Today is a milestone day! Today I am 22 weeks and 4 days pregnant, officially the most pregnant I have ever been.
Today and yesterday have both been very bittersweet for me, as I remember what happened at 22 weeks and 3 days with the boys. They came into this world, much too soon. And they left this world, making a tremendous impact for such short lives. I had a good cry for them last weekend. It's been a while since I've done that, and it felt good. I still miss them so much. But I try to stay as positive from day-to-day as possible for the sake of this new little one.
Of course, I am beyond thrilled to be at this point with Asher & Evan's little sister. She is growing like a weed, and constantly amazing me with the strength of her kicks! I feel incredibly blessed to have her with me, and am so thankful for every single day. Today especially.
Showing posts with label heartache. Show all posts
Showing posts with label heartache. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Thankful Thursday
Last week I had my annual performance review at work. I've worked for my company for almost 4 years, and I really enjoy my job. Like every job it has good days and bad days, and plenty of things to vent about. But overall I work at a great company with great people, and I love what I do.
So, my review. I'm always nervous going into a review. But I was particularly nervous this time because this past year has been such a roller coaster. At best it's been filled with doctors appointments and odd hours, both before and after my pregnancy. At worst, I was unexpectedly out of the office for 8 weeks, while hospitalized, and after the boys were born. Granted, I knew my boss wouldn't hold any of that against me. But on top of it all, I have been distracted (putting it mildly) and feel that I've lost much of my focus this year (with good reason, but still).
Well, long story short, my review went really well! As it turns out, I have met all of the goals I set at last year's review, and grown in my job, amazingly. I know it's only through God's grace that I've done so. I honestly feel like I've been phoning it in until just a couple months ago, and I still feel that way sometimes. So... yeah. God is good, for protecting my job and helping me succeed in the midst of grief. And I am thankful for that.
So, my review. I'm always nervous going into a review. But I was particularly nervous this time because this past year has been such a roller coaster. At best it's been filled with doctors appointments and odd hours, both before and after my pregnancy. At worst, I was unexpectedly out of the office for 8 weeks, while hospitalized, and after the boys were born. Granted, I knew my boss wouldn't hold any of that against me. But on top of it all, I have been distracted (putting it mildly) and feel that I've lost much of my focus this year (with good reason, but still).
Well, long story short, my review went really well! As it turns out, I have met all of the goals I set at last year's review, and grown in my job, amazingly. I know it's only through God's grace that I've done so. I honestly feel like I've been phoning it in until just a couple months ago, and I still feel that way sometimes. So... yeah. God is good, for protecting my job and helping me succeed in the midst of grief. And I am thankful for that.
Friday, August 20, 2010
A Long, Random Post on a Friday Evening
When I think of Evan and Asher, I get sad.
I was very confused by her comment, especially because she is someone who weighs her words so carefully. Was she trying to empathize? I still don't get it at all.
Also, it makes me so, so sad that my children make people sad. I don't need anyone to remind me that it is a sad subject. I have spent more than enough hours sobbing to be well aware. In fact, I spend a great deal of energy trying to remember of them in ways that are less sad. I also don't need anyone to remind me that my speaking of the boys makes people uncomfortable. I am keenly aware that it makes people uncomfortable, and I am constantly fighting an internal battle over how often to mention them and what to say. I already weigh every word for fear of causing awkwardness. I hate that I have to worry about that, and I don't feel like I should have to. And so, this comment irritated me. Hmmph.
Well that's my vent for tonight.
:::
This evening has been tough. I've had the whole night to myself. Any time I am alone for some time my grief tends to resurface, especially when I'm at home. The silence is deafening. A constant reminder of what is missing. The sounds and chaos of two baby boys. Sweet baby noises as they sleep. Even the crying that would certainly frustrate me at times. How I wish to hear those things.
