Well, we made it. Through their birthday, I mean. The day was about what I expected—tough, with lots of tears, but also sweet in some ways. Here's a recap:
We slept in really late (as late as I possibly could) on Thursday morning, then had cinnamon rolls for breakfast. As we lazed around wondering what to do with ourselves I checked my phone and received a few kind voice mails, emails, and Facebook messages. Cue tears. I was so touched by the responses of family and friends.
For a while we just sat on the couch and cried. We looked at all of their belongings—their tiny blankets and hats, footprints, hospital bracelets, photos, ultrasound pictures. I was glad we hadn't planned too much for the day because I couldn't predict how I would feel or react, or what I'd want to do.
Eventually we got ready for the day, and I put the finishing touches on the blankets and hats I'd crocheted for the hospital (I'll update with photos if I remember). The ones we received when Asher & Evan were born are one of my most treasured possessions. I remember feeling so cared for, that a stranger would take the time to make these items specifically for tiny babies. I plan to donate a set of hats and blankets each year.
After lunch we went to the hospital to donate the hats and blankets. I really wasn't sure how this would go, as it was our first time back there since we left with empty arms on December 18th. But it actually ended up being the most satisfying part of the day! It felt really good to do something in their honor, and to know that another family will benefit from the blankets the way we did. I also felt somewhat resolved and almost empowered walking through the hospital, like Yes, I am here, and I'm not sick. I can do this. We plan to deliver Baby 3 at the same hospital, so it felt good to have some closure before we go back again.
What else can I tell you? Overall the day was very low-key, which was perfect for us. We felt supported by all the messages, gifts, and emails we received, but we spent the entire day by ourselves. No pressure. It was just right.
Although we spent the day alone, I was very concerned that we involve other people in the boys' birthday, and invite them to participate in it in some way. So the week before, we sent out cards with Asher & Evan's footprints on them (again, I'll post pictures later). The cards asked our friends and family to do an act of kindness in their honor and let us know about it. We've gotten a really positive response, and a few "reports" back so far, including donations to charities, a letter to a soldier, and a visit to an elderly relative. People also really liked seeing the footprints, which we printed at actual size. Most people haven't seen photos, so I think they appreciated seeing something of our boys.
As I've said already, I feel a lot of closure and satisfaction with how the day went overall. It was so, so tough, and I dreaded it going in, but by the end I felt OK. We survived, and were reminded by many that our boys are not forgotten.
Showing posts with label remembering Asher and Evan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label remembering Asher and Evan. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
The Beginning of the End
One year ago today, I was admitted to the hospital on a Monday afternoon. I was 21 weeks pregnant, and my blood pressure was 180/120.
I had gone into the clinic over lunch for some lab work, and decided to have the nurse check my BP while I was there, "just in case." Other than crazy swelling I wasn't having any specific symptoms that anything was wrong, but I am a bit of a hypochondriac and thought I would have them check me out for my own peace of mind. I had no idea that my BP would be so high, that the nurse would have me lay down and immediately summon my doctor. No idea that he would tell me to go to the hospital, right now, without returning to work. No idea that I would place a tearful call to my husband to come get me... a call that he will probably never forget.
One year ago today, even as we arrived at the hospital and they gave me a room in Labor & Delivery, I had no idea that it was the beginning of the end. I had an inkling that I might have long weeks of bed rest ahead, and maybe babies in the NICU... I wish I were still blissfully unaware that sometimes babies do, in fact, die.
I am thankful that I will not be admitted to the hospital this afternoon. That I am much healthier and feeling much better than I did that day. But oh, how I miss them today. I hate that I am so busy lately... because I don't have time to deal with all the emotions. I still think about them every day, of course, but I do not have time to rest in these feelings of loss, to fully acknowledge how much I still grieve for them. My brain is so full of so many things.
On another (happier) note, I do have something to share, but I'll save it for another post. Take this as your cue to skip the next one if today isn't a good day for you. I will more than understand!
ETA: I forgot to say thank you to those of you who left helpful comments/encouragement on my last post. I really appreciate it. We're still up in the air about the day, but I am focusing on not making myself feel guilty, whatever we do or don't do.
I had gone into the clinic over lunch for some lab work, and decided to have the nurse check my BP while I was there, "just in case." Other than crazy swelling I wasn't having any specific symptoms that anything was wrong, but I am a bit of a hypochondriac and thought I would have them check me out for my own peace of mind. I had no idea that my BP would be so high, that the nurse would have me lay down and immediately summon my doctor. No idea that he would tell me to go to the hospital, right now, without returning to work. No idea that I would place a tearful call to my husband to come get me... a call that he will probably never forget.
