Infertility... Again

I had expected it since we walked through our journey of infertility to get pregnant the first time, but dealing with infertility after losing our daughter seemed extra cruel. Although I anticipated we would probably have to go through fertility treatments again once we were ready to conceive after Mary died, a part of me thought that surely we would get a free pass. Surely things had to be easier this time because we’ve already experienced the worst pain we could ever imagine when our daughter died. There’s no way the added stress/disappointment/sadness of infertility could be added onto that.

Just yesterday I was going through photos on my phone and found countless quotes and verses that I had saved to stay positive and to help give me strength during those horrible days. Yes, we had walked that path before– the waiting, the hope, the disappointment, then doing it all over again every month. Somehow, looking back, our first infertility experience wasn’t as tough. Although sometimes bleak, there was still hope and promise for an incredible outcome. Facing infertility after loss is a very different story.

Our hearts have already been broken more than we ever thought possible and each new cycle is a new little tear in a heart that is barely being held together. The whole struggle is extra hard after loss because, well, a big part of us knows that getting a positive test does not mean we get a baby to keep at the end of it all. But don’t we deserve a chance? Don’t we deserve to feel that life growing inside of us again…just to be filled with life again? As much as we may have been destroyed by loss, we would do it all over again for a chance at that incredible love that exists only between mother and child.

As devastating as it is, facing infertility after loss is the ultimate declaration of bravery and of love for all of your children. You have had your heart broken before, yet you continue to endure the pain every month because you know that it’s worth it. You know that the mother’s love you have in your heart needs another child here on this earth to pour into. That is one of the bravest things any woman can do.

Fear of Forgetting

After I got pregnant with my rainbow I was presented with this new fear– the fear of forgetting. Now, this fear was two-fold. It was the fear that, with this new baby, people would begin to forget about Mary; they’d forget that we were still hurting. They’d forget that our family was still incomplete. However, I was not just afraid that others would forget. There was a part of me that was afraid I would forget.

I know it’s absurd because there’s really no way I could ever forget about that perfect beautiful girl that I gave birth to, but I was afraid of forgetting the details. I was afraid that her perfect teeny tiny feet would become a distant memory once I saw my newborn son’s feet and was able to watch them grow. There was a fear that after kissing my son every day, I would forget what those final kisses with my daughter felt like. Her dimpled chin and her itty bitty fingers wouldn’t be as vivid after I felt my son grab my fingers or after I wiped milk from his chin. I don’t want to forget those things. I don’t want to forget anything about her. I just wasn’t sure that the front of my mind could hold all of these memories and images.

The fear also came when thinking about friends and family forgetting about her. Would they remember to consider us a family of five now? Would everyone think that our hearts were magically healed now because we have a new baby? Would they forget to ask about her or say her name? It is difficult because I can’t control what other people do/say but what I can do is continue to remind them. I can continue to include her as part of our family. I can continue to talk about how we as a family are grieving now.

Now that my son has been here for a few months, I can say that the part about me forgetting is…complicated. Mary is not forgotten or far from my heart. She is always a part of my day and part of our lives. However, as painful as it is to say this, she isn’t in my every thought anymore. Instead of the pain of losing her overcoming everything I do, it is a bit further away now. It doesn’t consume me or haunt me, but it lives within me in a nice little pocket built just for her. The pain is always there, her memory is always there and her life is always there. I could never ever forget it but it has made its way deeper into my brain and my heart and not necessarily at the front of my mind daily. And I think I’m ok with that.

Learning to Parent While Learning to Grieve

Learning to parent a medically fragile baby while also learning to grieve as a bereaved parent was beyond confusing and overwhelming. I know that I am not alone in being a parent of a “twinless twin”. When my babies came into this world 15 weeks too early, we were instantly shoved into parenthood. We were terrified and unsure what this new world would look like. Unsure how to be good parents in the NICU, we were eager to listen to doctors and nurses and learn all we could. When our world crashed down two days later with our daughter’s death, we were suddenly forced into a new kind of parenthood; one of both bereavement and medical uncertainty.

Becoming a parent is a beautiful learning experience but these are not the things I wanted to learn. I didn’t want to learn about PDAs and ROP and CLD and brain bleeds and ventilator settings. I certainly didn’t want to learn about burial options and gravestone choices and memorial cards but this was my intro to parenting.