When I feel overwhlemed by grief I often cope by going through their things, holding their blenkets and hospital bracelets. But tonight I just did not want to do it. I don't want that stuff, I want them. It's a hole that nothing can fill.
:::
Tomorrow I get to see a friend from out of town and her new baby! I'm excited to meet him, but I know it will be tough. It always is. I hope I can focus on my happiness for her, rather than the ache inside me.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Summer Vacation Part 1: Faith's Lodge
At long last, here is part 1 (of 2) of our recent vacation! Our hopes for this time were to relax, get away (that was a biggie), honor and remember our boys, and reflect on the past 7 months. Also to just have FUN and breathe. I think we got all of that and more, and we are so thankful.
The first week of our vacation included three nights at Faith's Lodge in Wisconsin. Faith's Lodge is a nonprofit retreat center for families and couples who have lost a child, or are dealing with the terminal illness of a child.
I cannot recommend Faith's Lodge enough. If you are anywhere in the Midwest (or want to come here) you must visit this unique and serene place. While there we felt both lifted up and supported, and also allowed to sink into the weight of our grief.
The lodge itself was gorgeous! 12,000 square feet, 4 floors. It includes a large commercial kitchen, eating area, wraparound porch, library, craft room, "Eagle's Nest" with beautiful views, and plenty of cozy areas to sit and read or talk.
While there we met 5 other couples who have lost babies. No two stories were alike, but for the first time we experienced a community of others who have truly "been there." J and I have both found encouragement through blogs and the online community, but it was almost surreal to meet people "in real life." It took a little time for everyone to warm up, but we left with new friends and the feeling that we'd known some of the couples for years, rather than days. Slowly, everyone shared their stories, and we connected through similar experiences, while reflecting on the uniqueness of each situation.
There is something incredibly bonding and healing about sitting with people for hours, who you hardly knew until a couple days before, and talking about grief, and pain, and the hardest things in your life, without having to qualify your statements. Everyone just seemed to "get it." I can't describe the feeling, but it was so, so welcome.
There were a few activities planned each day, but we were free to do as much or as little as we chose. We created a bird house and a mosaic stone to add to the boys' garden. We hiked the Inspiration Path. We canoed on the pond. We spent lots of time reading and reflecting.
There is a bridge at the lodge that is surrounded by small, heart-shaped stones. Each of the stones has been decorated and placed in memory of a child. It was actually pretty overwhelming—like stars in the sky, more and more stones stood out to us the longer we looked. We decorated a stone and placed it under a tree to honor Asher and Evan. It was a very meaningful tribute to them.
Faith's Lodge was so good in so many ways. It was also difficult in some ways. Some parts were both good and hard. It was a time of sharing, processing, and healing. We are so very thankful that a place like this exists, and that we had the opportunity to visit.
And now a few pictures:
The first week of our vacation included three nights at Faith's Lodge in Wisconsin. Faith's Lodge is a nonprofit retreat center for families and couples who have lost a child, or are dealing with the terminal illness of a child.
I cannot recommend Faith's Lodge enough. If you are anywhere in the Midwest (or want to come here) you must visit this unique and serene place. While there we felt both lifted up and supported, and also allowed to sink into the weight of our grief.
The lodge itself was gorgeous! 12,000 square feet, 4 floors. It includes a large commercial kitchen, eating area, wraparound porch, library, craft room, "Eagle's Nest" with beautiful views, and plenty of cozy areas to sit and read or talk.
While there we met 5 other couples who have lost babies. No two stories were alike, but for the first time we experienced a community of others who have truly "been there." J and I have both found encouragement through blogs and the online community, but it was almost surreal to meet people "in real life." It took a little time for everyone to warm up, but we left with new friends and the feeling that we'd known some of the couples for years, rather than days. Slowly, everyone shared their stories, and we connected through similar experiences, while reflecting on the uniqueness of each situation.