One year ago today, even as we arrived at the hospital and they gave me a room in Labor & Delivery, I had no idea that it was the beginning of the end. I had an inkling that I might have long weeks of bed rest ahead, and maybe babies in the NICU... I wish I were still blissfully unaware that sometimes babies do, in fact, die.
I am thankful that I will not be admitted to the hospital this afternoon. That I am much healthier and feeling much better than I did that day. But oh, how I miss them today. I hate that I am so busy lately... because I don't have time to deal with all the emotions. I still think about them every day, of course, but I do not have time to rest in these feelings of loss, to fully acknowledge how much I still grieve for them. My brain is so full of so many things.
On another (happier) note, I do have something to share, but I'll save it for another post. Take this as your cue to skip the next one if today isn't a good day for you. I will more than understand!
ETA: I forgot to say thank you to those of you who left helpful comments/encouragement on my last post. I really appreciate it. We're still up in the air about the day, but I am focusing on not making myself feel guilty, whatever we do or don't do.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
"Happy" Birthday?
It is 6 pm, and I am still at work. Got here at 8:30. Probably won't leave until at least 6:30. That's the kind of busy I am these days! It leaves little time for anything else, like holiday shopping, blogging, etc. Hopefully soon we will be past our deadline and things will slow down.
I cannot believe that Asher & Evan's birthday is in less than one month.
Sometimes I feel weird using the word "birthday," like it isn't quite right to describe the magnitude of that day. Yes, it is their birthday, but it is also they day they went to Heaven. Sometimes I say "the one-year anniversary of the day the boys were born and died," but that is 1) quite long, and 2) still doesn't quite do it. It is the day I became a mother. It's the day my whole world changed. I need a new word or phrase to describe this day.
I also need to figure out what we're going to do on that day. J and I have the day off of work, and we've discussed going to the hospital to drop of the tiny hats and blankets I've crocheted in their honor. We've also discussed doing some kind of service project. I know that I will need to keep busy, and stay out of the house. But I don't know what I will really need, and how I can truly honor them.
Originally, we thought about ideas involving lots of people... but then I wasn't sure how many people I want to spend the day with. No matter what I would feel like a "host," and I'm not sure I'll be up to that. Anything resembling a party felt awkward, both because of the circumstances, and because of the random group of people we would invite (my divorced parents, random church people, etc). It all started to feel like an awful lot of work and burden for a day that I may just want to be left alone.
But of course, that day isn't about me. It's about them. It's about Asher & Evan, my beautiful firstborn sons, and a celebration of the short time we had with them. It's about remembering, and honoring. It feels wrong not to do something HUGE and momentous for such a momentous day. And yet, I think our celebration/memorial will be fairly low-key.
But I am struggling to be OK with that. I feel like a bad mother because I have nothing planned yet. Because I don't have some great idea. Because work is keeping me too busy to think of much else. Because I would rather be planning a loud, messy, hectic party filled with family, cake, and two adorable one-year-olds.
We do have something in mind... a vague idea of a card commemorating their birthday, along with a prompt to do some kind of good in their name. We would send this to close family and friends, and invite other people to participate, as well. Basically, make their lives have an impact, even though they are not here.
If anyone has any other ideas, I'd love to hear them! I'm sure I'm really worrying too much about it. But as many of you know, it is incredibly difficult to figure out how to parent children who are in Heaven, when you are still on Earth.
I cannot believe that Asher & Evan's birthday is in less than one month.
Sometimes I feel weird using the word "birthday," like it isn't quite right to describe the magnitude of that day. Yes, it is their birthday, but it is also they day they went to Heaven. Sometimes I say "the one-year anniversary of the day the boys were born and died," but that is 1) quite long, and 2) still doesn't quite do it. It is the day I became a mother. It's the day my whole world changed. I need a new word or phrase to describe this day.
I also need to figure out what we're going to do on that day. J and I have the day off of work, and we've discussed going to the hospital to drop of the tiny hats and blankets I've crocheted in their honor. We've also discussed doing some kind of service project. I know that I will need to keep busy, and stay out of the house. But I don't know what I will really need, and how I can truly honor them.
Originally, we thought about ideas involving lots of people... but then I wasn't sure how many people I want to spend the day with. No matter what I would feel like a "host," and I'm not sure I'll be up to that. Anything resembling a party felt awkward, both because of the circumstances, and because of the random group of people we would invite (my divorced parents, random church people, etc). It all started to feel like an awful lot of work and burden for a day that I may just want to be left alone.