I thought I knew what kind of mother I would be and this is definitely not it. Being in the NICU while one baby fights so hard for his life after you have just watched his twin die in your arms is devastating. The fear for any parent in the NICU is huge but once you’ve seen the “worst case scenario”, that fear is exponentially greater. Each step forward was coupled with great sadness and grief and each devastating moment of loss was paired with pride of reaching new milestones. The dichotomy of these highs and lows constantly existing at the same time is so difficult to understand.

There is no way that this rocky beginning didn’t affect me as a mother. I’m constantly full of anxiety when it comes to my surviving twin’s health, “Is he ok?” “Is that normal?” “When do I take him to the doctor?” I know that a lot of first time parents have these thoughts but for us who have lived through the worst, it’s just… Different. It’s more real. The fear and anxiety is for a reason. We are walking around with fragile broken hearts and know that we can’t take another loss like that!

The three times that my son has slept through the night (he’s almost 2.5 years old), I did not welcome the extra sleep…I was terrified. Is he breathing? Is he alive? I have great anxiety being away from him or having someone else watch him (even if for a very short time). I know that these (maybe totally unfounded) feelings stem directly from having lost our daughter.

The start of our parenting journey was, well, pretty traumatizing. It changed me as a mother. It made me more fearful, more reclusive, more frantic. It has also made me pray more, appreciate more and love more.

One Piece of Advice

Someone recently asked me what my one piece of advice would be for new parents. “Crap!” I thought, “I am clearly not the person to ask about how to be a good parent.” I’m not even sure what I said to answer that question but thinking back on it now, I think I know how I’d answer. It is simply this: “This is the most important work you’ll ever do. You’ll never feel like you’re doing it right but you’ll always do your best. This is the only job that truly matters.”

I realized I was not asked how to be a “good” parent but rather what to say to a new parent. I don’t know that anyone always feels like they’re doing a great job. Sure, we have those moments where you think, “damn, I’m good” but those come less often than the moments of “where did I go wrong?”.

I think as mothers who do not get to parent all of our children here on earth, we can be much harder on ourselves. As much as we can keep telling ourselves that we didn’t fail, there’s often that little thought that can sneak in and remind us of our ultimate failure to keep all of our children. We know it’s not our fault and we did nothing wrong but still feel incomplete as a parent.

Losing my daughter has taught me what is truly important in this world. I know that I parent differently now because of her. I’m not going to worry that the high chair tray doesn’t get wiped down right after a meal. That’s not a failure. I don’t care that the laundry may sit unfolded for a few days (or maybe not even make it out of the dryer). That’s not a failure. I won’t be bothered that I had to carry my son out of the store kicking and screaming because he wanted to climb the mannequin. That’s not a failure.

Even on the days that I can get down on myself that things aren’t going right, I know that I am doing my best in that moment. Some days my best is just getting out of bed. The grief can magnify every little issue or disappointment into something huge if you let it (believe me, I have let it so many times). So my advice to parents, especially those parenting after loss, is that this is the most important work you’ll ever do. You’ll never feel like you’re doing it right but you’ll always do your best. This is the only job that truly matters.

Uninvited Hospital Guest

Although there were a few similarities– labor spontaneously started early (this time at a much later/safer gestation) and labor progressed insanely fast– I wanted everything with this labor and delivery to be different from last time.
I wanted new doctors in a new hospital.
I wanted to call family on the way to the hospital to let them know we were about to have a baby.
I wanted to feel like my baby was ready to safely enter this world.
I wanted to have a name prepared to call him when he came out.
I wanted to have the house ready and a hospital bag packed. One thing I unintentionally packed in that hospital bag was a whole lotta fear!

The thing I wasn’t expecting was that, oddly enough, there was more fear this time. Although I went into labor at exactly 25 weeks last time, I was strangely calm and not very fearful. I knew my babies would have some hardships and struggles, but the thought of death really didn’t cross my mind. Sure, I knew that there was a 50/50 chance of survival, but I wasn’t going to lose a baby. That wasn’t my story. That happens to someone else, not me. Oh, to be that naive again!