There is something incredibly bonding and healing about sitting with people for hours, who you hardly knew until a couple days before, and talking about grief, and pain, and the hardest things in your life, without having to qualify your statements. Everyone just seemed to "get it." I can't describe the feeling, but it was so, so welcome.
There were a few activities planned each day, but we were free to do as much or as little as we chose. We created a bird house and a mosaic stone to add to the boys' garden. We hiked the Inspiration Path. We canoed on the pond. We spent lots of time reading and reflecting.
There is a bridge at the lodge that is surrounded by small, heart-shaped stones. Each of the stones has been decorated and placed in memory of a child. It was actually pretty overwhelming—like stars in the sky, more and more stones stood out to us the longer we looked. We decorated a stone and placed it under a tree to honor Asher and Evan. It was a very meaningful tribute to them.
Faith's Lodge was so good in so many ways. It was also difficult in some ways. Some parts were both good and hard. It was a time of sharing, processing, and healing. We are so very thankful that a place like this exists, and that we had the opportunity to visit.
And now a few pictures:
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Ultrasound
I had an ultrasound on my thyroid this morning. The exam itself was unremarkable. The hardest part was that it took place in the same room where we had our first ultrasound with the boys. This was the exam where we discovered that there were two of them! I will never forget that day. I remember the shocked grins on our faces, the excited disbelief, and J saying, "Well, you and the babies have a good day at work!" as we parted ways after the appointment.
I can still picture that first ultrasound image in my head, although I haven't seen it in months. It is one of the cutest things I have ever seen—my two little jelly bean babies just starting to grow. That day at work was agonizing, because I was only 9 weeks along and hadn't told anyone the news. I sat at my desk grinning at my computer screen the whole day, trying desperately to focus on my work. It took a few days before the news really sunk in.
We had only one ultrasound in this room because we switched to a high-risk doctor after that point, so the room is particularly significant to me. It brought back all kinds of memories I hadn't anticipated. Funny how the simplest things are complicated now, especially when it comes to doctor's visits.
Happy/sad.
I can still picture that first ultrasound image in my head, although I haven't seen it in months. It is one of the cutest things I have ever seen—my two little jelly bean babies just starting to grow. That day at work was agonizing, because I was only 9 weeks along and hadn't told anyone the news. I sat at my desk grinning at my computer screen the whole day, trying desperately to focus on my work. It took a few days before the news really sunk in.
We had only one ultrasound in this room because we switched to a high-risk doctor after that point, so the room is particularly significant to me. It brought back all kinds of memories I hadn't anticipated. Funny how the simplest things are complicated now, especially when it comes to doctor's visits.
Happy/sad.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Headache. Earache. Heartache.
I'm feeling kind of depressed today, just in a funk. There's not really one good reason for it—I'm just having a down day. Sad about the news about Courtney, sad that there are oodles of women out there dealing with the loss of a child (or children). I am comforted by the sense of community in blog world, but I'm sad that we're all here.
I've always been somewhat hyper-vigilant about my health, always thinking there is something wrong with me. Sometimes it gets laughably ridiculous, the things I might imagine myself having in a given day. Diabetes, MS, arthritis, cancer, tumors, etc, etc, etc.... The list goes on, and really is kind of silly. But since we lost the boys it's only gotten worse. I worry about every little ache and pain, and I wonder if it's grief-related, recovery-from-pre-e-related, or truly a problem? I second guess myself constantly. The past day or so my breasts have been achy. This could be nothing, or something to do with my cycle, or.... what? I get more frequent headaches now. Is there something wrong with my brain? I think I pulled a muscle in my chest recently, which has led to minor chest discomfort, which of COURSE I think is a heart attack.
So what is all this? Am I just a nutcase to be having all these physical issues? I've always been a very healthy person until I got pre-e. Now, nothing is certain. I feel like a ticking time bomb.
I need to feel more confident in my body before I can try to get pregnant again. But it's hard to know where to go from here when my "ailments" change on a daily basis, and I don't even know if they are anything real. I realize this post makes me sounds crazy, but some days I feel that way!
