Moments of Pause

A Song for You

2012-01-15T16:22:00.002-05:00

I remember in those early days finding songs that spoke to me. Made me think of him. And even now, I will hear those familiar notes and they will bring me back to that time and place~ those days where it was so raw and I wondered if I'd make it through another day.

But I did.

And when I think of those days and what got me through, I think of those mothers that went before me. The ones that gently told me to breathe in and breathe out. The mothers who took my hand, cried with me and told me I was not alone.

Today I was driving and I heard a song that made me think of those days, those people and those of you who may need it.

Wishing you peace,

To view this on YouTube click HERE.

Not to be.

2012-01-14T07:22:00.003-05:00

After you have lost a child, it is so hard to be pregnant again.

We celebrated my daughter's seventh birthday last month and I was reminded of that. I was looking through some old pictures and I remembered it all...

I had lost Andrew in my first pregnancy and while the pregnancy itself was very uneventful, clearly the delivery was something that I would never have imagined. I desperately wanted to be pregnant again after Andrew~ Perhaps it was because that was the last time I was 'whole' and happy. I still look at that last picture that was taken of me pregnant and think, "She has NO idea how her life is going to change in just an hour..."

While I wanted desperately to feel a baby inside of me again, I was also terrified by the thought. I learned I was pregnant again on the day we buried my sweet Great Aunt, whom I was very close with. Even then~ every moment~ pregnancy was on my mind, but I would not let myself celebrate like I had when I saw that first pregnancy test~ would not let myself dream.

The disconnect continued. I remember thinking that this was wrong... I shouldn't be pregnant so soon... I should have Andrew. Joey should have Andrew. We should have Andrew~ not this other person.

It wasn't until I was in the garden writing Andrew that (that I wanted him back), that I felt a kick and knew. This was a new life that would teach me just like he had (and he would). I made the decision to love and to sing to this child just as I had Andrew and maybe even dream... albeit just a little.

I wouldn't buy a single thing when I was pregnant. When I spoke of the new baby I would say "IF" the baby comes home, you can get diapers and bring up clothes to be washed. Nothing was to be bought because nothing would be returned... I couldn't do that again.

So on the morning of the delivery (which would be three weeks early via c-section because of my growing anxiety of cord accidents and general fear), I didn't know what to expect. I got into the car and started sobbing. I wasn't quite sure then why I was crying and I am still not quite sure now. I could feel the baby kicking inside of me just as I had that first pregnancy though this time I knew it was from the one and only baby growing inside of me.

Once in the delivery room I was fine. It was brighter than I remember (though I am sure the room was just as light for that first emergency c-section). There was talk and laughter (something certainly absent from that first delivery). And there was hope. I knew that first delivery that the hope I was trying to hold on to was slowly falling through my fingers. This time there was hope and for the first time, lying on that delivery table, I knew... this was going to happen. I was finally going to be able to say that I had 'babies' at home.

After you lose a child it is so hard to be pregnant again, but it is more hard not to be.

Anytime I saw a pregnant person, I wanted to be her. In the back of my head there were always the thoughts, "Does she know how lucky she is?" "Does she know how fragile she is?" "Does she know how things can change in just a moment?" While I wanted to tell her, I also wanted to run from her. I hated being around pregnant people (unless I was one of them~ or it was someone from the Secret Society).

After delivering my daughter and experiencing what a delivery COULD be (pure happiness, the baby you came to deliver coming home with you), I wanted to do it again and again and again. I wanted to be those girls talking about pregnancy and pumps, complaining about aches and frequent potty breaks. I wanted to be "her" the pregnant girl. And it didn't matter if it was a few days after I delivered... I wanted to be "her" again. But even though I "was" her again (pregnant) I still wasn't. I was different. Changed.

What others didn't understand about me is that I somehow wanted them to know that I was a mom. I had done this. I had had twins. I think that somehow I felt Andrew's death was my fault. I had failed him. I had gone in too late, but I wouldn't do it again. I wanted to be pregnant again. I wanted to prove I could do it. For him. For me. For a baby that I would love more than anything.

I am someone though, who didn't have a hard time becoming pregnant, but I think that I had a similar desperation as those who did. I think that I had the same uneasy feeling around pregnant people. The same feeling that I wanted to run from the room when they came around. The same eyes that scanned the room and could find them. They were everywhere. And THAT was hard.

At the time for me baby showers were so very hard, because I knew what it felt like to have to return things~ things you had thought would be for your baby. Showers are still hard for me as I just find myself praying ~ please let these gifts not need to ever be returned... Like Andrew these things are always in the back of my mind. No one thinks they will lose a baby, until they do.

It is so hard to be pregnant, but it is more hard not to be.

Wishing you peace.

Dear Anonymous,

2011-12-20T23:00:00.003-05:00

Dear Anonymous,

Fetus.

I hate the word.

Something about hearing it or seeing it makes my skin crawl. And like most things from that night back in September 2003, I completely understand why I feel that way and why I feel that way still...

When I was in that hospital (39 weeks pregnant) waiting to get my labor induced and they couldn't find heart tones on my babies, I thought nothing of it. I could feel kicks and by then I knew how cramped it probably was in there for my babies. I had had an ultrasound a few days earlier and all was well. Still, heart tones couldn't be found so that 'on-call doctor' (who changed my life in more ways than he'll ever know) brought in an ultra-sound machine.

He put it on my stomach and we all saw the picture.

I knew immediately what was wrong. That flicker from the heartbeat was gone. While I don't know if the magnitude of that picture set in at that precise moment, I do know that it registered with me... My baby is dead and has no heartbeat. He went to the other side of my stomach and same picture. Perhaps in a bit of a fog, or shock, or denial or perhaps all three~ What he said next is something I will NEVER forget. But it wasn't the message he was trying to communicate that struck me as much as his word choice.

"I am sorry, but it appears your fetuses are dead."

I did not hear his condolence or even the word "dead"~what I think screamed at me most was the word 'fetus,' and to this day I will never forget that feeling or that look on his face (or the faces of those I loved that were in that room).

I understand that as a doctor there are different stages in a child's development... embryo... fetus... but while I (as an educator and an early childhood educator at that) have had many classes about childhood development and those different stages, NOT ONCE in my pregnancy did I ever think I was having an embryo... or a fetus... Every time I looked at my stomach (even before the outside world could see) I knew that I was having a BABY!

There has been a lot of talk with the Duggars' recent announcement of her "miscarriage" (another word I hate) specifically regarding the pictures that were taken and the memorial (My thoughts on all that will probably come in another post soon). In one article that I read, an anonymous commenter was against the pictures and while she (or he) had other things that certainly shocked me, when I read 'fetus'... again my head went back to that night and that moment...

That damn word again...

That word that still manages to steal my breath.

That word that somehow means 'less than'.

"Less than" human.

"Less than" a child.

Had my son at six pounds 11 oz (the largest child I ever delivered) taken one little breath, he would have gone from being a fetus to a child and that makes me sick. To me he was more than that... more than some tissues and bone which to me is what I think of when I hear that dreaded word and even when my children were just little sparks inside of me, I knew then that they were bigger than that. They had purpose and they were "more than" anything I could ever imagine (and continue to be that... more than just a child even... to me... the mother...).

My "fetus" has taught me so much in this lifetime.

Perhaps he can teach you something too, "anonymous".

(Ah... exhale... I feel better now... Thanks for allowing me to pause for a moment~ and allowing me a little rant of sorts.)

Peace,

December Hurts.

2011-12-04T01:18:00.003-05:00

"I just can't help but think that you look up at your mantle and think, 'There should be one more stocking up there...'"

That is what she said to me.

It was my first week back to work after delivering the boys. I had decided to come back to teach one week before the holidays to 'ease' my way back to the 'normalcy' of life... My life teaching children... The truth was I no longer knew normalcy~ the normalcy I had known had changed~ shifted~ disappeared.

The comment was rude. It caught me off guard and it was said as I was surrounded by second graders getting ready to start a school day. To say that it made it impossible to focus on my job would have been an understatement and yet somehow I managed. I went through the motions. I survived. Somehow we all survive.

"Laura, you are so strong."

How many times I have heard that... but the truth is~ what choice did I have? In the end I woke up each day, I breathed out and I breathed in and that world that I had thought had stopped kept spinning while my life as I had known it had stopped.

But it was the 'holidays'

And there was one less stocking upon my mantle.

What she said hurt and at the same time it validated me too. She knew that I was hurting and the acknowledgement (albeit strange) was also a comfort. I did look at my mantle and think it looked amiss. I had dreamed for 39 weeks that Christmas would contain four stockings and yet there were three~ I had dreamed of seeing little babes dressed in matching jammies... but when I opened my eyes, I didn't. And that hurt.

It doesn't matter if you lost your baby on January 1st, or December 26th, that first Christmas without your baby cuts and it feels as if it was yesterday~ as if yesterday you held him in your arms, closed your eyes and kissed him goodbye~ or perhaps only kissed that dream~ that dream of that 'first Christmas'~ goodbye.

It doesn't matter if your baby lived years, months in your womb or was just a spark. It hurts. Christmas is a child's holiday... it doesn't matter it's roots or the 'reason for the season', it is the time where children's eyes are wide, and the whole world seems to slow and have a magical glow about it... and when it doesn't... it hurts.

December hurts.

The truth was he had no stocking, but to me he was all I could think about. The elephant in the room that nobody talked about. I needed something. But what? I didn't know. My husband and I were out shopping, determined to get up, breathe, live. We found an angel. It sparkled and was beautiful and reminded me of my sweet one who was amongst the real angels.

It's been 9 Christmases.

And still I look at that mantle and wonder....

And that angel and sigh...

Andrew has more ornaments than our living children and they came from you. My friends. People who saw an ornament with his name, and angel, a letter (A), a star. Friends who had no words but wanted to do something. And as my living children placed them upon the tree I remembered where I was when I opened those ornaments, what it meant to me as I saw them and how each one seemed to heal my broken heart~ pick up one piece and try to glue its jagged pieces back together.

This year as my children hung them on the tree they said, "This one is for Andrew... And this one is for my sister..." and I sat and thought how lovely that they remember... how sad that they have to know.