This time around, I was in the delivery room so afraid. Why? I don’t know! I guess because now I am the woman whose baby died. That is my story now. It’s my reality and it happens. It happens in the most traumatic and unexpected way. Was that going to continue to be my story? Would I be the one people say “oh, did you hear… She lost ANOTHER baby?” I now know that most awful and horrendous pain of birthing a baby you don’t get to keep…the pain of saying goodbye. I couldn’t do it again. How could I handle that? That was where the loads and loads of fear came from.

The first time around, although I should have been afraid I wasn’t because I wasn’t exactly sure what to be afraid of. This time, however, I know what every second feels like. I know the heart stopping moment when the doctor tells you the baby you created is dead. I know what the days, weeks and months following feel like and how peeling yourself out of bed is the greatest daily victory. I know the intensity of the pain and I couldn’t even imagine having to stack that onto the pain that already exists in my heart after losing my daughter two years ago.

Although this birth was clearly less traumatic, the fear hung out and slept with us (ok, I didn’t sleep, but my husband did) in the hospital. It lingered in the curtain and in the beeping of the fetal monitor. It crept through the room with the most irrational stories of freak accidents and things gone awry. That was until that final push and the doctor placing a crying baby on my chest. He’s alive and he’s here. He was ours and we can keep him. We will bring this one home! And we did! The next afternoon we brought home a new beautiful life! As disappointed as I was at myself for not keeping the fear at bay, I did my best and that is all any of us can ask for!

The Badge of Bereavement

I wish there was some way to distinguish a fellow loss mother in public.  There should be some sort of symbol, a badge if you will, to easily share with the world that, despite your smiling and happy demeanor, you are hurting inside.  It would be sadly but proudly worn.  It would symbolize the strength of a woman who has been through the worst kind of heartbreak, yet is still standing. 

Ok, let me set the scene.  I'm taking my son for a walk through the neighborhood and spot a cute young couple walking toward us about a block away.  Of course, I play out in my head what they're thinking/talking about and it goes something like this 
Wife: I love you!
Husband: I love you too!
Wife: Awwww, look...cute baby. I can't wait to have babies with you.
Husband: Me neither, let's have one!
Wife: ok, yay! 

And naturally, I see the rest of their story play out.  They go home and start trying and five weeks later... Positive pregnant test!

Just as I'm starting to get really annoyed, I see them see me and they quickly turn the corner.  Hmmm. 

Maybe the site of me walking around the neighborhood with a cute baby in tow hurt them.  Maybe they've been trying to get pregnant for the last year or two.  I just want to scream at them from afar, "We have tried for years to get pregnant and this one right here... is our surviving twin, my daughter died.  I know pain!"  Instantly, I flashed back to my feelings when I would see the same thing and I would've turned that corner so fast too.  I don't know why but when I have worked so hard to make a baby (or two) seeing another family with a healthy little baby just feels like a punch in the gut.  I imagine them getting pregnant on their honeymoon or worse yet... "Omg, we weren't even trying!".  Barf. 

Now having lost my much sought after, much loved and much desired daughter two days after she was born, seeing families with babies is like a double punch in the gut... And then a stab and twist with knife.  The pain I feel when I see other people's happiness is embarrassing.  I don't want to feel so awful, but I do believe that pain just comes with the territory of suffering through such an incredible heartbreak. 

However, if I know a woman is part of this (awful, yet totally supportive) club known as bereaved motherhood, I would have such a warm heart at seeing her happiness with a healthy child in her arms.  It just seems easier knowing that a woman "gets it", that she will never take one second with that child for granted, that she knows happiness through the pain, that she will always hold and kiss that baby as more than just one baby.  

This life of a bereaved mother is one that I would never wish on anyone. It is more pain than should ever be allowed in any lifetime.  However, when I know that someone else is unwillingly part of this life too, their happiness is my happiness.  

So, there's my predicament.  I don't know how to make the instant gut-punch subside when I see a woman with a baby (or super pregnant belly) unless, of course, she is wearing her badge of bereavement.  

Living For Her

Mary didn't get to live her life.  
As much as I hate everything about that sentence, that means we need to live our lives for her. 

