The Worst Day

A year ago today was maybe the worst day of my life.

The twins were born on the 16th. But I honestly can't say that the day they were born and died was the worst, because it wasn't. It was the day I met them, and despite the tragedy surrounding us I was filled with joy and pride as I held my little babies. It's the one day I held them in my arms. We were blessed to have our parents, my best friend, and our pastor with us, and I know we were bathed in prayer that entire day. So no, it wasn't the worst.

A year ago today, December 14th, was the worst day. It was the day that the doctors stopped sugarcoating things and told us we had to make a decision. I say "decision" but honestly, what kind of a decision is it when the question is "Would you like to die along with your babies, or let them go so you can live?" It was the day reality hit, and I was told in no uncertain terms that our time was up. It was a nightmare. A day that no one should have to live through. I felt like I was in a movie... these things don't happen to real people. As much as I'm used to living this "new normal" on a daily basis, sometimes it still shocks me, as though I am an outsider looking in... oh my GOSH, you lost TWO children!?!?

I've been doing OK so far this week. Thankfully we have plenty going on at work, and holiday preparations, which have kept me busy. I really don't want to sit and relive every moment of my last (mag-induced haze, HGTV-filled, miserable hospital bed-rest) week with them... I relive moments of it every day, as it is. I'm trying not to put any expectations on myself about how I should feel, or what I should or should not do. Just take it as it comes.

I know I'll get through this week, because it's only a finite number of hours long. If I got through the real thing, surely I can get through the memories.