I've always been somewhat hyper-vigilant about my health, always thinking there is something wrong with me. Sometimes it gets laughably ridiculous, the things I might imagine myself having in a given day. Diabetes, MS, arthritis, cancer, tumors, etc, etc, etc.... The list goes on, and really is kind of silly. But since we lost the boys it's only gotten worse. I worry about every little ache and pain, and I wonder if it's grief-related, recovery-from-pre-e-related, or truly a problem? I second guess myself constantly. The past day or so my breasts have been achy. This could be nothing, or something to do with my cycle, or.... what? I get more frequent headaches now. Is there something wrong with my brain? I think I pulled a muscle in my chest recently, which has led to minor chest discomfort, which of COURSE I think is a heart attack.
So what is all this? Am I just a nutcase to be having all these physical issues? I've always been a very healthy person until I got pre-e. Now, nothing is certain. I feel like a ticking time bomb.
I need to feel more confident in my body before I can try to get pregnant again. But it's hard to know where to go from here when my "ailments" change on a daily basis, and I don't even know if they are anything real. I realize this post makes me sounds crazy, but some days I feel that way!
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Tension
I went for a walk this evening near my house. The weather threatened an impending storm, but I went anyway. The entire time I walked it got more and more windy, until leaves were blowing in my face and it seemed like the atmosphere was going to explode, there was so much tension. The trees bent over, the air swirled around me, everything seemed to be crying out, "Rain, already!"
I made it home without so much as a drop, and I was kind of disappointed. I, too, was anxious, waiting for the rain. I thought about how it would be kind of exciting to get caught in a storm. A little drama to jolt me from my apathy. Something to break the tension.
I realized that this feeling of "waiting for the storm" is much like how I live my life lately. I feel that I am in a holding pattern of grief. I anxiously wait for something, anything, to break through, to interrupt the slow, plodding, slogging through life that I'm doing right now. My entire body feels tense with the weight, the STRESS of grieving. I crave something to break up that tension. I wish for a lighting bolt that would magically jolt me forward, past this time of sadness.
A moment with friends, when I can laugh so hard I cry, and momentarily forget—or am distracted from—the HARDness of life right now.
For people to treat me "normally," and not feel like my children's deaths are the elephants in the room.
To be able to remember my boys and smile, thankful for the time we shared... and not always dissolve into tears soon after.
To feel like I can take a deep breath again, and move forward, and be FREE of the grief that weighs so heavily on my heart. Not to be free of my precious boys, of course, but to be free of the Constant. Aching. Dragging. Pain.
I think I do have moments now, fleeting ones, that are free of the tension of grief. I am starting to taste joy again, here and there. But I can't wait for this weight, this tension, to lift from my heart. That may never happen until heaven, because I will always miss my boys until I see them again. So I guess the next best thing is to learn to live with the tension of grief, and the knowledge that something is missing.
I made it home without so much as a drop, and I was kind of disappointed. I, too, was anxious, waiting for the rain. I thought about how it would be kind of exciting to get caught in a storm. A little drama to jolt me from my apathy. Something to break the tension.
I realized that this feeling of "waiting for the storm" is much like how I live my life lately. I feel that I am in a holding pattern of grief. I anxiously wait for something, anything, to break through, to interrupt the slow, plodding, slogging through life that I'm doing right now. My entire body feels tense with the weight, the STRESS of grieving. I crave something to break up that tension. I wish for a lighting bolt that would magically jolt me forward, past this time of sadness.
A moment with friends, when I can laugh so hard I cry, and momentarily forget—or am distracted from—the HARDness of life right now.
For people to treat me "normally," and not feel like my children's deaths are the elephants in the room.
To be able to remember my boys and smile, thankful for the time we shared... and not always dissolve into tears soon after.