It hurts so much that we don't know all that much about her.
We'll never get to know her favorite food (I'm guessing chocolate like her brother). 
We'll never get to meet her best friends at school or her favorite teachers.
We'll never get to see what sports or activities she would do (although I just know she would love to dance).
We'll never get to see her get dressed up for her first school dance.
We'll never get to see the man she would pick to marry.


What we do know...
-She was BEAUTIFUL!! She had so much dark hair (just like the rest of us) and the cutest dimple chin!
-She was so patient and sweet!  We got to see her on ultrasounds every week and Walter would be kicking her and punching her and she was always so calm. She would usually just put her hands up to block her face.  
-She was tough!  Although so kind to her brother, one day she did finally kick back!  Now, I wouldn't normally condone violence but I was very proud of her for that!  
-She also fought so hard!  Every week in my belly she had less and less fluid but she held on so we could meet her and although much too brief, she held on for a day and a half.  
-She is loved soooo much!!!

I hate that she was robbed of this life, that we were robbed of her precious life.  

Since she can't be here, we are going to fight so hard to make sure that her kindness, beauty and love is shared with this world.  
We are excited to see random acts done in Mary's memory in hopes that next Sunday, on the anniversary of the worst day of our lives, the kindness, beauty and love shared in Mary's memory will make the world a little brighter. 

YOU ARE

You are my strength. You are my hope. 

You are my future. You are my past.

You are my light. You are my shadow.

You are my peace. You are my sorrow.

You are my day. You are my night. 

You are my heart. You are my spirit.

You are my dreams. You are my memories.

You are my kiss. You are my embrace. 

You are my baby. You are my forever.

I love you, sweet girl! 💜 - Mom

2014 Has To Be Better

Blissfully happy a year ago ringing in 2013 while 7 weeks pregnant.

2013 has been filled with more heartache than I ever could have imagined. For that reason, I am happy to see it go.  However, 2013 was also filled with more love than I ever could have imagined. The first 4 months were the most incredible months of my life watching those babies grow in my belly and eventually getting to meet them. Getting to hold each of them for the first time was terrifying but I also felt such a tremendous love that can only be felt when one becomes a parent. I hate to leave those moments behind but here's to a new year that is filled with less heartache and even more love, growth, remembrance, joy and hope. This next year I hope to let go of the anger and embrace the family that we have; we are parents to a beautiful boy we get to watch grow daily and a sweet girl who gets to help us all grow daily.  I am cautiously optimistic that this next year just has to be better. 

Have Yourself A "Mary" Little Christmas

The festivities, the fun, the photos, the decorations, the dinner, the delight all seem so empty without you here.  This was supposed to be our first Christmas with you. We were supposed to wake up early and watch you and your brother open your very first presents. Instead we sit here with an aching in our hearts on what should be such a wonderful day.  When there are celebrations to be had, there just doesn't seem like much to celebrate without you with us. When I should be holding you and feeling your soft skin, your dimpled chin and your cute little butt I am instead forced to try to feel you in everything I do. I try to feel you with every fiber of my being and know that you are in some way here with us but that doesn't help the longing to have you in my arms. We should have two "Baby's First Christmas" ornaments on the tree this year but instead, we have one "My first Christmas in Heaven" ornament. We have so many beautiful ornaments for you. I know you would love to stare at them against the shining white lights on the tree. I still can't believe that this is just the first of a lifetime full of Christmases tinged with sorrow and grief now that you're gone. We had books to be read and songs to be sung and cookies to be baked and lights to be hung. I don't want any of that. All I want is you. Everything else feels so hollow. I miss you my sweet girl. Merry Christmas, Mary!

Day 31: Sunset

Wow! I can't believe it's been 31 days already and now the end of this photo challenge. This photo #nofilter was the very first sunset that we watched after Mary passed away. This was in one of our favorite spots to watch the sunset over Lake Michigan. It was so beautiful! I know that Mary made it extra special for us and for Walt's very first sunset. As I watch the leaves fall and the sun set on another day, I am reminded that it is just one day more that I am away from Mary. Someone reminded me, however, that I am also one day closer to seeing her again... And that is something I can be excited about. This photo challenge has been incredibly healing for me. I'm going to miss it. It was a chance for me to show all the love I have for Mary and just how much she means to me. I miss her every day and every day is filled with different challenges. This photo challenge helped me to capture that and forced me to say the things I couldn't say. I appreciate the kindness and understanding as I opened up about losing Mary this month. She is my baby girl and every day is difficult without her but the love we receive from family and friends helps, even the slightest bit, to ease some of the pain. 

