Lord, for the gifts of my sweet children.

Our little house. I was mad at it. I can't really tell you why. I think, perhaps, I have always looked at it with those rose colored glasses. We moved here 10 years ago. It was the first house we purchased together. I loved it. I mean, really, really loved it. It's an 80 year old foursquare with some arts and crafts influences. It needs plumbing work, wiring, paint, and lots more. But to me, it was this little haven where we were safe. Where we were raising all these sweet little babies. Somehow, when this happened, my house bubble burst. I felt like the house let me down somehow. I know it doesn't make sense, but I didn't care if we moved, if I never saw this house again. But, my love for this place, the joy I feel here is starting to come back. I know a house can't keep you safe from life, but up until this point, I really felt like it had. I love our house again, and I am so glad. I don't love the stickiness, or the mess, or the plumbing, but I love the arches, and the french doors, the solid cherry woodwork, the huge windows that I cannot bear to cover completely, as they let in so much light. I am happy we live here, again. Thank you, Lord, for the gift of a safe and happy home.

I am so thankful to be able to feel joy again. I know I will never get over losing my little babies, but I will be happy, feel joy. Even feel joy in knowing that I have completed the mission of getting my children to heaven. I have six children in heaven, waiting for me. I will do everything I humanly can to make sure the rest of us get there, too. I love you, my little ones. I will meet you someday. Thank you for the joy you brought me, so very briefly, while you were here. I am grateful for the joy you feel at the feet of Jesus, for all eternity.

A New Way of Thinking...

When I was pregnant, my mind constantly revolved around how we were going to move bedrooms around for our twins, how many nursing bras I would need, whether we would be painting the bedroom that would be the nursery (for girls) or just dress it up a bit for boys. Doug and I had a constant but friendly battle over names going, and I would have to say that a good 70% of my thinking revolved around babies, doctors, pregnancy, nursing, or some other baby related topic.

Actually, I have been either pregnant or nursing or both for the last nearly 16 years. All of it. No breaks in between. To suddenly have only me physically dependent on my body is weird. I feel like I am having a bit of an identity crisis. If I go to take a pain reliever, I stop and think first, and then realize, I can do whatever I need to, without consideration for how it will affect a wee one. To some this might be welcome, but it just makes me sad.

I need a new way of thinking about my life, my own body, and the way the future is stretching out in front of me. We've had so many miscarriages, and this last one is beyond anything we have gone through before. My husband is staunchly in the "no more babies" camp. I wish I were. Six months ago, I would have told you I was in that camp too, and meant it. But, six months ago, I was still nursing our baby, Yeb. Six months ago I was tired. Six months ago, I hadn't just lost my twin boys. I know that another pregnancy would not bring back my boys, but it might fill some of the ache. It might (I have long since learned that a pregnancy does not necessarily mean a living babe in arms) fill my aching arms, and it might help the tears stop. I know that this is a knee jerk reaction to loss. I have had this same reaction every time we have lost a baby. The urge to be pregnant, hold a baby, nurse a baby comes on so strong. I think I am driving my poor husband crazy. I know he understands, and I am also aware that he considers it a normal, though irrational reaction to loss. He is waiting for me to get over it, patiently. He gently reminds me of why it's not a good idea to have any more babies (aside from the fact that he turned 49 yesterday). But, BUT, BUTTTTTT. I am full of "buts". But I want a baby. But Yeb is still so small that it won't be that big a difference, but I have wanted a little girl for so long. But I am so selfish.

I know what my husband, who has been by my side for all of the last 16 years of babies, miscarriages, emergencies, sick babies, and so many other things, wants. We've been through a LOT. Not as much as some, but still... a lot. He needs to be able to be his age a little. Not a new dad every 2 years or so. But that isn't even why. He thinks I have been through too much. He thinks we've pushed our luck too far, too many times. 16 years, 12 pregnancies, 7 babies. Three babies very ill at birth. It's been hard, and scary. And incredible. It's been our life. I need a new way of thinking about life that doesn't mean babies... and that's hard for me. I have dreamt of nothing but having babies since I was about 12 years old. I just wanted babies. A couple of times I have gotten to a point where I thought I would be comfortable if we never had another baby. When I got pregnant with Luke, I was so tired, and I was a little dismayed. But, he was Doug's (and God's) idea. He wanted another baby - and so we had our Luke. Then, after Yeb - being born c-section and sick, we thought that would be a good time to be done having babies, but I never really ruled it out in my head. I had dreams of a sweet little pink bundle. Those dreams are hard to give up, even though I know that we have been abundantly blessed. But, I guess it's time. My body has become more of a death trap for a baby than a cozy place to grow. We are getting older, and we could even have grandchildren in the next few years. It's time to close this chapter and move on to the next one. I'm not ready. I still dream of that bundle of sweetness. I still want babies. I guess acceptance of this new phase of life will come in time.