But of course, that day isn't about me. It's about them. It's about Asher & Evan, my beautiful firstborn sons, and a celebration of the short time we had with them. It's about remembering, and honoring. It feels wrong not to do something HUGE and momentous for such a momentous day. And yet, I think our celebration/memorial will be fairly low-key.
But I am struggling to be OK with that. I feel like a bad mother because I have nothing planned yet. Because I don't have some great idea. Because work is keeping me too busy to think of much else. Because I would rather be planning a loud, messy, hectic party filled with family, cake, and two adorable one-year-olds.
We do have something in mind... a vague idea of a card commemorating their birthday, along with a prompt to do some kind of good in their name. We would send this to close family and friends, and invite other people to participate, as well. Basically, make their lives have an impact, even though they are not here.
If anyone has any other ideas, I'd love to hear them! I'm sure I'm really worrying too much about it. But as many of you know, it is incredibly difficult to figure out how to parent children who are in Heaven, when you are still on Earth.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
11 Months
Today marks 11 months since Asher & Evan were born and died. The day kind of snuck up on me, and then hit me like a pile of bricks. I can't believe it's been 11 months. In some ways it feels like just a few days. In other ways it feels like a lifetime. I am a different person than I was that day, and yet here I am at about the same place. Same job, same house, same weather... different heart.
I know I posted this song once before, but it came on my Pan.dora station today and it gets me every time. I can't listen to this song without crying. It's one of those songs that (obviously) is not about losing a child, and yet, it seems to speak right to my situation. Oh, how my heart aches for them.
"The Scientist" by Coldplay
I know I posted this song once before, but it came on my Pan.dora station today and it gets me every time. I can't listen to this song without crying. It's one of those songs that (obviously) is not about losing a child, and yet, it seems to speak right to my situation. Oh, how my heart aches for them.
"The Scientist" by Coldplay
Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry You don't know how lovely you are. I had to find you, tell you I need you, Tell you I set you apart. Tell me your secrets and ask me your questions, Oh lets go back to the start. Running in circles, Comin' in tails Heads on a science apart. Nobody said it was easy, It's such a shame for us to part. Nobody said it was easy, No one ever said it would be this hard. Oh take me back to the start. I was just guessin' at numbers and figures, Pulling the puzzles apart. Questions of science, science and progress Do not speak as loud as my heart. And tell me you love me, come back and haunt me Oh and I rush to the start. Runnin' in circles, Chasin' tails Comin' back as we are Nobody said it was easy, Oh it's such a shame for us to part. Nobody said it was easy, No one ever said it would be so hard. I'm goin' back to the start.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Thank You
Hello! Sorry for the long absence... life has gotten awfully busy lately, and I'm not able to sit down and blog as often as I'd like to.
I want to send an overdue BIG thank you to two ladies in blogworld who have touched me with their thoughtfulness.
First I'd like to thank mommy4boys from Sweet Button Names, for thinking of my boys and writing their names. So thoughtful, and such a sweet surprise. It made me smile when I saw it!
Second, thanks to Melissa from Amazing Mikayla Grace, for including Asher & Evan's names in her beautful tribute at Faith's Lodge. It means a lot that someone else is thinking of them, especially in that place.
I've said it before, but I will say it again: I am so thankful for this online community, and the instant bond we have. It means a lot. :-)
I want to send an overdue BIG thank you to two ladies in blogworld who have touched me with their thoughtfulness.
First I'd like to thank mommy4boys from Sweet Button Names, for thinking of my boys and writing their names. So thoughtful, and such a sweet surprise. It made me smile when I saw it!
Second, thanks to Melissa from Amazing Mikayla Grace, for including Asher & Evan's names in her beautful tribute at Faith's Lodge. It means a lot that someone else is thinking of them, especially in that place.
I've said it before, but I will say it again: I am so thankful for this online community, and the instant bond we have. It means a lot. :-)
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
This Ache (ttc)
So far, fall has been kinda rough for me. I am feeling such opposing emotions all the time, and it's wearing me thin.
By now last year we knew it was twins, and all our families knew. I don't know exactly what week I would have been. I am purposely not figuring it out. My grief most often takes the form of a deep ache. So deep that it feels like it's coming from something outside of me, like something is dragging me down to the center of the earth (cue John Mayer's song "Gravity"... maybe that's why I like that song??).
I am at a loss for words on a regular basis. I've lost the ability to precisely describe anything, let alone my emotions.
And at the same time, there is hope of things to come. Hope of the future, and new beginnings, and another try. And while I am incredibly happy to be at this point, I am sad that we have to be. It's the ultimate happy/sad experience.