To feel like I can take a deep breath again, and move forward, and be FREE of the grief that weighs so heavily on my heart. Not to be free of my precious boys, of course, but to be free of the Constant. Aching. Dragging. Pain.
I think I do have moments now, fleeting ones, that are free of the tension of grief. I am starting to taste joy again, here and there. But I can't wait for this weight, this tension, to lift from my heart. That may never happen until heaven, because I will always miss my boys until I see them again. So I guess the next best thing is to learn to live with the tension of grief, and the knowledge that something is missing.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Happy Easter!
But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed. —Isaiah 53:5
It's an absolutely beautiful, sunny day outside. A wonderful day to remember and celebrate the death and resurrection of JESUS my Savior. And as our pastor pointed out this morning, it is not just Jesus who was resurrected to new life, but I am also living a new life because of Him! Because of Jesus, I don't need to fear death, because death is not the end. Death is not the end, and WAS not the end for Asher and Evan. I know my boys are rejoicing today and enjoying a party in Heaven. I miss them terribly. They should be here, in cute little Easter outfits. I selfishly want them here, even know I know they are somewhere far, far better.
How is it possible to feel happy and heartbroken all at the same moment? Such is my life.
It's an absolutely beautiful, sunny day outside. A wonderful day to remember and celebrate the death and resurrection of JESUS my Savior. And as our pastor pointed out this morning, it is not just Jesus who was resurrected to new life, but I am also living a new life because of Him! Because of Jesus, I don't need to fear death, because death is not the end. Death is not the end, and WAS not the end for Asher and Evan. I know my boys are rejoicing today and enjoying a party in Heaven. I miss them terribly. They should be here, in cute little Easter outfits. I selfishly want them here, even know I know they are somewhere far, far better.
How is it possible to feel happy and heartbroken all at the same moment? Such is my life.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Learning how to live with longing....
There is a constant ache of something missing in my life now. A constant sense that things just aren't the way they should be. I walk around all day feeling just a bit off, like I am missing a shoe.
I confess that my longing for heaven has grown exponentially since Asher & Evan died. I don't know if that's right or wrong, but it is what it is. In addition to the general "no more pain and suffering, etc, etc," I now have a personal tragedy that brings all that home. I long to see my boys again. I long to hold them, and see them made perfect and healthy and living and strong. I long to feel my heart made whole again.
I think I felt God saying to me today, "You will always have this longing. You will never, ever be whole until you are with Me. I am the only thing that can make you feel whole again." As much as it is the death of my boys that has grown this feeling within me, God is teaching me that in reality, it's not my boys that will truly satisfy. Had they lived, there would have been something else that caused me to be discontent. Having a healthy baby will not fill me up. It will ease the sorrow, perhaps, but it will never fill the hole. God is teling me that oodles of children will never complete me the way He can. This knowledge has been there for years, but the reality of the message is only now starting to sink in.
Nothing can fill me up except God. Nothing can make me whole except Him. I will never feel complete on this earth, until I am united with Him in heaven. Seeing my babies again will just be the icing on the cake.
Just some things I'm thinking about today.
I confess that my longing for heaven has grown exponentially since Asher & Evan died. I don't know if that's right or wrong, but it is what it is. In addition to the general "no more pain and suffering, etc, etc," I now have a personal tragedy that brings all that home. I long to see my boys again. I long to hold them, and see them made perfect and healthy and living and strong. I long to feel my heart made whole again.
I think I felt God saying to me today, "You will always have this longing. You will never, ever be whole until you are with Me. I am the only thing that can make you feel whole again." As much as it is the death of my boys that has grown this feeling within me, God is teaching me that in reality, it's not my boys that will truly satisfy. Had they lived, there would have been something else that caused me to be discontent. Having a healthy baby will not fill me up. It will ease the sorrow, perhaps, but it will never fill the hole. God is teling me that oodles of children will never complete me the way He can. This knowledge has been there for years, but the reality of the message is only now starting to sink in.