And so I pause and think and remember how hard that first Christmas was~ how I never dreamt I would ever survive it... and here I am 9 Christmases later. The world has kept spinning and still his angel is there, watching over it all... and somehow I did. We did it.

Survived it.

Survived it without him.

Andrew.

Without her.

Thank you Andrew.

Thank you E.

Thank you to all who remembered and remember still...

Thinking of your angels this holiday season and thinking of YOU.

I know others are too~ I just pray they let you know

Somehow.

In their own way.

And though it will never heal your broken heart, I hope you can see it for what it is, a medicine. A caring. A community. An attempt.

To show you love.

December hurts.

But you're not alone.

You never have been...

You never will be...

Those Shoes

2011-11-18T21:32:00.003-05:00

I've written about this before... but I'm writing about it again...

Sometimes people make you think differently.

Sometimes circumstances make you see differently.

I wonder if these words may make you act differently.

Before I say what is on my heart at the moment, I need to say that clearly I believe that life begins at the moment of conception. My 10 week E (being a child I still think about and wonder about and love), I think makes that obvious.

BUT~

I have learned to sit. Sit and listen.

And I hope you will too... to this.

Last night we had a monthly support group meeting at the hospital. I was over an hour late because of work, but having been in contact with a few new families, I wanted to be there for them. I came in during the middle of a new member's story (that I hadn't heard from) and while I didn't get all the details, I was able to put together pieces. The baby would die- there was no misdiagnosis- no hope. Health care in this country is horrible and expensive and it would become more expensive still. Her baby would die. She ended the pregnancy. From what I could gather this did not happen in a hospital but in a clinic and clearly things had gone wrong... very wrong... and her experience made an already horrible situation, worse. A woman who had wanted nothing more than that child she had prayed for, had lost that child. I know that feeling. And I pray that you don't.

As I drove home later that night, I began to think about that... Abortion. That dreaded "A" word that I see on bumper stickers and fliers. That word that is thrown around by politicians and written on signs held by Christians (and yes I am a Christian). A word that is black and white. But to me... it's not.

I had an abortion.

If you look at my medical records, that is what they say. I chose to have "an abortion" after we lost E. Yes. E was gone and there was absolutely no heartbeat- but I needed it done. I needed to close that piece and move forward (albeit not forgetting). Because I have insurance, I was able to have this done at my hospital, surrounded by a caring doctor and nurses I know and love. This horrible thing, losing a child (and for me 'finishing' it with my D & C aka abortion) was something that in that moment I needed. I was fragile, I was breaking, I had that choice before me, and I made it. And now 3 years later, I still know it was the right one for me.

No one said anything to me about it, but I've seen my records and that is what they say: four live births. 1 still birth. 1 abortion.

Now you may say that my 'abortion' was different. My baby was dead. That is black and white.

And perhaps you are right...

But then I think of her. And while I have met others who have made this decision based on the information they are given, I still think of her and I have written about her here before. A woman I met a few years back now. She had wanted nothing more than to have a baby at home. After years of fertility treatments, she carried a baby she knew would have a syndrome, but a baby she wanted more than the world. She had read up, prepared and was thrilled to soon be bringing home a baby that she so wanted. She carried him past his due date, had a horrible delivery and he was born still. Horrible. Sad. Devastating.

After more years of trying she finally became pregnant again- finally to have a child at home. But as she went to that 20 week ultrasound, she learned the worst. Her baby had more than a syndrome. There was no brain. Her baby would die shortly after birth. Like the absence of that heartbeat this is something on an ultrasound that you cannot mistake. Having done this once, buried one child, she didn't feel she could do it again- go that long- labor- knowing your baby would be dead. And so she made that choice and ended her pregnancy.

What would I have done?

I don't know.

And I'm thankful that I never had to walk in those shoes or face that decision.

But what I do know is that she lost friends. She lost her church. She lost her baby. ~A baby that (despite having a heartbeat) she lost that day when she saw that ultrasound and learned that diagnosis. She lost her baby in that room. She lost that baby in that clinic. And she loses that baby every time she sees a baby- Every time that date comes around on the calendar- And every time she hears you say that she shouldn't have had that choice to make because it was wrong...

I sometimes think that we are so quick to judge. That one word becomes all or nothing, yes or no, black or white. We don't pause to think that there is a story there. A mother there. Someone who was faced with a decision that they didn't make lightly... or easily... but that they made.

And so for this reason, though I believe that life begins at conception, you will never see me hold up a sign, or place a bumper sticker on my car saying that because those words (though true) hurt people without meaning to. They certainly don't help them. The same way you would never know by looking at my family that I have two angels in heaven that I think of every- single- day... You don't know who walks around with the weight of a choice that was hard to make. A choice that didn't feel like a choice at all but something that they needed to do~ to survive. And while sometimes seeing twins may rip that scab right off my broken heart~ I imagine your words can have that same affect on someone and you may have no idea.

I remember that moment in the room hours after delivery. Holding Andrew. He was no longer that pink little sleeping babe I had delivered and I knew I needed him gone. He had to leave. Now. In order for me to survive. I called the nurse. Said it was time. Peeled back the hat on his sweet little head and kissed him for the last time. I turned my head as she took him from the room. I couldn't watch him leave- Though it was I who had made the call to have him taken from me.

I wasn't strong enough to keep my son a moment more.

Don't blame me for that.

Don't blame them for that.

You haven't walked those shoes.

And neither have I.

Who I am becoming.

2011-11-01T23:23:00.004-04:00

Right now I am thinking about that place I once lived... somewhere in the middle of despair and sadness, anger and exhaustion. I remember being stuck. Not knowing where to go. What to say. How to feel. At the time I felt like I was the only one who lived there- it wasn't until I left that I realized how many people were actually there (and unable to leave).

It was a hard place to leave because despite its name, it was a comfort to me. Feeling pain meant feeling him. Hurting meant remembering. Crying meant loving. I stayed in that place for months until one day I left. I didn't cry that day~ and that made me cry.

Eventually I moved away and began traveling. I didn't stay in one place too long- sometimes happy- sometimes sad- but eventually I found joy again and it felt good so I decided to stay longer. Still sometimes I'd go visit my old stomping ground, I needed to. It felt like 'home'. I know that my friends and family worry when I go back, but I want them to know that it is OK. I will not be staying long. I no longer find it to be a good 'home' for me.

I think sometimes going back there- to those raw feelings can be good. Remembering~ feeling those things can make you feel closer... closer to the ones who left~ but I do think that there is a danger in staying there too long. Living amongst all those feelings you can start to lose yourself. Start to forget. Lose sight of that person you were before tragedy knocked on your doorstep and stole you away. Lose sight of that person they would want you to become.

When you stay there too long you forget what sunshine feels like and nothing seems to matter~ and those people who complain can send you deeper into despair so for today I ask you to... try.

Be thankful.

I am thankful for my mortgage bill.

I have a house to live in.

I am thankful for the laundry that never gets done.

I have clothes to keep me warm.

I am thankful for my tired feet.

I have a healthy body that can walk miles.

I am thankful for the dishes in my sink.

I have food on my table.

I am thankful for taxes.

I have police and firefighters to protect me.

I am thankful for my dented car.

I have a way to get from here to there.

I am thankful for my headache.

I have 23 first graders who teach me something everyday.

I am thankful for my leaves that need to be raked.

I have a yard full of beautiful trees.

I am thankful for my loud children.

I have loud children.

I am thankful for my angels.

They have reminded me once again to pause, remember where I've been, where I am and where I'm going. Without them, I wouldn't be me... and I like who I am. Who I am becoming.

And I think that they look down

And like me too.

In a good place... Sometimes...

2011-10-24T22:09:00.004-04:00

Today I was sitting at my daughter's dance class listening to the mom's talk (as I often do). I had written about it here once before... the mom who was pregnant and she and the other moms were sharing their pregnancy stories as I, quietly smiled and eaves dropped...

I feel like I need to do a follow-up to that post. That woman went on to have her babies... yes babies... twins! They have been at the studio since the fall dance classes began and she has had them with her always. Clearly they were quite premature (they are very tiny still). I have overheard many conversations... on how hard it was... The boy was sick... But mostly I hear about how amazing it is- how there was 'something in the water' and how busy life is with these new twins and her now family of four. Her friends ooh and aaah over the babies (as is normal) and still I hate it.

Having been on this road for eight years, I can usually push back feelings of jealousy- but who am I kidding?? Feelings are feelings and as much as I'd love to say that I am this wonderful person with an amazing outlook- above such childish emotions as jealousy- the fact of the matter is that I am extremely jealous! And while it was mentioned that I too have four kids at home (I wanted some recognition)- she had "something in the water" to have those twins...

Well, I once had a sip of that water too... but I didn't dare say it. I mentioned something about having a twin pregnancy but no one said anything to me- asking me about it- and I quickly stopped myself from adding any more and realized that I was going into territory that made my palms sweaty and my heart race. And so I did what I always have when I start to feel jealous, angry or just sad... I breathe in and out... and in and out... until I can turn the page.

A friend who has no living children mentioned that her friend was pregnant... how she is happy for her friend, but more sad for herself and wondered if it ever got any easier. I would like to say that Yes. It does. But... Sometimes it can rip you up inside still. I have no reason to feel this jealousy. After all, I am in that good place... I really am...

But still today I thought- I could have done that too. I could have taken care of two babies- I could have done without the sleep and taken them out to places. That could have been me...

But it wasn't.

So today I felt a little sorry for myself. And with four healthy children living in my house I am more than ashamed to be admitting it.

But today I felt a little sorry for myself. And with two in heaven, I think that I will allow myself that and not be ashamed for admitting it.

I don't think I'm alone.

After all... I am in a good place.

Sometimes.

Remember Us.

2011-10-07T21:08:00.003-04:00

I have been thinking~

And when I've been thinking, I usually need to come here.

October 15th has been set aside as a national day of remembrance- To remember people like me and our babies who we lost either through miscarriage, stillbirth or infant loss. If you are driving near a hospital and see balloons of pinks, blues and whites flying into the air, chances are that you are witnessing a balloon release. And those balloons you see... they represent the life of someone who was wanted so very, very much. Each balloon was held by someone with hopes and dreams for a child, who- like the balloon- they couldn't hold on to.