If you are one of my babies reading this, I want you to know this...all the heartache, all the scares, all the hospitals and doctors and losses...every second I got to hold you, nurse you, love you. Each and every single second of that was worth all of this.

A Bit of Normal

When it first happened, everyone wanted to bring food, and tried to surround us with love. I just couldn't handle that. I didn't want anyone to act like anything was really out of place, or really wrong. Our moms brought food, and my sister-in-law (my mother in law fed my kids while we were in the hospital, thank goodness, and my mom brought so much food, it lasted all weekend!). Some sweet friends from far away sent a gift card to a favorite local restaurant (I still can't figure out how she did that so fast), which we used for a bit of  "fun" for the kids. But, when my sisters and friends asked when they could send a meal, I asked them not to. I just hated the feeling that we needed help, or taken care of, or that something so bad had happened that people felt it necessary to bring food. My kids cried for days, and my crying just made it worse. I needed to at least get the kids to a place where they could feel like everything was going to be okay, even though for me and their dad, and for them too, it was going to be a long time to get back to normal. I think my sisters and friends understood my need for normal, or were just willing to give me whatever I wanted. Either way, it helped me feel more normal, to have to fix dinner, or hear my sweet husband moving around in the kitchen creating one of his masterpieces. He cooked so much that week, and took such good care of all of us. I think he needed to be able to cook, do the things he would normally do. When something happens that is so painful, and so not what you were expecting, then you need the routine and schedule, and daily chores of life to keep you sane. At least, we did.

The house is starting to feel more normal, though my bedroom, it's hard to be in there. It's where I would lay at night, with my hands low on my belly, to feel their tiny nudges and pokes. Just a few days before they died, my husband and I lay in that bed for the longest time, him trying to feel them moving, and me giggling and saying "Did you feel that? Oh wait, there is one over here! Did you feel that?" Finally, after some chasing around, and me holding my breath, and him being very still and waiting, he was able to feel the tiny nudges and the roaming around of our wee babies. It was a special moment, one we've shared many times, but always special because of the newness of each little being. This time there were two of them, and we were going to soon know who they were; Priscilla Grace and Suzanna Joy, or George Ellis and Gabriel Akers (It makes me so happy to see their names all typed out, I feel like it makes them more real to people, it certainly makes them more real to me. And of course they are real, even if  we were the only people, outside the doctor and nurse and a sweet nun, who ever saw them. They are real, we have pictures, and we held them. I have a tiny stack of their 'things' in my room.). I was so, so hoping for little girls, but my, oh my, I would give just about anything to have my sweet baby boys here, growing and getting ready for the world. I am starting to accept what a dear friend said to me the other day, this was a different kind of blessing, but a blessing all the same. It just doesn't feel like one yet.

In this house, with noisy boys and bossy girls creating chaos all day long, it has gotten easier to keep the tears at bay, but they are still hitting me at unexpected times. I find something I had bookmarked to buy for the babies, or I smell a smell that doesn't bother anyone else, and think "oh, that pregnant smell aversion!" only to remember that I am not pregnant, though I seem to be left with a few hormones and other symptoms that have not yet gotten the message. Still, I am treasuring the last bits of this and other minor discomforts, as they are the last physical signs that my boys were here.

I go back to work tomorrow, and I pray and pray that no one says anything to me. They all know what happened, but only my family and a handful of people know me very well. I hate crying in front of people, but if anyone says anything to me, I know the tears will start. I just don't like sympathy. I can't handle it, don't know what to do with it. I haven't been back to church yet, either. Though I know my sisters and friends have told most people, and asked them not to say anything to me.  I hope this doesn't sound whiny, but if it does, so be it. I don't know how to handle it, otherwise. I just need to feel normal, if that makes any sense. I can keep the tears under control, if people just act like it didn't happen. But, at the same time it is this huge thing that is in the front of my heart every minute. One of the bloggers I read explained it in one of her posts. She said she couldn't decide if she wanted people to ask, or not to ask, or ignore her, or just pretend everything was fine. I feel just that way. Ask, or don't, or ignore me. I don't know what I want. I just want some normal. But I have a feeling that "normal" is a long, long way away from here.

