Our Rainbow of Hope and Fear

(Featured on Pregnancy After Loss Support)

It has not been a secret that “getting pregnant” does not come easy for us. We conceived the twins using fertility treatments and we knew that we would have the same issue if/when we decided to try again. The risk of multiples, prematurity, and neonatal death are very real to us. After living through all of it, the fear of any of that happening again was very overwhelming.

After Mary died we felt right away that we wanted another baby. I think for a lot of loss parents, that feeling creeps up pretty instantly. Sure, in the beginning it’s fairly irrational. You just want a baby back in your belly because there should still be one there! As time goes on, it becomes less of a “give me my baby back!” and more of a “help heal my heart!” desire. It’s not that we think a new baby can “replace” Mary or “fix” our struggle. However, everything in my heart and my mind is telling me that I’m supposed to have two babies here with me.

We know that without her here, our family will never be complete but at the same time… We know that we could feel a bit closer to complete than we do now. We’ll never be able to fill those memories that we didn’t get to have with Mary; her first smile, her first steps, her first words. The pain of missing every day with her is always very real. We are aware that, because we miss those so much, we long to experience those moments again, with another child.

We knew within a few months after losing Mary that we should start trying again because, like the first time, it would be a long process. After lots of appointments with specialists and consultations with high risk pregnancy doctors, we were feeling confident in our plan and their support to try again. Of course, the stress and anxiety of every failed cycle was tough. It was actually harder this time around because it just felt like, “come on, can’t we catch a break? We’ve already had to lose one baby and now we can’t even make another one!”

After a good 15-16 months, we were finally pregnant. We were ecstatic…but terrified. We now know the reality of loss and there is no such thing as a guarantee of a baby at the end of all of this. Being pregnant after loss is way more difficult than I would’ve imagined. There is no innocence left, no naïveté; just fear and hope. I sometimes just have to awkwardly laugh to myself when I see other pregnant women celebrating “V Day” or reaching the infamous 24 week “viability” mark…As if that means anything. Mary died at 25 weeks gestation and through this journey, I have met incredible mamas who have lost their babies at 28 weeks, 31 weeks, 36 weeks, 40 weeks, 41 weeks. I know there is no safety, there is no guarantee and I have been forced to see that and live that first-hand.

Every little thing in this pregnancy is filled with fear; every ache, every pain, every strange pregnancy feeling all make me want to run to the doctor. At 23 weeks, I had already had at least 10 ultrasounds and that still didn’t seem like enough. I don’t feel like I can trust my body anymore. I don’t trust that I will know if something is wrong. I don’t trust that my body can carry this baby to term. I try every day to cling to prayer and God’s promise that He will carry us through and bring this baby safely home with us. However, the doubt and the very real fear of our past repeating itself always seem to creep in. Sure, some may say that clearly my faith isn’t strong enough but after Mary died, I’ve had to rebuild a lot of that trust and belief and I am much stronger than I was almost 2 years ago.

Trying to conceive after loss and pregnancy after loss are two of the most difficult things (aside from actually losing a child) that a mother can go through. It takes an insane amount of strength, courage, desire and love. If you have found yourself in this situation currently or in the past, I commend you, mama! You are so strong! If you have not been through it personally but know someone who has or is… I beg of you, please be kind to her and recognize how much courage she has to take this chance again after what she’s gone through.

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.  

An Open Apology To My Family and Friends

I'm sorry I'm not the same "me" anymore.
I know I've changed but I don't know how anyone could go through something so traumatizing and heartbreaking and come out on the other side unscathed. Oh, how I wish that I could be the "old me", untouched by the reality that babies die.  Fundamentally, I'm the same person...just a bit heavier (metaphorically, well, literally too) now with maybe deeper priorities.  Maybe I've lost my spark, but what good is a spark anyway? Ok, that sounds a little cynical but I guess that's one of the new traits I've picked up on this journey through grief. It's a long, dark and lonely road... You'd be a bit jaded too.

I'm sorry I can't "get over it". 
I can tell you right now that there is absolutely no getting over it.  She is my daughter and I'm still her mama.  Her death has shaken me, moved me, and changed my heart.  I'm going to be sad every day of my life. That is not to say that I can't experience joy also, but there will always be a sadness that I carry with me and her absence is not something that I can forget about or get over. It is with me always. 

I'm sorry I talk about her too much.  
Talking about my daughter is one of the few things I have left.  I don't get to hold her or rock her to sleep or dress her up in pretty dresses.  I do get to talk about her, though...and that I will never give up.  I fear that I will wake up one day in the near future and no one would have talked about her, asked about her, or worse, thought about her. If I don't keep her memory alive, who will? 