The last time I spoke to my mom on the phone (just a brief call to check in) we chatted for a bit, and I was distracted because I was at work. Toward the end of the call she said, "Well, anything else exciting going on?" and there was this pause as her words hung in the air. I wonder how much my family wonders when we'll be pregnant again (we're pretty private about our plans IRL). "Nope, just working," I replied. Nothing exciting going on yet. Maybe there will be soon.
P.S. I've been thinking about this blog lately, and am considering going private again. Of course, any babyloss moms that read would be welcome, and anyone else outside of my family/close friends.
By now last year we knew it was twins, and all our families knew. I don't know exactly what week I would have been. I am purposely not figuring it out. My grief most often takes the form of a deep ache. So deep that it feels like it's coming from something outside of me, like something is dragging me down to the center of the earth (cue John Mayer's song "Gravity"... maybe that's why I like that song??).
I am at a loss for words on a regular basis. I've lost the ability to precisely describe anything, let alone my emotions.
And at the same time, there is hope of things to come. Hope of the future, and new beginnings, and another try. And while I am incredibly happy to be at this point, I am sad that we have to be. It's the ultimate happy/sad experience.
The last time I spoke to my mom on the phone (just a brief call to check in) we chatted for a bit, and I was distracted because I was at work. Toward the end of the call she said, "Well, anything else exciting going on?" and there was this pause as her words hung in the air. I wonder how much my family wonders when we'll be pregnant again (we're pretty private about our plans IRL). "Nope, just working," I replied. Nothing exciting going on yet. Maybe there will be soon.
P.S. I've been thinking about this blog lately, and am considering going private again. Of course, any babyloss moms that read would be welcome, and anyone else outside of my family/close friends.
Talking about my kids
Several weeks ago I met up with a new and dear friend who lost her baby daughter around the same time we lost Asher & Evan. Of course we instantly connected over our losses. It was wonderful to see her again.
As we walked and talked, various circumstances and details surrounding our babies, and losses, came up over, and over, and over again... which is only natural when talking to another babyloss mom. But it struck me, because we weren't specifically talking about our children or our losses the whole time. We would chat about something entirely different—HGTV, the park we were in, food... and our grief wove in and out of the conversation, naturally. Neither of us felt the need to qualify any of our statements, or to dance around the subject. I cannot have that kind of conversation with anyone else in my life except someone who has lost a child. It was such a gift to talk in that way. To fully acknowledge what we've been through, how it affects our every breath... and not worry that the listener will recoil or get uncomfortable.
And it also made me sad, because what we were doing was simply talking about our kids. Like any parent, one's children come up often in conversation. We were just a couple moms chatting about life. But it's only with other babyloss moms that it is socially acceptable to casually mention our (dead) children. When I speak with others I probably only mention Asher & Evan 1 out of every 10 times they cross my mind.
I wish I could describe how freeing it was, how good it felt to talk this way. For a short time, I felt almost "normal."
As we walked and talked, various circumstances and details surrounding our babies, and losses, came up over, and over, and over again... which is only natural when talking to another babyloss mom. But it struck me, because we weren't specifically talking about our children or our losses the whole time. We would chat about something entirely different—HGTV, the park we were in, food... and our grief wove in and out of the conversation, naturally. Neither of us felt the need to qualify any of our statements, or to dance around the subject. I cannot have that kind of conversation with anyone else in my life except someone who has lost a child. It was such a gift to talk in that way. To fully acknowledge what we've been through, how it affects our every breath... and not worry that the listener will recoil or get uncomfortable.
And it also made me sad, because what we were doing was simply talking about our kids. Like any parent, one's children come up often in conversation. We were just a couple moms chatting about life. But it's only with other babyloss moms that it is socially acceptable to casually mention our (dead) children. When I speak with others I probably only mention Asher & Evan 1 out of every 10 times they cross my mind.
I wish I could describe how freeing it was, how good it felt to talk this way. For a short time, I felt almost "normal."
Monday, August 9, 2010
random thoughts on a Monday
I like...
I don't like...
...when someone refers to my boys by name.
...when someone asks how I am doing, and really means it.
...when I see someone for the first time since my loss, and they acknowledge it even thought it's been "a while".
...when a friend asks to see pictures of them.
I don't like...
...when I see someone for the first time since our loss, and they act like it never happened.
...when a friend or family member never acknowledges my loss, ever, even with a card.
...when someone refers to our loss as a miscarriage (my babies were as alive as you or I am when they were born).
...when someone looks at me with pity.
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:
Friday, July 9, 2010
Vacation!!
It's finally here! The vacation we've been hoping for, dreaming about, and desperately needing for many months is finally here!