A Lesson I Needed Today

 Have you ever shaken your fist at God? I have been doing so much of that lately. Another Catholic Mama put it into a bit of perspective for me...

 http://practicingmammal.blogspot.com/2011/10/shaking-my-fist.html?showComment=1319482324251#c5072856313067839952

And the World Keeps Turning

The world keeps turning. There is news, and events. People's lives keep going, and I sit here and wonder how it can be. My world is at a stand still. I don't even feel like I want it to keep turning. It doesn't make sense. I have cried and cried, but still the tears come. I don't feel normal, but I am trying to create some normal for my little ones. My poor husband has held me every night while I cried myself to sleep, and has been awakened when I cry in my sleep. I know it won't always feel like this, and that when I move through this a little, it will start to get better. But you know what my deep, dark secret is? I don't want to move through. I don't want to move through, because they were here for so short a time, and every day that passes takes me further away from them. I don't want to change my sheets, because that bed is the last place I knew they were alive, and it was the place I went to cry when I found out they were gone. I don't want or wish to be sad forever, but I feel like my sadness is the last remnant I have of them. I don't really want my body to heal, because these are the last physical connections I have to them. I know that none if this is healthy, and that some people will tell me that it will get better, or not to dwell, or whatever. Right now, I really don't care. I want them. I know, I know, they were never really mine. But you know what else? I really don't care about that either. They were mine. They were a part of me. A part of us.

Prayer for Miscarriage by Mother Angelica

My Lord, the baby is dead!

 Why, my Lord—dare I ask why? It will not hear the whisper of the wind or see the beauty of its parents’ face—it will not see the beauty of Your creation or the flame of a sunrise. Why, my Lord?

 “Why, My child—do you ask ‘why’? Well, I will tell you why.

 You see, the child lives. Instead of the wind he hears the sound of angels singing before My throne. Instead of the beauty that passes he sees everlasting Beauty—he sees My face. He was created and lived a short time so the image of his parents imprinted on his face may stand before Me as their personal intercessor. He knows secrets of heaven unknown to men on earth. He laughs with a special joy that only the innocent possess. My ways are not the ways of man. I create for My Kingdom and each creature fills a place in that Kingdom that could not be filled by another. He was created for My joy and his parents’ merits. He has never seen pain or sin. He has never felt hunger or pain. I breathed a soul into a seed, made it grow and called it forth.”

 I am humbled before you, my Lord, for questioning Your wisdom, goodness, and love. I speak as a fool—forgive me. I acknowledge Your sovereign rights over life and death. I thank You for the life that began for so short a time to enjoy so long an Eternity.                                                                                              --  Mother M. Angelica

A Post, Of All Things...

Anyone out there? Hello? Is this thing on? You mean, no one is here because I have been so full of neglect that this little blog sees absolutely no traffic? Shocking. I click onto the dashboard nearly every day. I think of things I need and want to write about all the time. The problem? Energy. I just don't have a lick of it these days. The thought of doing anything that is not absolutely required has just been more than I was willing to deal with, sadly.
BUT, I seem to have turned a corner! Yay - As of this weekend, my second trimester started, and all that over whelming fatigue and nausea lifted. I feel much more normal, thank goodness! My poor kids. They have been lacking in clean laundry and real food when their dad is at work. Got caught up this weekend, finally.

So...on with the post and off with the whining. We are pregnant, which most people probably know, with identical twins due in March. This was sort of a shock, and sort of not at all surprising. The night before I took a pregnancy test, I had a dream. I was praying, and asking God for just one more little girl. He and I started chatting, and I said, laughing, "Actually, if you could make it red haired twin girls, so that they would always have a sister near their own age, that would be great!" and God replied in the dream, "Alright, alright, twin red headed girls! Now QUIT BUGGING ME FOR STUFF, ALREADY! I have already blessed you so abundantly!".

When I woke up in the morning, I didn't really remember much of the dream, it was just there in the back of my mind, and I sort of laughed. Later, realizing that my cycle had gone l day longer than it ever had before, I decided to take a test. I was FLOORED when I saw those two pink lines. Truly. I know you will think that's crazy, given the number of children we have, but I was. We had determined that we were done having babies, for a number of reasons. We made it a whole two years, which we had never done before...not that we had ever actually tried.

We made an appointment with an OB right away, as I was on the hunt to find one that would let me have a VBAC. During our first appointment, I had an ultrasound because I have had a previous ectopic, so they always do an early scan to be sure the baby is where it is supposed to be. When the tech scanned over the baby, I could see right away, even though it was super early, that something was different. I started talking the same time the tech did... we were both seeing more than one baby. It was startling, for sure. One gestational sac, with two little tiny babies inside it. Sitting in the waiting room, waiting to see the nurse practitioner, I had a fit of hysterical laughter. I could not get the giggles to stop. Doug was just sort of in shock. Twins! I just remember that dream...and knew it was true, even though the tech was not 100% sure what she was seeing, so we went in two weeks later to repeat the ultrasound. Sure enough, two little babies!

Now, we still don't know if they are girls or not, and of course have no idea about hair color...but really, how could they be anything else? Now to figure out names...my husband REALLY wants Priscilla. What do ya'll think? I kinda really don't like it, but he's kind of awesome, and has wanted it for years. Priscilla Grace, and we would call her "Rissa". Hmmm. And we still need another name...and boys names, just in case...

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