I'm sorry I don't act like I'm grieving.  
It's been over a year since we said goodbye and in that time I have learned to live with the pain a little more than I did in the first few months.  It hasn't lessened but I have found a place for it.  I may smile and laugh now but that doesn't mean that I have forgotten about her or that losing her isn't still tearing out my heart.  It just means that time has allowed me to make room for sadness and happiness, sorrow and joy, tears and smiles. 

I'm sorry if I can't be very social anymore.
I have developed a lot of social anxiety through all of this. The fear that someone will ask something or say something that I don't want to hear is always in the front of my mind.  Thinking about a stranger asking me how many kids I have (and the questions that will follow) makes me nervous and fearful.  Sometimes I want to talk about everything! Sometimes I don't! I don't know how I'm going to feel in that moment and that makes me want to avoid it all together. 

I'm sorry I can't be overjoyed at the idea of your new baby.  
Yes, before losing my daughter I would be instantly sending you "congratulations" and baby gifts...but I just can't do it now.  It hurts too much.  It's not that I can't be happy for you, it's just that your happiness at this beautiful new life is such a punch in the gut and reminder of how I didn't get that.  Sure, that may be rather selfish but for me to see countless pregnancy and birth announcements online just hurts my heart.  I wish it wasn't that way and I'm assuming with time it will get better, but for now if I can muster up a "like" for your big announcement, that's a huge step for me! 

I'm sorry if it doesn't seem like I appreciate your support. 
It is so hard for me to even comprehend the amount of support, well wishes, gifts and thoughtfulness we have been so thankful to receive.  Sometimes it's too overwhelming to try to express my gratitude because I simply cannot find the words. I wish that I could tell you just how much every kind word spoken (or written) to us has meant.  If it seems like your thoughtfulness has gone unnoticed, trust me, it most definitely has not.  

I'm sorry if all of this makes you uncomfortable.  
It sucks, it's sad and sometimes awkward to talk about.  I know that.  However, it is my reality. It is the life I live every second of every day.  My job is to simply survive.  I do not have the energy to put in to make you comfortable.  Maybe that sounds harsh but your comfort is not my priority.  If you do not want to be part of this...walk away, "unfriend" me, whatever you need to do, please do.  

I'm sorry this happened. 
I'm sorry that this is my life. That you are in some way a part of it.  I'm sorry that my story may make you sad or bring the idea that "babies die" to your mind. I'm also sorry I'm not sorry.  Me talking about my daughter helps to make her real to you and me.  I am doing the absolute best I can with the cards that I've been dealt.  I wouldn't wish this grief on anyone but I have it and I'm going to own it.  I never would have guessed that this is where I would be and I don't know how things will be in two, five or ten years from now but I can only do my best with what I have. Some days will be good, some days will be bad but they are my days and they are filled with an overpowering love and memory of my daughter. 

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. 

Twin Party For One

As we approach the twins' first birthday, the anxiety is overwhelming.  Instead of the pure joy and excitement that should come with a first birthday, I find fear, sadness, regret and emptiness added in.  Don't get me wrong, I am so glad that I get to throw a birthday party at all.  However, this party should be for TWO.  We should have "boy things "and "girl things", blue and pink, Mickey and Minnie.

Missing Mary has become part of our daily lives but there are certain days that just hurt more than normal.  We now approach what was, last year at this time, just two meaningless dates and they are now the two most meaningful dates of our lives.  First is the day that was filled with so much fear, uncertainty, yet still hope...the day the babies were born 3.5 months too early.  Second is the day that all of our hopes were crushed; the day our innocence was lost, the day we lost our Mary.

It's so hard thinking what we were doing at this time last year. We still had so many dreams, so many laughs, everything positive.  I know that once we hit those two important dates this year, every other "what were we doing at this time last year?" will be filled with the sorrow that now fills the hole in our hearts.

As difficult as it is, I want to celebrate their special day.  I know it sounds awful but, we will never have any other "firsts" for Mary.  The only really meaningful dates we have for her are her birth and death.  We'll never take note and celebrate her first smile, her first tooth, her first steps, her first day of school, her first kiss, her graduation, her wedding.  Her birthday is the only day we have to celebrate her.  Yes, we "celebrate" her every day, but there's nothing like a birthday.  It's an extra special day, a day for not just us but everyone to celebrate her.

I'm trying hard to make this birthday and party include her. She deserves so much more than just a mention as Walter's twin. She was a beautiful girl who should be here with us celebrating.  Since she can't physically be here, I want to take extra care to make sure she feels our love and celebration on that day!

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.