The words I write here of course are of my opinion and I do not claim to represent nor speak for everyone in this secret society. The truth is that we are all very different- as unique as our losses. Some long for you to remember and some may want you to forget (or at least act that way).

I have recently seen many posts on facebook about October 15th, and how important it is to remember people (like me) who have had a loss. I like seeing them. One struck me recently though. She wrote that when she asked people to remember October 15th- to remember her child- the only people who mentioned her baby or commented on her posts were people of this (loss) community. That made me pause and wonder and ask myself... why?

I wondered- because that hasn't been my experience. When I woke up on September 15th, and checked my email, my facebook, my phone messages, my mailbox... I had loads of messages from friends remembering my son. And while they wrote such kind things that had me in (happy) tears, what I really treasured was that they wrote (or said) the one thing that mattered to me ~his name~. There is something about hearing the name of someone you thought everyone else forgot that can lift you. Make you pause. Bring (happy) tears to your eyes because they remembered!

Of course many of the people I heard from were friends I know from this community- but there were a large number who have never had a loss- or had a child- or even wanted one. I wondered why it would be that my friends would (and do) acknowledge my Andrew and E, while other people's friends do not. And while I may say that it is because I have the best friends out there... (I think I do), I know that that is not the case. Everyone in this life has someone out there who loves them, cares for them, and remembers. So why don't they wake up with the same sweet messages in their inboxes on the anniversaries? On October 15ths? I am no more special than anyone else- Why haven't my friends 'forgotten' like others have?

And then I got to thinking, I don't think that their friends forgot. I think that perhaps the difference is, I have a big mouth. I have said Andrew's name so much (especially in those early days, months, years) that people who know me and know my living children are able to recall his name just as easily as the children who they see each day. They remember though not just because I speak his name, but because I have given them permission. I have told them what I want from them. What I need from them. I need them to say his name. I need them to remember, for when they do~ it matters. It matters more than I could ever express.

I have only been married for a decade but I learned early on that though I'd like to think my husband can read my mind and know what I am thinking, the truth is... he can't. If something matters to me- if I need something- I need to say it. Tell him. Similarly, I think that we in this community- if we truly want our friends to remember- need to guide them, tell them what we need. They want to help us, sometimes they just can't read our minds- and we need to forgive them for that...

All of this has reminded me of that beautiful quote I have referenced before:

"If you know someone who has lost a child or lost anyone that is important to them, and you're afraid to mention them because you think you might make them sad by reminding them that they died~ They didn't forget that they died. You're not reminding them. What you're reminding them of is that you remember that they lived and that is a great, great gift."

Elizabeth Edwards

Share with your friends. Tell them what you need. Tell them what you want.

I just did.

Remember.

And say their name(s).

8

2011-10-02T00:39:00.006-04:00

September 15th took a lot out of me this year.

It wasn't actually September 15th itself, but also the days leading up to it.

And the days that followed.

It had been a rough week. A little girl was in the hospital with heart trouble, another baby was given mere weeks to live. I was caught up in the wonderings... what would 8 have been like? What would he have been like?

Three days before September 15th, we were saying prayers in our daughter's room when Jonasen said, "God, I just don't understand why you had to let my brother die." I opened my eyes and looked at him. I wanted to say something- put a bandaid on it- make it better but I had nothing. My mouth hung open and time stood still.

I followed Joe back to his room. I searched for words- I wanted to give him an answer, give him a reason, but I couldn't...

because I don't quite know the reasons.

While so many blessings have come from Andrew's death- they hardly feel like enough.

He's 8.

He's 8 and asking questions I don't have the answers to.

He said to me, "Mom. I don't know what he looks like. I don't remember being with him. I don't know if I'll recognize him. Will he know me? Will he be a baby?"

I tried my best. I took my breath.

The truth is that I don't remember what he looks like. The discolored pictures that are framed in my room are not the images I once had of that boy who was pulled from me pink and beautiful, a sleeping babe.

I don't remember those hours we spent together. Not like I should. I can picture him in my arms, in their arms as we looked at our sons- but that memory too is faded and blurry and try as I may, I can't get it to focus.

I think I will recognize him.

I know he will recognize me.

I don't think he'll be a baby and that comforts me and hurts me all at the same time. I want to talk to him when I get there. Ask him- but I still want to know what he looked like- what he was like at 2... 5...

8...

I didn't have answers- and the ones swimming in my head weren't ready for an 8 year old boy who wondered about his twin. And so I held him and whether he knew I was crying or not- I don't know. I told him I loved him. That Andrew did too. And that one thing that I was certain of was that God loved him very much and dying in this world, means living forever in heaven.

Wow.

I dropped it.

I failed big. The woman with so many words fumbled through it all- there was no pause just a quick search for answers. A silence that I wanted to fill- instead of living in it- Answers to questions that I have no answers to...

He's 8.

And more questions will come.

I just pray that somehow the answers will come with them...

Though somehow I know that there are no

answers.

October we remember babies all of the world who flew away too soon. Today I joined families from my local hospital at the annual Walk to Remember. This year we let lanterns fly to the heavens. Below are some pictures from the day.

To watch them on Youtube, click HERE.

I was touched when my husband (who never attends the walks- too painful) suggested the song to set them too. Though it is from the 80s, it is perfect. Here are the Lyrics:

I feel the chill of Autumn's wind
seasons changing once again
And every moment's best,
still one moment less we spend
Together my friend
I can't hold back these tears in my eyes
this time I won't even try
For time has come and gone, now we must move on
I'll admit I don't know why

Chorus:
Now we must say good-bye
to find our road ahead
Destiny leads us on to another place
but I'll meet you there someday

We chase the future into past
only to find it never lasts
And by the time it's gone, the pain is so strong in the end
But listen my friend
Although we've lost what was before
forever will bring us the chance once more
And in that time we'll see, what was meant to be
A special moment to cherish for all of our lives
and we'll know in time

Chorus:
Why we must say good-bye
to find our road ahead
Destiny leads us on to another place
but I'll meet you there
From the lives we all leave behind
we find there's much more ahead
The Father will lead us on to a better place
And I'll meet you there someday
I'll meet you there someday
I'll meet you there someday

September 15th

2011-09-15T16:40:00.001-04:00

To watch on You Tube, click here

Pausing to Remember (9-11)

2011-09-11T16:05:00.004-04:00

I remember asking my parents where they were when Kennedy and MLK were shot, and asking my grandparents what it was like when Pearl Harbor happened. I knew that in my lifetime there would be defining events- things that I would remember- remember where I was when I heard the news... The OJ verdict, Princess Diana's death... but none will come close to that day back in 2001 when the world literally changed in a matter of moments.

Where was I?

I was in my early weeks of school. It was my first year being "Mrs. Doran," as I had been married just that last April and was getting used to my 'new name'. I was getting ready for my second graders to arrive to school. It was a beautiful day and I loved September. I remember getting an email from my husband that morning. Something about a plane hitting one of the twin towers. I didn't think too much of it at the time... Of course I prayed for the family of the pilot and anyone else who may have been on board at the time. I assumed it was a small plane and maybe it had hit the top part of the building since those buildings were so high. Little did I know the severity of what was happening and that my husband (working in business at the time) was huddled around a TV with coworkers getting the horrific details of that day in real time as they unfolded.

I was going through our morning routine, counting the days of school and reciting the Pledge of Allegiance when my principal came over the PA asking everyone to make sure that all TVs in the school were turned off. Mine was off but still I remember wondering what was happening. A typed letter was brought to all of us letting us know what was happening though at the time, no one really knew WHAT was happening... It was soon after, that I saw another email from Jeff. Another plane had hit the other tower and in that moment I knew that whatever picture my mind had of that first plane- that picture was far off from the reality of what was happening in New York. Something was wrong. There couldn't possibly be two planes. America was under attack.

I immediately started praying. Thinking of the busy city. Wondering about my childhood friend who worked near and sometimes in the towers and praying that she wasn't there that morning. At lunch I was able to call my husband. I learned about the building collapsing, the other planes and what he described to me still was hard to picture. Some parents came to school to get their children. It wasn't until I got home and every channel on my television was showing the same picture... over and over that I saw the magnitude of what had happened that sunny morning. All I did was cry. I sat there and cried and cried and didn't know what else to do. I couldn't turn off the television. I just sat there watching and crying and praying that somehow we would all survive what was really happening. Our world changed that day.

September 12th was equally hard. I remember praying that I would have the words- the answers to the questions my second graders would ask. As I had expected, they were trying to make sense of what was going on. Seeing this was hard for me (at age 25) to fully comprehend, I can't imagine what it must have been like for a seven year old mind. They asked so many questions- about people dying about PARENTS dying and about those kids who no longer had a mom or dad at home. They were sad and they were scared. I assured them that they were safe and that our school was safe but realizing that we were living in much different times- I hoped that my words didn't give me up. At that time I really wondered if we were safe.

It was strange~ those days. There wasn't a plane in the sky and while I don't often think or notice planes, their absence was loud. My husband told me when he first noticed a plane return to the sky, he wondered. Perhaps we all did. The truth was anything was possible. If the twin towers could fall, anything could happen.

The days and weeks and months that followed September 11th were a blur. I would see a flag and begin to cry- and in those days flags were everywhere. Every car had one and they were on every front porch. People wore pins upon their jackets and red, white and blue on their shirts. People seemed kinder because we all somehow knew that we were walking witnesses to our world changing~ and the reality that it could change in just a moment was the one thing that I remember sitting with the most- and that unified us.

The need to "do something" was so strong in those days. I remember writing checks for hundreds of dollars in hopes to help the families that were directly affected. My students too wanted to do something and many went door to door collecting blankets, toys and games. For they were still remembering the children- their peers- who perhaps lost a parent and they wanted to make them smile again and know that children far away were still thinking of them. I remember loading up my car with things they brought along with handmade cards, crying again because I knew that they too wanted to help- put a big band aid on the enormous hurt that was everywhere. And they saw that hurt on every adult face that knew our lives were suddenly different.