"I'll find you in the morning sun

And when the night is new

I'll be looking at the moon

But I'll be seeing you" I miss you. I love you, sweet girl! I'll be seeing you.

Day 30: Growth

I have grown in a lot of ways; some good, some bad. No question, I am not the same person I was 6 months ago. There is an innocence that I've lost. I have lost a lot of sympathy for other people and their trivial woes. Sometimes I feel bad that I don't feel bad. I think the bigger issue is that I've come to realize what is truly important, meaningful and good and what I used to think was, has now exponentially diminished. I don't take any day or moment for granted. I have lost a huge tolerance for people complaining about their pregnancy; if it results in a healthy baby or rather a baby at all, be happy and embrace it for the sheer miracle it is. I have lost and am getting back to growing in my faith. I'm in a place I never thought I'd be but I am learning to accept it as our new-- much sadder but much more appreciative--reality.

Day 29: Healing

What has had the most healing impact? Really, having Kevin by my side to hold me, cry with me, listen to me and share our dreams, fears and hopes has made all the difference. Prayer has also been a huge factor in healing along this journey through grief. Additionally, this photo challenge has been very healing for me as well.

Day 28: Special Place

We have a few special places. First is what was supposed to be the twins' bedroom. I have a super comfy rocker that I got so I could rock both of them to sleep. I still feel like that is a very special place for the three of us. The other is up north on the lake that she was named after. I had so many visions of taking her up there. It has always been a very special place for our whole family which is why she was given that middle name. My parents also bought the babies a brick in the park up north. It is right beside my grandparents' brick. I believe she knows them well and they are taking great care of her. Of course, the other very special place is where she was buried. It's beautiful and I always feel close to her there.

Day 27: Signs

One of the many signs that make me think of Mary is bumblebees. I never really liked bees (who does?) but the week after Mary's funeral I visited her grave every day. Every day there was this little bee hovering just above the grass that wouldn't leave Mary's little area. I think with her dark hair and yellow cardigan, it's only fitting that she sends us signs as little bees. I feel her in everything, though. A change in the breeze, the sun peaking out from behind a cloud, really anything beautiful I see as a sign from Mary that she's happy, having fun and watching over us.

Day 26: Community

The community of loss mothers is a community no one ever wants to be in.  However, it is the one place people can understand and relate to all of the crazy things that you go through when grieving your child.

Day 25: #SayItOutLoud

Losing a child is different from any other loss.  It's not the loss of good times or a wonderful past or present.  It's the loss of a future. It's the loss of your hopes and dreams. It is having your future in your hands and having it slip away. It is the loss of innocence. It is the brutal awakening that a healthy pregnancy does not mean you get a healthy baby. It is the loss of everything you thought you knew... Because parents are not supposed to bury their children.

Day 24: Artwork

The first is a beautiful piece of "art" that my dad made. He made me a special wooden box to keep Mary's things in. We had so many keepsakes and her hospital things that deserved a special home. The bottom photo is some of the wonderful drawings that Mary's cousins made for her. They are so special to us.

Day 23: Jewelry

I have a few wonderful pieces. First, my ring that has 2 emerald hearts on it (the babies' birth stone). It's beautiful and my parents gave it to me right after Mary passed away. I alternate between my 2 necklaces (depending on my mood). The first one "forever in my heart" with an "m" inside was given to me by my dear friend. I love wearing it. I also received a broken heart necklace with Mary's name on it from August Wings. The other necklace was given to me by my mom's cousins while we were still in the hospital. I like that it has the babies' birth stone and tiny footprints for each of them. There is also "faith" and "family" tags that share everything that is important to me.

Day 22: Words

These words continue to stick in my head. No matter what I do, "I carry your heart with me(I carry it in my heart)" are the truest words that I could ever say to Mary. Though she isn't here with me physically, my heart is full of love for her. "You are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you".