We have two weeks off of work. Two weeks! I am just beside myself. I haven't had that much time away from work since college. (Well, unless you count my 6 weeks at home after the boys were born, which I certainly don't. I may have been off from work, but that was anything but a vacation.)
We have felt such a need, such a desire to get away from everything, and we feel so blessed that it is actually coming together for us. This vacation feels like a gift—from God, of course, but also from Asher & Evan. In some ways, this trip would not have happened without them. I hope that doesn't sound weird, because I don't mean it that way! But I like to think of it as a gift from them, a way to help us heal. This trip is not only from them, but because of them, and for them. It is time away to focus, relax, heal, and honor our boys. To soak them in, remember them, and cherish their memories. And also to live again, to feel joy, to live life more fully because of, and in honor of them.
bittersweet.
We have two weeks off of work. Two weeks! I am just beside myself. I haven't had that much time away from work since college. (Well, unless you count my 6 weeks at home after the boys were born, which I certainly don't. I may have been off from work, but that was anything but a vacation.)
We have felt such a need, such a desire to get away from everything, and we feel so blessed that it is actually coming together for us. This vacation feels like a gift—from God, of course, but also from Asher & Evan. In some ways, this trip would not have happened without them. I hope that doesn't sound weird, because I don't mean it that way! But I like to think of it as a gift from them, a way to help us heal. This trip is not only from them, but because of them, and for them. It is time away to focus, relax, heal, and honor our boys. To soak them in, remember them, and cherish their memories. And also to live again, to feel joy, to live life more fully because of, and in honor of them.
bittersweet.
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.
Monday, June 21, 2010
It's the Little Things: Observations on Grief at 6 Months
The other day I was working on the layout of a book for preteen boys. The boy in the story had just asked a girl to a dance for the first time, and felt anxious about the upcoming date. Eventually the boy went to his dad for advice. The father gave his son tips on how to dance, suggested where to eat, and said Mom would help him pick out a shirt and tie to wear.
I alternately laughed at the boy's nervous thoughts and teared up at the admittedly cheesy story. At 6 months out, this is how my grief looks. My feelings alternate between wistful, sweet remembrance, and deep, aching sadness. I am caught off guard by the little things, new realizations of what I've missed and will be missing out on. I will never help them pick out an outfit for a dance. I will never watch admiringly as their father gives them advice on how to treat a girl. I will never snuggle both of them in my lap for a story. I could go on and on about the things I will not experience. But I try not to stay in that place too long.
At 6 months out I still think of, remember, and miss my boys every single day. Usually several times each day. If they aren't my first thought upon waking, I'll think of them as I shower or pass by the nursery. I think of them when I take a break at work, when I see a bright blue sky, when I feel joy.
The ache of missing Asher & Evan is less often an all-consuming, drowning feeling. More often it's a constant, deep ache. I imagine it's much like having chronic pain or a missing limb. That ache will never go away, but as time goes on I am learning how to live with it. The ache is becoming a part of me, rather than defining me.
I am starting to be able to enjoy babies again. It depends on the day.
I still feel a knot in the pit of my stomach when a friend announces her pregnancy.
We are thinking more seriously about trying again. The fact that I can even consider the idea and look ahead makes me realize how far we've come over the last 6 months.
Sometimes the grief surges up and overtakes me with a fresh wave of pain. These are the times when I go back to their blankets and photos, and just sit and cry. I cry because I'm so, so sorry all their belongings fit in one small box. And I would do anything to have them back. At 6 months, 6 years, or 6 decades, that will never change.
At 6 months out, my happy memories of my pregnancy and Asher & Evan have increased. I am able to smile more often than cry when I see their pictures. Slowly, very slowly, the rawness of grief is becoming secondary to the deep feelings of love.
I alternately laughed at the boy's nervous thoughts and teared up at the admittedly cheesy story. At 6 months out, this is how my grief looks. My feelings alternate between wistful, sweet remembrance, and deep, aching sadness. I am caught off guard by the little things, new realizations of what I've missed and will be missing out on. I will never help them pick out an outfit for a dance. I will never watch admiringly as their father gives them advice on how to treat a girl. I will never snuggle both of them in my lap for a story. I could go on and on about the things I will not experience. But I try not to stay in that place too long.
At 6 months out I still think of, remember, and miss my boys every single day. Usually several times each day. If they aren't my first thought upon waking, I'll think of them as I shower or pass by the nursery. I think of them when I take a break at work, when I see a bright blue sky, when I feel joy.
The ache of missing Asher & Evan is less often an all-consuming, drowning feeling. More often it's a constant, deep ache. I imagine it's much like having chronic pain or a missing limb. That ache will never go away, but as time goes on I am learning how to live with it. The ache is becoming a part of me, rather than defining me.