I don't know if I will ever be able to fully explain the days of 9-11 to my children. The images I have sitting in church with tears just streaming down my face (and the faces of others) for weeks afterward is something that will stay with me. The country was in so much pain, but we somehow were in it together- even those of us far from the city- for those images were everywhere. Try as I may, I will never get those images out of my mind. The planes- the buildings crumbling and yes- the people jumping to their deaths to escape whatever hell they were experiencing in those buildings that would soon be no more.

And now ten years later, America has changed. I have changed. I cannot recall the last time I saw a car with a flag on it (and our cars do not have them either). My children and students do not know the word "terrorist" like those students ten years ago. People don't look at each other and somehow know what the other is thinking. We've gone back to 'normal'.

Today our family all wore shirts with our country's flag. I spoke to my children about why we were wearing them on this day and what happened to this country before they were even born. I know from their faces that they understood my words but the magnitude of it wasn't felt and I wonder if they will ever fully understand. Like my grandparents and Great Uncle would talk about Pearl Harbor- the history they lived- that was something that happened in the history books. It wasn't MY history. But September 11th~ September 11th was my history. I remember where I was. I remember what I felt.

At church today there was a baptism. A little boy who looked to be only a few days old. His father held him in his arms. His father had made it home for his son's birth. You see, he was serving in Afghanistan and in a few days, he will return. Upon hearing this, our whole congregation rose to their feet and applauded. The room filled with appreciation and it kept going. My daughter looked at me and wondered why I was crying like I was (more than my usual baptism tears). It isn't often that you get to share a room with a hero.

My world has gone back to 'normal'~ but I know for many, many families the tragedy that happened on September 11th is always right there below the surface. Much like September 15th for me is always right there...

The reality is that post September 11th, there are still people trying to hurt us simply because we are Americans. Post September 11th there are still brave men and women giving their lives to protect us. And Post September 11th I know that I live in a country that is resilient and will survive. Today I thank those brave men and women who served during our country's worst tragedy and those who continue to serve and give us a world of 'normal' back. Today (and every September 11th), I will remember them. Thank them. Pray for them.

And I have a feeling that I am not alone.

Where were you?

If you feel so moved, please leave a comment below of your 9-11. History is not just in books, but in the lives of those who live it.

Thanks~

9-9

2011-09-09T21:51:00.004-04:00

It is September 9th.

Three years ago today, I lost a baby.

Three years ago-

Today.

I didn't think it would happen. I didn't think it COULD happen. Losing Andrew seemed to be it. Though I was always fearful in all of my pregnancies after him, I somehow felt that losing Andrew had gained me something... perhaps the assurance that it wouldn't happen again- it couldn't happen again.

But it did.

It seems only natural that I would compare the two. We cried like we did with Andrew- lost our voices- crumbled to the floor. It was as if I was watching an old movie- of myself. I immediately went into the mindset that~ I had done this before. I had survived it once. I would do it again. And I did.

But.

This was different.

There was something with Andrew that made it easier... He had a name. He had a body we held. And people saw him (albeit in me). They knew he existed- and in a sense they watched him grow. We were allowed to mourn him.

E was different. We saw a heartbeat three times, but hadn't let many in on our secret blessing. They hadn't watched E grow. They didn't know how I loved her and prayed for her and begged her to stay. My tears were mostly shared in our house -in the evenings. When everyone was in their own homes watching the evening news~ we were living our own tragedy. Grieving a child that was long out of the minds of those who knew she even existed.

No one really knew. And so when she was gone, nothing changed.

I wasn't showing, so my body didn't give me up.

I missed only a couple days of work.

And I was back again. Teaching young children~ all the while thinking they all made it... and I have had two now that haven't... How does that happen??

I was back again and it seemed I had fallen into the pattern of living too soon. Of course I thought every day that I should be pregnant, but felt that I couldn't really talk about that... You see, E was "Just a miscarriage". "Everyone has them."

But gosh it hurt.

I still have the notebook I wrote in that day at school as I taught my third graders. The one where I begged and pleaded for E to stay- please stay. Perhaps I knew what was happening and just wanted to hold on as long as I could. How I wished she'd hold on... But she didn't.

Three years later though, I know she is safe. With her big brother. Waiting for the day we are all reunited. And I like to think she is glad I remember- and so many of my friends did too. I like to think that she knows my love for her never died. That I think about her still- and share her with the world. In a sense she won't die, until I do.

Today is September 9th and again today I was in school and my mind often drifted back to that day- three years ago- remembering all that took place like it was just yesterday. But it wasn't just yesterday and I went through the motions. I gathered my first graders at the end of the day and we joined our school in tying wishes to balloons and letting them drift off to the heavens.

I didn't have a balloon.

I didn't need one.

My wish lives in heaven.

Waiting for me.

Happy Birthday sweet E. I didn't forget. I never will.

My Words

2011-09-06T22:30:00.006-04:00

I recently wrote about a game that was on facebook. My intentions of course were what all of my "Pause" blog intentions are... to get whatever is swirling around in my crazy mind out so that I can be 'free' of it. Because the internet is far-reaching, there is opportunity for many to hear my rambling thoughts- the world according to Laura- my therapy of sorts. I wrote often in those early days too- via letters to Andrew and whether I be angry, sad, or just plain missing him, those letters felt like a big exhale as did my blog (and apology) about the facebook 'game'.

As I write this, over 3000 people have read that post (which amazes me still) and I realize that this 'therapy' of mine can sometimes help not just me, but others too. I heard from many who I do not think realized how this 'game' could have hurt others- and those of you who shared it with your friends, I thank you. In a sense, this game (through this blog and others like it) shared the feelings of what people (like me) who have lost a child, carry with them everyday. This 'game' allowed others a bit of an insight into my life and reminded ME of another lesson that I sometimes forget. Your best lessons can come from your biggest mistakes. Though I know I was forgiven and had a 'free pass' from my community on this 'game', it still was a big mistake for me... I should have known better- but I have learned- and I have reflected and now I have more thoughts swimming in my mind that need to come out.

I was blessed to have an amazing mentor in my life- someone I looked up to and watched. From a very young age, I knew that there was something different about him- something special and so I learned from him. Not like a student learns from a teacher- but how most of us learn the really important lessons in life- by watching.

I watched for a very long time and then in those dreaded 'tween' years, we became penpals. I would bend his ear, ask his advice and memorize things he'd write to me. So poetic. So poignant. I wanted to be like him, and I want to be like him still but I am (clearly from my last post) still a work in progress.

Whether you are aware or not you are being watched- by adults and children in your life. Your choices impact far more than you think- even if you don't post them on a blog for the world to read. Similarly, I like to think that Andrew and E continue to touch lives and make a difference in me and through me (for the better). Emily Dickinson very wisely said, "A word is dead, when it is said, some say. I say it just begins to live that day." This is true of not just her words... but yours- and mine. Words can take on a world of their own. They can anger you, move you to tears or make you laugh until you cry.

Words.

Words are powerful.

All of this has reminded me of one lesson I learned from my mentor. One that some of you may have heard before (as it comes from a much greater teacher), "Be quick to listen and slow to speak." I love this quote so much, that I even had it written in my public school classroom (and loved when the occasional ~elementary~ student would recognize its origins). If you are unfamiliar, this is a quote from the manual for Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth (otherwise known as the bible: James 1:19).

This lesson is (clearly) something I need to work on and I think many in this day and age may need as well. With social media the way it is, we think it, we type it, we press send and its out there- a delete key is too little too late. And what you say or write is there for the taking- free for anyone to interpret in any way they like. So I need to pause. On this blog I am quick to listen. I listen to your words, I read your emails, blogs and comments. I hear it all. I pause. I choose my words as carefully as I can, praying that my words will come out the way in which they were intended and the thoughts swimming in my head will leave me be.

Why did I watch my mentor so? Because he was quiet. He was funny, quick-witted and wise. He was quick to listen and slow to speak and after all, we learn not from talking but from pausing- reflecting- thinking- watching. Today's actions may and probably will impact someone's tomorrow.

Clearly I am (VERY) far from perfect- but this all (0 Weeks and Craving Forgiveness) has reminded me that pausing is something that I need to strive for- for today.

That mentor of mine, the wise man who made me want to be more like him- a better listener- a wise friend- I think would be pleased. Yes. He'd be pleased with my words. These words.

But then again, sometimes the greatest lessons aren't expressed in words, but in actions.

I watched him. I watched him that day in church as he cried, tears streaming down his wrinkled, wise face, watching me with my little Jonasen- thinking of Andrew- and remembering the pain of losing his own son. He remembered. He didn't have to speak, I heard volumes. But I never thanked him for those lessons.

My twinless twin, my son Jonasen has no idea the lessons I learned from his namesake- and like Andrew- though he lives now in the heavens- continues to teach me.

My Grandpa Jonasen

Thank you.

And thank you for reading

My words

And sharing yours.

Hugs-

0 Weeks and Craving Forgiveness

2011-09-02T21:50:00.009-04:00

When I think of who I am and how I got to this point in my life- what has shaped me- the number one "thing' would be Andrew. The kind of Christian I am, mother I am- The kind of wife, friend, teacher, person... it all comes back to him.

I remember when I was numb- months out- driving- and a woman gave me the finger mouthing some words at me- clearly quite angry at something I did... I still don't know what happened, but I remember (literally) smiling and waving. I did this while thinking, poor thing... she probably had a really bad day~ perhaps she just lost someone like I did... Maybe she lost a baby too... I thought this because everyone must be like me- You see, I had just gotten out of the 'angry at the world' stage. I was oblivious- but at the same time, keenly aware.

I chose my words very carefully (though you probably wouldn't notice). I never asked someone how many children they had because it was a question I hated to answer. I didn't ask people who had been married for some time if they were 'trying' because my assumption was that they were and it wasn't going well and that -in itself- is a loss... a loss of that dream us little girls have- we grow up, fall in love, get married, have babies, the end.

I don't talk about my living children here (unless it is their thoughts of their brother or sister) and I am careful (as much as I can) to not talk about them with friends who are trying so hard to have a baby.

But recently I dropped the ball and for that I feel sick and apologize from the bottom of my broken heart.