Nothing can fill me up except God. Nothing can make me whole except Him. I will never feel complete on this earth, until I am united with Him in heaven. Seeing my babies again will just be the icing on the cake.
Just some things I'm thinking about today.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Two Months
Two months today. Two months ago I gave birth to my beautiful boys, Asher and Evan. Asher at 6:50 am, and Evan around 7:20.
Admittedly, the pain is not quite as sharp as it was on the 16th of January. But it is there, a strong ache, threatening to pull me down into complete despair. My grief is still very real, very rough, but perhaps the sharpest of edges are beginning to get worn away. It washes over me like a wave sometimes... my grief has tides, though they are not as predictable as the ocean.
This morning I was walking through the hallway at work, thinking about their births, and I was so distracted that I walked into the wrong part of our office, rather than back to my own space. Yikes! Hopefully I don't have to make any important decisions today. I was remembering holding Asher, and touching his skin. I remember both wanting to wrap him up in his receiving blanket to keep him warm, and leave him uncovered (how they gave him to me) to see more of him, all of him. I remember taking Evan from the nurse... he was so light, not much heavier than a can of pop. I remember the strangest mix of emotions flooding my heart... the oddest sense of pride and even joy, even though my boys were dying. And so much love. Deeper emotions than I have ever felt in my life.
I will stop for now so I don't get too upset at work... but one last thing: it really sucks that I am the only one thinking about them SO much today, and remembering this mark in time. I am the only one.
Admittedly, the pain is not quite as sharp as it was on the 16th of January. But it is there, a strong ache, threatening to pull me down into complete despair. My grief is still very real, very rough, but perhaps the sharpest of edges are beginning to get worn away. It washes over me like a wave sometimes... my grief has tides, though they are not as predictable as the ocean.
This morning I was walking through the hallway at work, thinking about their births, and I was so distracted that I walked into the wrong part of our office, rather than back to my own space. Yikes! Hopefully I don't have to make any important decisions today. I was remembering holding Asher, and touching his skin. I remember both wanting to wrap him up in his receiving blanket to keep him warm, and leave him uncovered (how they gave him to me) to see more of him, all of him. I remember taking Evan from the nurse... he was so light, not much heavier than a can of pop. I remember the strangest mix of emotions flooding my heart... the oddest sense of pride and even joy, even though my boys were dying. And so much love. Deeper emotions than I have ever felt in my life.
I will stop for now so I don't get too upset at work... but one last thing: it really sucks that I am the only one thinking about them SO much today, and remembering this mark in time. I am the only one.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Oh, how I miss them. My heart just aches. My entire body, every cell, feels the emptiness. I can be fine for a while, but then, wham, I am blindsided by grief. Usually when I have some time to myself, like tonight.
I cannot express in words the deep ache that I feel. No one should ever, ever have to know what this feels like. Tears streaming down my face, uncontrollable sobs. Pain that literally chokes me. I would do anything to have them with me. To go back to the day before I went to the hospital, when I was still blissfully unaware of the danger all three of us were in. Or even to relive the few minutes of their sweet, precious lives on this earth. To hold them again. I am so glad that those moments were peaceful, and they knew nothing but love and comfort. I am glad that they won't ever have to know what this feels like—to lose someone. To lose your own child. I am forever thankful that they have been spared the pain of this life.
I cannot express in words the deep ache that I feel. No one should ever, ever have to know what this feels like. Tears streaming down my face, uncontrollable sobs. Pain that literally chokes me. I would do anything to have them with me. To go back to the day before I went to the hospital, when I was still blissfully unaware of the danger all three of us were in. Or even to relive the few minutes of their sweet, precious lives on this earth. To hold them again. I am so glad that those moments were peaceful, and they knew nothing but love and comfort. I am glad that they won't ever have to know what this feels like—to lose someone. To lose your own child. I am forever thankful that they have been spared the pain of this life.
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