I am starting to be able to enjoy babies again. It depends on the day.
I still feel a knot in the pit of my stomach when a friend announces her pregnancy.
We are thinking more seriously about trying again. The fact that I can even consider the idea and look ahead makes me realize how far we've come over the last 6 months.
Sometimes the grief surges up and overtakes me with a fresh wave of pain. These are the times when I go back to their blankets and photos, and just sit and cry. I cry because I'm so, so sorry all their belongings fit in one small box. And I would do anything to have them back. At 6 months, 6 years, or 6 decades, that will never change.
At 6 months out, my happy memories of my pregnancy and Asher & Evan have increased. I am able to smile more often than cry when I see their pictures. Slowly, very slowly, the rawness of grief is becoming secondary to the deep feelings of love.
Father's Day
We celebrated Father's Day yesterday with my dad and family in the small town where they live. The town was devastated last week by a tornado, so we almost weren't able to make the trip. Thankfully my family is fine, their house is fine, and the Na.tional Gu.ard moved the borders of the disaster area just enough to allow us to reach their house.
J and I had our own little celebration yesterday morning with a card from me, and a Li.sa Leo.nard bracelet (do they call leather armbands for guys "bracelets?" I don't know.) personalized with Asher & Evan's names. I also picked out some cologne for him. I hope he felt recognized and appreciated as a father. I've always known he would be a great dad, and he's shown that to be true. He was fiercely protective of me and the boys while I was pregnant, and has shown such amazing devotion to his family. Our road to parenthood has been incredibly difficult, but he is walking it with strength and courage.
It broke my heart yesterday, though, that no one else acknowledged his fatherhood. I hadn't expected much, since only my mom and a couple close girlfriends said anything to me on Mother's Day. But I'd hoped for something. My own father was saying "Happy Father's Day!" to strangers, but didn't say anything to J.
I know that people just don't know what to say, and that everyone was thinking about it. But sometimes I get angry, and sick of giving others the benefit of the doubt. I guess I feel selfish, like other people should suck it up and do the uncomfortable thing for our sakes. I feel so defensive and protective of our status as parents, and I shouldn't have to feel that way.
As time goes on I'm sure I will feel more comfortable with our unconventional role as parents, and how to acknowledge it with others. We know we are parents, and our babies certainly know that, so that's all that matters. I am proud and thankful to be their mom, as I know J is proud to be their dad, and we'll celebrate that fact even if no one else does!
J and I had our own little celebration yesterday morning with a card from me, and a Li.sa Leo.nard bracelet (do they call leather armbands for guys "bracelets?" I don't know.) personalized with Asher & Evan's names. I also picked out some cologne for him. I hope he felt recognized and appreciated as a father. I've always known he would be a great dad, and he's shown that to be true. He was fiercely protective of me and the boys while I was pregnant, and has shown such amazing devotion to his family. Our road to parenthood has been incredibly difficult, but he is walking it with strength and courage.
It broke my heart yesterday, though, that no one else acknowledged his fatherhood. I hadn't expected much, since only my mom and a couple close girlfriends said anything to me on Mother's Day. But I'd hoped for something. My own father was saying "Happy Father's Day!" to strangers, but didn't say anything to J.
I know that people just don't know what to say, and that everyone was thinking about it. But sometimes I get angry, and sick of giving others the benefit of the doubt. I guess I feel selfish, like other people should suck it up and do the uncomfortable thing for our sakes. I feel so defensive and protective of our status as parents, and I shouldn't have to feel that way.
As time goes on I'm sure I will feel more comfortable with our unconventional role as parents, and how to acknowledge it with others. We know we are parents, and our babies certainly know that, so that's all that matters. I am proud and thankful to be their mom, as I know J is proud to be their dad, and we'll celebrate that fact even if no one else does!
Thursday, June 17, 2010
6 months
Yesterday marked 6 months since my baby boys entered and left this world.
It seems like a very big milestone to reach. Asher and Evan have now been gone longer than I was pregnant with them. (Technically that date passed a couple weeks ago, but I really feel it at the 6-month mark, because I was so close.)
More and more I've been struck by how much the world has moved on. I have moved forward a lot, but I still think of them, miss them, remember them on a daily basis. December 16th still feels like only a few weeks ago. I can recall details of those days in the hospital with perfect clarity. And then I realize it is summer now, and am struck by how much time has passed in "the real world." It's a different season, a different year. My loss is still at the forefront of my mind every day, and I have to remind myself that for others, it's something that happened to me "a while ago." How odd that people can operate on such different scales of time.