I was on facebook when I read many friends (most of them older and from my church) who were writing how many "weeks they were" and what they were "craving". The inference here was that they were pregnant. I thought it was funny (because clearly they weren't) and I wanted in on the joke. I played along (most of my friends knowing that I had had a tubal so wouldn't be pregnant) but my computer lit up, and my phone rang off the hook with people asking me (for real) if I was pregnant... (clearly their friends hadn't gotten the same forward I had about the 'game' whose purpose was apparently to raise awareness for breast cancer). Some people laughed and thought it was funny- and to be honest- at the time, I thought it was 'funny' that people would honestly think that I was pregnant.

It wasn't until a friend sent me a message- (A friend who lost two beautiful twin boys, a friend with no living children but an overwhelming desire to be a mother of children that people SEE)- wrote me congratulating me, that all laughter and smiles stopped. I lost my breath and my eyes started to water. I realized what I had done. I realized that I had turned into one of 'those' people... those people whose mouths drip insensitive questions and thoughts not out of malice but because they are clueless. Those people who are the topic of most meetings I have attended and countless posts on support group pages. I wondered how many people read my 'status update' and wanted to give me the finger while I smiled and waved... oblivious. I felt sick to my stomach, let her in on the 'joke' and quickly posted the message I got to every 'baby-loss group' I am a member of in hopes to save others from the 'sting' of hearing a friend was pregnant... when in fact they were not. Some thanked for the clarification but after that came outrage, and rightfully so.

To this community being pregnant is no laughing matter.

To many in this community when they become pregnant they know the week and day of their pregnancy and 'first trimester' safety... Ya, that means nothing to us. Hell, my twins were good and cooked at 39 weeks... well passed that 'first trimester' safety mark.

When you want to have a baby... if you've been trying for two months or two years- while you may be happy for someone else, you can't help but be more sad for you- it is human. I learned that when my brother and his wife were expecting their first child a month after I had lost baby E. As excited as I was to be an auntie, and as happy as I was for them... I felt sick and sad. Sad for me. I remember being glad that I heard their exciting news over the phone so that they didn't have to read my face in that moment. It wasn't about them... it was all about me...

I wonder how many read that post about my 'cravings' and had that same feeling~ sadness~ and my "playing along" had caused that for some and for that, I deeply apologize.

I have since 'removed' the post.

The purpose was to 'raise awareness for breast cancer'... how the game did that, I don't know. Trying to find a reason for everything, my guess is that the hope was to get people talking and get some air time on the Today Show or Good Morning America- but perhaps what this game can do is bring more awareness to my number one 'cause'.

Yes. I know people who have suffered from cancer. It claimed the life of my father-in-law. My mother-in-law is a survivor... my sister-in-law...

But I am a survivor too. I survived losing a son. Holding a son who was dead in my arms. Holding a son who I carried for 39 long weeks. Holding a son who just mere hours before I delivered him had been alive within me... kicking! A son who would have been here had I delivered just that morning. Look at your child. That could have been Andrew.

But no one really knows my struggles. They may have remembered my now 'once upon a time' story but they don't know how I still think about him everyday- that just turning the calendar to September brought a lump in my throat knowing that that precious boy would have been 8 in just a few short weeks and I never got to see his smile.

Somehow I survived.

I'm surviving still- but for some reason my 'cause' doesn't get air-time.

Oprah never talked about me (though of course I wrote her as I'm sure many other of us 'Secret Society' moms did)... Perhaps your baby had to live a while to get on her show... Perhaps I was going crazy... Perhaps it was just me...

But now I know that it's not just me and I'm not crazy... or maybe I am. But there's a whole lot of us crazies out there that are suffering from a disease that eats us up... a broken heart from someone that we loved dearly but that no one else saw and therefore was forgotten by the next week or two.

I can tell you non-members of this society that those who suffered a loss were hurt by this. And I assure you that those who want nothing more than to become pregnant were hurt by this and THIS is what I hope spreads like wildfire. I am sure no one meant for anyone to get hurt, but I am 0 weeks and craving forgiveness- for not being sensitive to MY group. Perhaps this 'game' will bring attention to "us"- Attention to a group that doesn't have some celebrity spokesperson or representatives on the morning talk shows.

But there is talk- of that I assure you. The world will say that there is no pain like losing a child- But I don't fall into that category because my children never took a breath- not one that I didn't breathe for them. They didn't count.

The world never talks about me. I have no color. No ribbons worn by celebrities as they make their speeches at their awards shows. They never talk about 'me'. But perhaps they will now. Maybe this game will bring attention- just to a different cause. Mine. Ours.

So talk about that. Talk about us.

The Secret Society.

Share this on your facebook pages.

Ifs, Thens and a Stick

2011-08-25T23:06:00.004-04:00

We recently went on a last-minute-mini-vacation before getting back to real life. We are both teachers and have been getting ready for a new school year. We packed up our children and headed North to Lake Michigan to try to hold onto summer~ escape one last time before September is upon us.

Just writing that reminds me of those days (that followed that September). Days I'd want to 'get away from it all' or 'leave it all behind' but somehow that which I wanted to get away from always found me~ much like they found me on this vacation. Of course I think of them every day but those moments when I really sit down and wonder and wish are not as frequent as they once were...

I don't often mention my living children here (the last thing I ever wanted to hear about in those early years was something about living children), but they are an important part of a moment I had- a 'pause' moment as I call them...

It was nearing the end of the day and the sun was about to set. I took my three three oldest children down to the beach and left my husband back with our baby. I sat on a towel, while I watched a beautiful sunset. There was a storm across Lake Michigan but it was no where near us. I could see it in the distance. The colors were amazing and I got to thinking that sometimes in the midst of these horrible storms, something beautiful could come.

I was listening to the rhythm of the waves, the laughter of my children and I almost saw him. Imagined that we were all down at the beach. Six of us. My husband, Andrew, Jonasen, Ali Jane and Zach. They would all be old enough so that Jeff and I could just watch them. I wondered what the dynamic would have been like. Having the Boys~ would they have been tight with Ali Jane too. Would there be some "twin" thing, or would it be like this~ all of them. Working together on a sandcastle, laughing.

I so wanted to see that picture. Zoom in. What would his face look like now? Next month he would have been 8 already.

And then I went back to that place of protection. My way of trying to somehow make sense of this horrific tragedy. The tragedy of losing my son. IF he were here THEN Sean (our baby) would not and I could hardly imagine my life without him and am thankful that I am not God and do not control such things. For now, as hard as it is for me to imagine my life with Andrew in it (though I try to focus that fuzzy picture), it is equally hard for me to imagine my life without Sean in it... How did I get here? Was it time?

I played a lot of that IF/ THEN game... because in our 'perfect' world we always wanted 'four kids'. We actually got six, with four 'at home'. I knew that we would stop at four so if Andrew had been here, or E had been here, who wouldn't?

I sat there thinking and wondering.

Thinking and wondering.

I stood and walked to the the water, feeling the sand beneath my feet feeling... melancholy~ so full~ and yet so broken all at once.

The view was amazing~ the colors in the sky, the clearness of the water. Nothing but sand and rocks and then I saw one lone stick. It was as if it was waiting for me.

I picked it up and wrote their names- a sad attempt of making them there. On our vacation. But as soon as I wrote their names, it seemed the lake came up and washed them away and just like that they were gone. No one would see their names, but they were there.

I thought of my husband and baby, and the three beautiful children in front of me. I thought of the storm and how beautiful it was~ since I was further away from it~ and I smiled.

No one sees them. But they're there.

Heaven is for Real

2011-07-27T07:24:00.004-04:00

We will all have that moment.

The one when we pass from this life to the next.

I often think about mine... when it will be, what it will be like.

But more often, I think about his.

Some know the moment they left. I remember still that second "un-meeting" I went to. "Un-meeting" because there wasn't a meeting scheduled that night but since she and I were both there, we sat down and made our own. She too had lost a son, but like all of us in this secret society, her story was different than mine. He had lived a while. Suffered. But when she spoke of his passing a peace swept across her face. She was holding him. They were outside and it was a perfect day. A day when the sky is clear~ dotted with white cotton clouds~ "A straight shot". She held her son, looked at him and watched him take his last breath. She looked to the sky and thought, "A straight shot."

I sat there soaking in her words and felt the comfort she had saying them. Sure, she had lost a son just like I had but there are moments that we cling to in our stories- moments that are our's that we find comfort in... this was one of her's.

I started to think about that. That moment. The one when Andrew passed from this world to the next. I tried to think back to that day but as hard as I try to remember the moment- what I was doing when he flew away- I can't, because I don't know.

2003 was a tough year for us. One when we lost three precious members of our family...

Though I was not there I knew the moment my Great Auntie died. I was sitting in my bed and it was late at night. I was writing Andrew a letter in his journal, writing about her, when the light next to me went out. I had tears streaming down my face and because the hallway light was on, I was still able to continue my thoughts~ wondering about her time~ was it near? When I finished my writing, the lights came back on and I wondered... a sign? I wrote about that thought- shut off the light- and went to bed.

The next morning, I got a call from my dad. My Auntie had passed sometime during the night. She was out of her pain, in a better place. I was getting closer. I knew the moment, but I was not there.

And then came the last death we had that year. Like my Auntie, we knew it would come. My father-in-law had been diagnosed with cancer shortly after our boys were born. He suffered that year and as predicted by the doctor, it was his last.

Those final days were filled with pain- utterings of things we didn't always understand. The nurse told us sometimes people 'wait' for things, for 'unfinished' business. We couldn't imagine what he was waiting for~ One of the last things I remember him asking was if it was December yet... Everyone looked around the room that August day and wondered why the question. I looked down at my swollen belly and wondered if it contained the answer.

I felt like I was swimming. We were coming up to the first anniversary of my son's death, my Auntie had passed and here I was waiting... waiting for his turn. Though I loved him so very much, I still felt like an outsider looking in. I slipped my hand in my husbands knowing that that was why I was there- in these intimate moments with his family.

Days went by and it was suggested that we leave- go grab a shower- a bite to eat- some sunshine (that in those days only seemed to be seen through the hospital window). We stayed so they could go. They went, and it was the three of us in that room. Alone.

It was so quiet. Just the sound of his labored breathing. I will never forget the rhythm of it~ the sound it made- like a broken machine determined to keep going.