I hope to post later about what my grief looks like at 6 months out. And I hope to write a letter to my boys. But for now I just have to say I can't believe it's 6 months long since I held them. And I wish they were here.
It seems like a very big milestone to reach. Asher and Evan have now been gone longer than I was pregnant with them. (Technically that date passed a couple weeks ago, but I really feel it at the 6-month mark, because I was so close.)
More and more I've been struck by how much the world has moved on. I have moved forward a lot, but I still think of them, miss them, remember them on a daily basis. December 16th still feels like only a few weeks ago. I can recall details of those days in the hospital with perfect clarity. And then I realize it is summer now, and am struck by how much time has passed in "the real world." It's a different season, a different year. My loss is still at the forefront of my mind every day, and I have to remind myself that for others, it's something that happened to me "a while ago." How odd that people can operate on such different scales of time.
I hope to post later about what my grief looks like at 6 months out. And I hope to write a letter to my boys. But for now I just have to say I can't believe it's 6 months long since I held them. And I wish they were here.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Today
Today, I was able to go to church.
Today I chatted with a close friend while fawning over her baby.
Today I looked at their pictures and felt more love than sadness. I even smiled at their precious little faces.
Today I went shopping, bought lots of clothes (a lot for me, I'm so picky!), and didn't have a breakdown.
Today I feel the slightest bit of hope, like maybe things will be OK. Maybe some things even are OK. Not everything, by far, but today I can recognize that my life has both good and bad.
I don't know if tomorrow will be better or worse, but I am thankful for Today.
Today I chatted with a close friend while fawning over her baby.
Today I looked at their pictures and felt more love than sadness. I even smiled at their precious little faces.
Today I went shopping, bought lots of clothes (a lot for me, I'm so picky!), and didn't have a breakdown.
Today I feel the slightest bit of hope, like maybe things will be OK. Maybe some things even are OK. Not everything, by far, but today I can recognize that my life has both good and bad.
I don't know if tomorrow will be better or worse, but I am thankful for Today.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Thankful Thursday
For Mother's Day my friend D sent me a Mother's Day card. It would have been more than enough that she remembered me, and even took the time to find an appropriate card (several people have told me how hard it is to find a Mother's Day card for a BLM, which I understand, but I also appreciate the extra effort). But she did more than that. She crocheted two tiny little hats and two precious little blankets in honor of the boys.
When Asher & Evan were born, the nurses found cute little knit hats and blankets for them to wear. Someone I didn't know had taken the time to make those tiny little things for my boys. It touched me so much that someone else thought of me, and other women delivering very premature babies with nothing for them to wear. The grace of that gift was immeasurable. Those blankets and hats are some of my most treasured possessions. When I need to be with my boys I hold the blankets, and feel their softness. It's as close to them as I can get.
I am so thankful for D, and her thoughtfulness with this gift. I am eager to send the blankets on to the hospital, so they can be given to another family. I hate to think of anyone going through the same thing I did, but sadly I know that it happens. And I hope these blankets from a dear friend will provide a tiny bit of comfort to someone who needs all the grace they can get.
When Asher & Evan were born, the nurses found cute little knit hats and blankets for them to wear. Someone I didn't know had taken the time to make those tiny little things for my boys. It touched me so much that someone else thought of me, and other women delivering very premature babies with nothing for them to wear. The grace of that gift was immeasurable. Those blankets and hats are some of my most treasured possessions. When I need to be with my boys I hold the blankets, and feel their softness. It's as close to them as I can get.
I am so thankful for D, and her thoughtfulness with this gift. I am eager to send the blankets on to the hospital, so they can be given to another family. I hate to think of anyone going through the same thing I did, but sadly I know that it happens. And I hope these blankets from a dear friend will provide a tiny bit of comfort to someone who needs all the grace they can get.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
A Letter to Evan
To my little baby Evan,
Oh, sweetheart, how I miss you. You were such a tiny little thing, such a beautiful baby. You were so delicate and perfect.
You showed me your personality even before you were born! You were so active, and blessed me with so many sweet moments during pregnancy. The first kick I felt was from you. I felt you moving inside of me often. One of my favorite memories of us together is in the mornings when I first woke up. Before getting up, I would place my hands on my belly to see if you would move for me. More often than not, you did! Sometimes your brother joined in, too, but you were always my squirmy baby.
Evan, we only shared 4 minutes together outside of my womb, but I treasure every single second that we had together. I gazed at you, and held your tiny body for so long. My sweet little boy.