We went close to his bed, one on either side. My husband grabbed his father's hand, and I grabbed his other. This was it. Our moment. To say all those things that were on our heart. All those things we wanted to say, but couldn't in front of the others.

We told him we knew he'd see Andrew soon. Tell him we love him. Tell him how much we miss him. Sing to him in that off-key, wonderful way that you sing to your other grandchildren. Look him in his eyes- those beautiful eyes that we never saw and tell him we'll be there- We'll be home one day and until we meet again, not a day will go by that we don't think of him.

I looked to my stomach and felt a kick and we told him it was OK. He could see this grandchild born from heaven. There was another grandchild it was time to meet. We would take care of mom. It was OK. He could leave.

In that moment his breathing changed. The time between breaths was growing. My husband stayed with his father while I grabbed the nurse. She said it was hard to tell, but that perhaps we should call her.

My mother-in-law made it moments later. She rushed to her husband's side. I stood in the corner feeling I shouldn't be here for this. This is not my moment. She placed her hands on him and said, "It's OK. I'm here." I stood with tears running down my face because I felt it. That same peace I did that September when I knew he was safe. The same peace I felt when that light came back on. I knew.

She asked if we had heard him take another breath. We both shook our heads. I squeezed my husband's hand and went to get the nurse. I waited outside the room. This was not my moment but God had let me in. He let me see how peaceful, how wonderful how perfect it is~ When it is time, perhaps you just know.

I don't know what it was like for Andrew. What did he see? What did he hear? What did he feel? But I do know that it was his time. Being there- in that moment- I felt a strange peace about all of it. About death.

I sat in that hallway crying for what was lost- an amazing man who I would miss loving my children.

I sat in that hallway crying for what was gained- an amazing man who would be there- loving my (now) children.

I recently read a book, Heaven is for Real. I read it nodding~ for it unfolded like I thought it would. Like I knew it would. Because I believe and I know. It would be a comfort for those who need it. An answer perhaps.

Heaven is for real.

They are there.

And one day, I'll be there too.

**The picture is of my Jonasens' hands...

My son and his namesake who now holds the hands of my others, in heaven~

For those not in the 'Secret Society'

2011-07-15T22:47:00.007-04:00

I sometimes feel like I don't know how to fit Andrew and E in~ When to share them, or when not. In early years, I would NEVER had said that I would not share them~ but it was also in those earlier years that I got quite burned (even when I was being quite respectful... which admittedly I wasn't always...).

I am a teacher and when I returned from my maternity leave with the boys everyone knew about Andrew and for that I was grateful. I didn't need to share my story with everyone- but coworkers, parents and even students shared their condolences. The following year was not so easy on me...

That first day of school I was introducing myself to my second grade students. I remember choosing my words carefully and said (as I still do today), "I have a husband, two dogs and one son 'at home'." I then went on to share little tidbits about myself when a hand raised and said, "Yes. And you had another son that died."

(Gulp) "Yes, I did."

"What was his name?

"Andrew."

"Do you miss him?"

"Yes."

"What are your dogs' names?"

(Exhale) And that was it.

I was so thankful for the whole exchange really. I loved that the student remembered Andrew and equally I loved that we moved on so easily to the next topic without missing a beat. One of the things I love about working with children~ their honesty~ their curiosity.

The year went on without a hitch (or so I thought) until a group of parents took issue with me talking about my 'dead son' (from the exchange above that I spoke of). And so began a very tough year of me writing letters asking parents not to address me (as they had planned) at a parent meeting regarding my 'dead son'. To explain what was said (which was so minimal) in class. To beg that they respect my wishes and let me grieve quietly. I was afraid someone would say something to me. I was so fragile in those early years and I didn't know what would set me off. Being confronted (and I felt attacked) about this was not another thing I wanted to add to my load.

It was then that I knew that sharing Andrew would need to be limited to family and friends. I would tread lightly and choose my words carefully and hope that questions wouldn't arise in future years. So far they have not.

When pregnant with my daughter, a student's mom asked how I was feeling. When I replied that I felt good but tired she said, "You should see what it's like carrying twins."

I fought back tears and the extreme urge to tell her every detail of my "perfect" twin pregnancy. I wanted to say... "Oh ya! How big were YOURS? How long did YOU go?? I went 39 weeks and they were 6 pounds 11 ounces and 6 pounds even... separate sacs, separate placentae! I KNOW what tired feels like sister!"

But I simply nodded and wondered how on earth I could find the strength to stand without crumbling to the floor which is what I so desperately wanted to do- for at that time the anger and sadness was gone and I felt just a shell- ready to shatter.

But somehow God gave me the strength to stand.

The grace to bite my tongue when I needed to.

The courage to hold back tears until I was alone.

The ability to nod when I had nothing else to say.

And so years have gone by and the community that once knew about Andrew is mostly gone and if there is chatter among the neighbors, I was certainly unaware. When I lost E a few years back (on the night I was to have a meeting with parents) a student came back and told me their mom thought I had my appendix out. I simply nodded... (Oh.)

I have survived though- gone on and even started having twins in my classroom (though none have been boy/boy twins thus far which seems to make it a bit easier). But still when I hear wonderful stories about a 'twin', my mind always drifts and wonders... what if? What kind of stories could Jonasen have shared about his twin...

But time has given me patience and pause and has made me realize that my being Andrew's mom is not visible to the world and that is that. I wear him on my heart though (and in certain circles on my sleeve) and that is enough.

So when I opened my school email the other day and got the following message, I was taken aback. It read (and I did ask permission to share it):

I knew who you were before you were Isabelle's teacher. I had heard your story from a few parents I know in our neighborhood. I then found out that you were also a story I was told about by friends just after Isaac and Isabelle were born. My heart ached for you each time I heard your story. I sat in the library and was told you were ill the night you could not attend curriculum night when my oldest entered 3rd grade. I didn't find out why until later, a friend of ours had you as a teacher that year. I have thought of you and prayed for you even before you knew who I was. I don't know why I didn't tell you any of this this year as our lives actually intertwined. Isabelle was thrilled when she found out you had 4 kids and your name was Laura! "and she is really nice too, just like you!"
I apologize for not having courage enough to talk to you about the other thing we have in common, we are both Mom's of twins. Thank you for your beautiful blog about Andrew and Baby E. It is a wonderful story of love that I am glad you share. I wasn't sure I should read any of it at first, afraid it wasn't meant for me because I am not a part of your secret society. Once I started reading it though, I realized that it was OK for me to know about him, maybe even important in some way. I learned a lot reading your story, things maybe I can look at with more perspective and appreciate in a way I didn't before. Maybe it can help me be more sensitive to others, be a better friend, mother, sister.
Isabelle and I have started journaling together this summer. I was going to write you and tell you that on facebook when I saw your post about Andrew. I am thankful for the chance to have read it and so glad Isabelle got to have you for a teacher this past year. You have a such a beautiful family. Thank you for sharing all of them with us.

I sat and looked and stared at my computer screen for a long time not knowing quite how to respond or what to say. After years of thinking that Andrew was hidden, perhaps he wasn't. Perhaps people still know. Perhaps they do see him and don't quite know what to say~ but for me, she said the perfect thing.

She said his name.

She said their names.

And she called me a mom of twins.

I sometimes wonder who reads this blog. I know how often it is read but there is a small percentage that actually let me know their thoughts after reading. I think that perhaps the majority of the readers here are those (like me) who are suffering the horrible loss of a child and looking for others in their community- someone else who feels like they do- or someone who is a little beyond the fog that they are stuck in... Trying to find some 'light' in all the darkness that can swallow you whole while the world just keeps spinning.

I never really thought of those who may be reading who aren't part of my secret society and haven't suffered the loss of a child~ but perhaps they benefit too. I can think of many times someone has said something to me... well meaning- but still hurt to no end. Words that stuck with me for days- weeks and yes even years. Perhaps because I just nodded. Because I didn't have a rewind button so I could do things over- tell them how it hurt me- so they wouldn't do it again... to someone else.

But maybe this is my rewind button. Maybe (sometimes) my words can be a way to say all that I ever wanted to say to those who are really wondering... "How is she doing?" but so afraid to ask.

So how am I doing? I am doing well. A mother of twins that everyone sees recognized me. Acknowledged me. Remembered. Had the courage to share. And I will take those words that have stuck with me for days (and I am sure for weeks and years to come) as a tremendous comfort.

And today I will write for those not in the Secret Society so that perhaps you WILL do this for someone else. Say their name~ acknowledge their motherhood. It would mean the world~ at least it did for me.

Thank you so very much- on behalf of all of us from the "Secret Society".

Hugs~

Letters to Andrew~

2011-07-07T22:09:00.009-04:00

I have kept journals since early elementary school... probably since I could write. Looking back at those journals I have watched as my handwriting has changed and grown. I've read of frustration and my broken heart to joy and pure happiness. But of all the journals I have kept, the one I have read back the most is that early journal that I wrote for Andrew.

On the day he and Jonasen were born, I wrote their story. I picked up my pen and I wrote and then I closed the book- closed my feelings. I still don't know how I survived those early years without him but when I look back to my writing, I get a glimpse into what it was like.

I first picked up my pen again on February 15th exactly five months after I lost him. On that day, I wrote the first of many letters to my son and so began a healing process. I wrote in letters to him but my words often turned to prayers to God. During that time~ sharing my feelings with Andrew~ with God I learned more about myself than I ever would have imagined.

I walked down that road tonight.

Read his journal.

Wondered what he is doing right now, at this moment with his sister.

And though I don't know the answer to that, or many things, I do know what I was feeling this time 7 years ago.

7-9-04

Drew~

I was watching your brother today. He was making me laugh and all of a sudden it popped into my head- he's a twin. I don't know why.

I miss you so much. I go to your monthly meetings and I think of you every day. A couple times recently moms on an email group that I know have written that their survivors sometimes have behaviors that lead them to believe that they're missing their twin. I haven't noticed that with your brother- this is what I think...

When you left us, I was so heart broken and though I still find myself in tears, I have a peace in knowing that YOU are safe! I feel that and I know it's strange but I felt it the moment they pulled you from me. You were safe. You are safe and I'll see you again. I feel you. Hear my words and know my heart. I don't need a "sign" or proof- it's something that's in me- that I know- like my faith or my love for you, Jonah and Daddy and of course now "Sweet C". I think your brother must know you're safe too. Sometimes he wakes up crying but he's easy to soothe. Your daddy was feeding your brother today and he was spitting out his food (he thinks that's so funny) and your dad said to him, "I bet your brother wouldn't have spit his food at me." I know he was joking but it broke my heart because I'll never know. I wish I could know what you'd look like now. I hope I can see that in heaven. I love you so much baby!

Always,

Your Mommy

7-11-11

Dear Andrew~

Today- seven years later- I know that your brother is OK. I know that he thinks of you but he is not missing you any more than your sister (or one day your other brothers will when they understand more about your story). You were and always will be a member of this family and as long as I live I will say your name. I am your mother and still not a single day has gone by that I haven't thought of you.

I looked back at some of your journals today and I am so happy to read that your Dad mentioned you seven years ago and I love that he mentions you still. And today I am remembering that peace~ and living in it still and hoping that it reaches others. I know that I will see you again- That I will walk right up to you and say your name, and you'll turn to me and say mine, "Mom". I can't wait to feel you in my arms once again.

I love you so very much.

Always~

Mom

Write it down.

Write to them.

Your words will find them and in times your words will find you- and teach you.

There is so much to learn still.

Yes, they left to soon~ but they left so much and some lessons are still there waiting to be found.

A Father's Day Wish~

2011-06-22T22:36:00.004-04:00

I wanted to write something about Father's Day but didn't have the words and I don't have them still. Yet I feel I need to say ~ Something~

My husband's Father's Day was peaceful this year. He was surrounded by love and laughter and homemade cards. But one card would not be there- would not be made- and I can't help but pause and wonder what it might have said...

But then he opened his last card. The one in the green envelope~ he looked at me as he held it. He had two children who couldn't give him their cards but I knew thought of him still. He held the card and the voices of our children faded for me. He looked at me and I at him. Those eyes.

It doesn't matter that it has been 7 Father's Days without our son. It doesn't matter that he has other arms that wrap around him and squeeze him tight. It doesn't matter that his son and daughter wrote all that they loved about him... There was one more that would have had a card, ready to hand to his dad.

While others may forget, I do not.

You've been strong for me.

You've picked me up.

You've held me close.

You've listened~ and been still.

You're an amazing dad and I'm not the only one that remembered.

You remembered them too. You always remember them even when I am unaware~ and that makes me fall in love with you over and over again. You were chosen to be their dad~ You!

Remembering all of the forgotten fathers and wishing them peace.

The Gift~ Understood

2011-06-07T22:21:00.019-04:00

I've written this blog a million times in my head.

I've shared this blog a million times at meetings.

But I've never been brave enough to share it here until now...

For some reason, this has been the message that is swirling in my mind and I know it won't go away... until I write it down, so here goes...

Background:

I am a blue.

Teachers and anyone who has had 'colors' training' probably know what I am talking about, but the gist is... I care. I want you to be happy... I want to have peace... I want to be liked... I am outgoing and outspoken. I will be there for you. I am a "glass half full" because I want YOU to feel that way.

That's who I am.

More Background:

That's not quite who she is.

And from the day I met her, I felt I was trying to win her heart, just as I had won her son's- but he was the baby and I felt I had my work cut out for me. I think that she liked me... She always respected me. But at the end of the day, I married her baby~ took him out of his home town~ and brought him to mine. I never felt good enough. I became the "daughter-in-law" and now (having three sons of my own) I know how scary that must be to have another woman suddenly become the number one woman in your son's life (thankfully I don't have to think of that for a while).

My story begins:

A month before they were born, she was diagnosed with cancer. It was not good. She was very sick. She could not make it to the hospital. I know I made the calls but can't recall if I talked to her or him. I had told them they were boys- that one had died. No. Their son couldn't talk. He didn't have a voice. He couldn't speak and didn't for a day. And to this day, I don't know if he ever did talk about it with them.

He was able to come and see us. I loved him so much and I do believe that he loved me. I still remember his laugh- the sound of his voice and the words he spoke to me that day, "When I came and told them I was here to see Laura they said, 'The one who had twins?', and I told them, 'No! She had one baby!' Don't worry, I set them straight!'"

I looked to him with so much love and spoke to him so very gently for I knew he was just protecting me in the only way he knew how. I knew his intentions were good.

"No. It's OK. They're right. I did have twins."

And that was it.

That's all that was spoken of it.

Over the year though, I spoke a lot.

I fit his name in everywhere I could.

I wanted to make sure that they knew it.

Heard.

For they never spoke it-

Though I desperately wanted them too!

But I am blue. I am determined. And I couldn't give up.

A month after my boys were born, he was diagnosed with cancer.

And he was sick.

Very sick.

The cancer took him within a year of diagnosis and still today I can't believe that he is gone.

I still remember his laugh, the sound of his voice, and the way he made me feel that I belonged.

I was there when he took his final breath and left~ flew away too soon~ just weeks before September 15th.

I was in the room.

And I will never forget it.

In the year that passed, I continued to send her letters~ "Well Wishes" and "Thinking of Yous". I had already survived the first year of a broken heart and I knew that though our grief was different, we both shared that brokenness. I knew what it felt like when that phone stopped ringing and though I couldn't bring myself to call, I couldn't stop writing either.

Writing was my shield- I didn't have to see the reaction~

But still I talked.

And said his name.

And waited.

But nothing.

I was a bit discouraged, but realized that what is comfortable for me, was probably not comfortable for her and as time went by I learned more about her, more about my relationship with her and I chose my moves carefully~ I am blue. I am determined. And I wouldn't give up.

Each time I wrote I would sign all our names~ three names~ and a butterfly~ a butterfly always attached to my son's name.

And still I waited.

But nothing.

The year anniversary of her husband's death was coming up and though my husband had forgotten the specific date, I knew she wouldn't... and I hadn't. I thought about it for weeks, what to do, how to say "I remember too! I know you are hurting! I know you still think about him every day! I do too!" I prayed about it.

I made a card.

I put a blue butterfly on the front and used blue chalks to blur the wings so carefully.

And though my previous cards could be quite wordy, inside I wrote just two lines:

Sometimes they fly away too soon.

Thinking of you.

~ Laura

I waited.

But nothing.

The next month, on September 15th (his second birthday) I got a sympathy card and it remains my favorite gift she ever gave me. The gift of understanding. I have it still and I treasure it more than she will ever know.

I waited. And it was worth it.

She understood.

And she remembered.

In her own way. In her own time.

Don't give up.

Sometimes it takes life to open your eyes.

Sometimes it take life to open theirs.

But in the end, we all feel~

And we all long to be

Understood.

This Side.

2011-05-28T21:08:00.005-04:00

It's been a while.

Eight years this September since my life went in a direction I never imagined it would.

Eight years...

Over that time, I have had about every emotion, every feeling a person could have (and then some). And even through all the suffering and pain, I have come out stronger and better on this side.

I truly believe that every person that I have met- every small interaction (be it a small conversation with a stranger or an email with someone I will never meet) has somehow changed me- in one way or another- formed me. Every single event has brought me to this moment and who I am right now- as I type these words.

And because I am writing this on my "Pause" blog, it would make sense that I talk about that person- that moment- that helped me realize that each person- each moment- has a lasting impression- no matter how long that person was in your life-

It may be just a moment-and yet that moment will change your life~ forever.

I remember being at the cross road- and just like Robert Frost wondering which path I would take but being in such a fog- probably not able to make much of a choice one way or another- probably forging a new path entirely- on my hands and knees...

Recently at a support meeting, I met a new mom. A young mom- just 19. She had just lost her baby- the feelings were so raw- so new. She was there with her mom and her daughter's father and my heart broke as her mother questioned aloud, "WHY?" "Why would God do this? There is no purpose? There is no reason."

I felt the heaviness- and recognized my old friend, despair. I wanted to reach out and somehow tell them- tell them all- hang on! It will get better!!! But I didn't dare. I remember those were the words I hated most- "It will get better 'in time.'" Will it?

The truth is- it did, and it does- but not the way the phrase makes it seem- I learned to live with it- deal with it- and see the blessings in spite of it. So in that moment, I prayed and searched for some way to let this broken family know that it does get better- it can get better- and you can find purpose...

I looked in the mother's eye and shared my story...

15 months after I lost my Andrew, I had a little girl. A healthy little girl who was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I experienced a delivery as it "should be" and even commented on how bright the operating room was (such a foolish thing I realize now since of course the operating room when I delivered Andrew and Jonasen was equally bright- but had a dimness about it to me...)

We went home with our (now) babies and after a few weeks, my daughter started crying... and crying... and crying... and nothing would soothe her. We walked miles of floor with her. We took her on drives. We put her in her swing next to a running vacuum to drown out her cries. Nothing helped. I felt like a failure. I could not soothe this little babe. I was doing something wrong but try as I may, nothing worked. I was exhausted and frustrated and heartbroken. Perhaps I was not cut out for this. This was too much. Perhaps I wasn't meant for "babies".

It was in those moments that I would walk with her- pat her on the back and whisper in her ear, "It will be OK. I will outlast you. I know what it's like not to have a crying baby. I know what it's like not to have a crying baby. I know what it's like not to have a crying baby."

It was in those moments that I realized that anyone who said they would never shake a baby, never had one.

I told them this story.

I looked her mother in the eye. Perhaps the next time- your daughter will walk a floor like I did and she will tell her baby, "I know what it's like." And it will make a difference.

I don't think that I would have shaken my daughter had Andrew been here (truthfully my daughter would not probably be here had Andrew been here). But I do know that it was Andrew's life and death that got me through those painful nights- who gave me patience- who helped me realize...

I am thankful for my laundry, because I have clothes to clean.

I am thankful for my aching back, because I have a garden to tend.

I am thankful for my busy schedule, because I have children filling it up.

I am thankful for tears, because I had someone to love.

I am thankful for a boy who left, because he left me this~

You can look at others and think that their grass is greener.

But I've looked around- I've seen their side- and I know- though there are loads of weeds- and patches of dirt around me, I wouldn't change a thing!