I imagine that you would have been my mischievous boy, my little rascal. You were smaller, but I think you would have been the tough one, and the trouble maker, between you and Asher. You would have been messy, and loud, and rambunctious as a little boy. You would have gotten in lots of trouble, but you would still be a sweetheart in the end. Evan, I imagine cuddling up with you to read you a story before bed. I imagine teaching you things about the world. You would have been smart, and you and Asher would have made up all kinds of stories and schemes together. Oh, how I miss being able to see you grow up together.
Evan, your name means "God is good." And even though I am heartbroken that you are not here, I praise God that you and Asher are safe and whole in Heaven. I am thankful that in your short life, you only knew love. I can't wait to see you again someday.
I love you, baby,
Mommy
Oh, sweetheart, how I miss you. You were such a tiny little thing, such a beautiful baby. You were so delicate and perfect.
You showed me your personality even before you were born! You were so active, and blessed me with so many sweet moments during pregnancy. The first kick I felt was from you. I felt you moving inside of me often. One of my favorite memories of us together is in the mornings when I first woke up. Before getting up, I would place my hands on my belly to see if you would move for me. More often than not, you did! Sometimes your brother joined in, too, but you were always my squirmy baby.
Evan, we only shared 4 minutes together outside of my womb, but I treasure every single second that we had together. I gazed at you, and held your tiny body for so long. My sweet little boy.
I imagine that you would have been my mischievous boy, my little rascal. You were smaller, but I think you would have been the tough one, and the trouble maker, between you and Asher. You would have been messy, and loud, and rambunctious as a little boy. You would have gotten in lots of trouble, but you would still be a sweetheart in the end. Evan, I imagine cuddling up with you to read you a story before bed. I imagine teaching you things about the world. You would have been smart, and you and Asher would have made up all kinds of stories and schemes together. Oh, how I miss being able to see you grow up together.
Evan, your name means "God is good." And even though I am heartbroken that you are not here, I praise God that you and Asher are safe and whole in Heaven. I am thankful that in your short life, you only knew love. I can't wait to see you again someday.
I love you, baby,
Mommy
A Letter to Asher
To my baby Asher,
My firstborn. Asher, you are so loved and so missed. I remember when I first laid eyes on you, it was love at first sight. I was filled with so much joy and pride, even in the midst of tragic circumstances. Despite the pain of the outcome, all I felt was love for you, more than I ever knew was possible for one person to feel.
Asher, you were a fighter, and I bet you would have been a typical oldest child in many ways. Maybe you would have been bossy, like I was. Maybe you would have had your daddy's strong, gentle personality. I bet you would have been creative. Maybe you would have played guitar, and followed in your dad's footsteps. I know that you would have been a great brother to Evan. I imagine that the two of you would have come up with all kinds of games and plans together.
You made quite the dramatic entrance into this world! You lived for almost an hour, and even kicked when you were born. The nurses were all surprised at your strength. One of my favorite memories of you is when I held you for the first time and you grabbed my finger. My baby, my love. You knew me, and I knew you.
Another memory we shared is when your daddy held your tiny little foot, and said that it looked like mine. You were so beautiful, with your tiny little hands and feet, and the beginnings of fine little eyebrows. You had your daddy's mouth. Asher, you were absolutely perfect.
Asher, I am so lucky to have had you. I am blessed to call you my son. I am grateful for the time we spent together. You will always be my oldest child, and I hold a special place in my heart for you alone.
I love you, I miss you,
Mommy
My firstborn. Asher, you are so loved and so missed. I remember when I first laid eyes on you, it was love at first sight. I was filled with so much joy and pride, even in the midst of tragic circumstances. Despite the pain of the outcome, all I felt was love for you, more than I ever knew was possible for one person to feel.
Asher, you were a fighter, and I bet you would have been a typical oldest child in many ways. Maybe you would have been bossy, like I was. Maybe you would have had your daddy's strong, gentle personality. I bet you would have been creative. Maybe you would have played guitar, and followed in your dad's footsteps. I know that you would have been a great brother to Evan. I imagine that the two of you would have come up with all kinds of games and plans together.
You made quite the dramatic entrance into this world! You lived for almost an hour, and even kicked when you were born. The nurses were all surprised at your strength. One of my favorite memories of you is when I held you for the first time and you grabbed my finger. My baby, my love. You knew me, and I knew you.
Another memory we shared is when your daddy held your tiny little foot, and said that it looked like mine. You were so beautiful, with your tiny little hands and feet, and the beginnings of fine little eyebrows. You had your daddy's mouth. Asher, you were absolutely perfect.
Asher, I am so lucky to have had you. I am blessed to call you my son. I am grateful for the time we spent together. You will always be my oldest child, and I hold a special place in my heart for you alone.
I love you, I miss you,
Mommy
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