The grass is greener right where I stand.

I don't know if I would have seen this side, had it not been for that moment- that brief moment when I held him in my arms- held him close to my heart and said goodbye-

For now.

(Thank you Geoff for reminding me of my "quote" on facebook- this is the story that reminds me that THIS side- the one that I am on, will forever and always be as green as I make it- and it is beautiful!)

The Juggler

2011-05-18T22:32:00.006-04:00

I am usually a glass half full girl-

I see the rose not the thorns.

The rainbow not the storm.

My grass is always greener.

And yet life has been heavy on me and that which weighs on me most is my dear Nan. My Grandma Jonasen (1/2 of the "Jonasens" my twinless twin is named after).

She had a heart attack.

And then surgery.

And then another heart attack.

And surgeries are no longer safe to do.

Her dementia will get worse they tell us.

And though I see my spunky, youthful, 7-years-to-a-century old Nan hooked up in her hospital bed- (surely a reason to see the glass half full)- something is wrong... with me.

The balls that I am juggling are flying above my head and I wonder which will drop first.

I think that life is like this.

It goes in waves of ups and downs and even the most optimistic of all can have days where they are angry, terrified, drowning in the tide.

And life is like this. Feelings are like this. They aren't right or wrong, they simply are.

If I can hold the balls up, tomorrow I will be going to our local support group (the one where I found myself again)- hoping to help others. But it can be so hard to give when you feel you have nothing in you.

So please.

Don't tell them:

At least they have another at home.

At least they know they can be pregnant.

At least it was just a miscarriage.

At least it happened before you really "knew" them.

It will get better in time.

It is still so early.

It is still so fresh.

It happened for a reason.

While some of these (may) be true, it is not what they need and your well-intentioned words may fall on ears that are closed- on ears that are having a half empty day- on hands that are grasping for balls as they slip away from them one by one...

Sometimes it is enough to just tell them you're thinking of them.

Tell them you remember them.

Tell them you're praying for them.

And then just be.

And listen.

For when the balls stop bouncing, and they gather them all again,

they just may have something to say,

And it may be their words that help them find themselves-

And see what they DO have.

Just be.

I feel his arms wrap around my neck.

I close my eyes.

I remember.

Remembered.

2011-05-06T23:34:00.003-04:00

It is a day so many of us have dreamed of- pictured ourselves being showered with gifts of dandelion bouquets and cards with painted hand prints- Mother's Day-

And yet for so many of us this day has not been what we thought- As we come up on yet another Mother's Day, I want you to pause and remember-

Remember the woman who lost her mother and though she may be surrounded by children, she is missing her mentor, her friend, her mom.

Remember the woman who lost her child and though she may be surrounded by children, she is missing the child who would have been- her daughter, her son.

Remember the woman who lost her dreams and though she never was pregnant she dreamed, and wished and prayed only to have her life take a different path.

They will be around you this mother's day- and you may not even know it-

Will you remember them?

I think back to that first mother's day. The one I had dreamed of. I had thought I would have had a flower pinned to my blouse as I sang praises to the God who blessed me so with two babies in my arms. How different that day was for me. I sat- a flower pinned to my blouse- singing praises to the God who blessed me so with one baby in my arms. I knew that this was not the day I had expected- far from it-, and yet I tried to play the part and I could look at my son and be thankful that he was- for I still remembered those moments they told me he was not.

But it wasn't long before my tears began to fall. I could see him out of the corner of my eye as his shoulders began to shake and he blotted his eyes with his handkerchief- My Grandpa- My Grandpa Jonasen- My living son's namesake. He looked over at me, with my son in my arms and he burst into tears. For he- more than most in that church- knew what I was going through.

His wife had done this- gone through 28 mother's days without her son- killed two months before I was born. What had that been like for my Nana? Sure I was a welcomed distraction that first mother's day for her (much like my Jonasen was for me) but what was that first mother's day like without her son. He had died in October. Had people remembered her in May?

This Sunday there will be a woman having that first Mother's Day or maybe she's had many- a Mother's Day far different than she had expected- and she may be watched- as other's wonder what to do... what to say... or she may be forgotten- as other's wish her well not knowing what lies behind her smile- the wonder- the dreams of what Mother's Day COULD have been.

I hope you remember.

Wishing you a peaceful Mother's Day-

And that you will be remembered-

For your strength

For your grace

For your love

Remembered.

Choices

2011-05-01T21:54:00.003-04:00

Today is the International Babylost Mother's Day and I knew I would probably write something... I never know quite how my posts here will be received but this one is one that I have thought about for some time- and I have felt little nudges here and there to write about it- so I prayed about it and I am hoping that in some way you will open your heart to the story that I am going to share. Sit with it. You may not agree with my words but please read them.

When I was pregnant with my last child, the doctors and nurses would ask questions for filling out my chart. I would explain that I had been pregnant 5 times, had two losses and that the baby I was carrying would be (God-willing) my fourth living child (he was). These numbers could get confusing, so I would go into greater detail about Andrew being stillborn at 39 weeks, and losing E in my first trimester and having a D & C. On one occasion, the doctor was trying to get it straight and said to me, "So you had a twin pregnancy with one stillborn which equaled one living child, then two more living children, one abortion and then this pregnancy."

"Um what?? Abortion??"

I didn't realize that that was indeed the procedure that I had. It didn't matter that my baby was technically gone on my medical chart is says: Pregnancies: 5. Abortions: 1.

Lately I have seen and heard a lot of messages about abortion and pro-life. One of my favorite quotes (By Dr. Seuss) is "A person's a person no matter how small." I have never referred to my children as embryos or fetuses. If you have been reading for a while you know how I have a strong relationship with God, I am a Christian and yet sometimes the actions of other Christians make me sigh and make me want to run and hide.

I have seen bumper stickers that say when the heart starts beating, I have heard of the horrific things that happen during an abortion. I wonder what purpose those things serve. I wonder if they have changed the minds of someone with a healthy pregnancy facing such choices- and still it all makes me cringe when I see it- and it's usually because of her.

There are many people in this world who have changed me- sometimes it is just a story that sticks with me- one that I can't shake- and every time I hear someone say the word abortion I do not think of that doctor who wrote it on my chart- I think of her.

She had a stillborn just like me. It was her first pregnancy after years of infertility. He died while she was in labor and she knew it but she labored still- he was a large baby- nearly 10 pounds- and she labored still. She labored for many hours and at last held her son. A son she had dreamed about. She held his lifeless body on his birthday, Christmas Day and said goodbye. She and her husband went home alone.

She was older and wanted so much to be a mother that they tried again and after some time finally got pregnant. This was it! It was finally her turn! And then she went to that 20 week ultrasound- the one where 'normal' parents go to see cute pictures of their babies- learn the gender. She went to that 20 week ultrasound where people like us hold our breath wondering what horrible news could possibly await us.

For most of us- bad news does not happen twice and I do want to stress that so many of my friends who have had a loss have gone on to have healthy full-term babies (myself included 3x over)- but that was not to be her story. She learned at that 20 week ultrasound that again she would labor and deliver a dead baby. For the ultrasound showed that something had gone terribly wrong in her child's development. His brain did not develop. It was not there. In short he had no brain.

And after the shock she was faced with a decision- she could continue the pregnancy (as I know some moms have) or she could end it. After as many days as she possibly wait, she chose the latter. She cried when she spoke of it. She cried that she had to make that decision but she said she couldn't do it again. She could not labor again and deliver a dead baby. Not again. Her body could perhaps survive it- but her heart (broken again) could clearly not and as I write this I wonder how she is surviving today...

Looking at her, I felt so much sadness. I couldn't imagine having to make such a choice- and if faced with it and in her shoes I don't know what I would do. She was grieving so much and I could feel the weight in the room and felt helpless to lift it from her shoulders. All I could think was that they were ok. They were whole now- that she would see them again.

Her shoulders slumped as she spoke of her church. The church that had turned their back on her. For she had had an abortion. And though she needed their comfort they could not give it to her. While she hated that she had to make that decision, she stood by it still- for no one knew her pain- I clearly didn't and I was not about to judge her for it. I will not judge her still.

And that is why when I drive behind those bumper stickers and open those emails about life I get a lump in my throat and it is hard to swallow. I haven't talked to her in years but I wonder what she thinks when she sees them- if somehow it brings it all back- though then again it is something that never does leave us... our children.

So please- the next time you forward something on or think about slapping a bumper sticker on your car think about her- and others who have made that choice with a heavy heart- with a heart that wanted a baby more than anything-

The problem is until you've walked in her shoes... you won't know. So please don't judge. Just be. Be supportive. Be kind. Be loving. For that is how you share God. Embrace those who are hurting and listen- for their story just may teach you something. Perhaps we as Christians should not judge but offer support and love and offer another way- For even that word "Abortion"- that was something that brought her so much pain- from the loss of a baby who was already gone, to the loss of a church community that was so supportive during her first loss and to the loss possibly of faith...

This world used to be so black and white for me... and as each year passes it becomes a little more gray. I try to make sense of it and sometimes the pieces just don't fit together- at least not as neatly as they did in my youth- before I knew. Before I knew her.

Thinking of you who made that choice with a heavy heart- and those who went and delivered still. There is no easy choice- but you are all mother's and I remember you on this- your own Mother's Day. Thank you for sharing your stories with me- with others- for they change us- make us pause- change us hopefully for the better.

Saved.

2011-04-23T21:44:00.005-04:00

2003 was the hardest year of my life but it was also the year that I fell in love... but not with who you think.

I knew God and thought of myself as a 'good girl'. I was thoughtful and kind, prayed often and lived my life in a way that I thought would be pleasing to Him. I was 'faithful' in every sense of the word.

And then I met Andrew.

Andrew changed things. Oddly enough I never doubted God's existence. I couldn't. I have said before that the moment that Andrew's beautiful body was pulled from mine I knew God. Felt His peace and His presence in a way I had never experienced. I knew He was there and in that moment I felt... well... blessed.

But that serene moment ended probably around the time my medicine did- and I realized the magnitude of what had just happened. If you have a child, I want you to remember that moment where you first looked into your child's eyes and fell in love... now imagine looking into eyes that would not open. And handing back that child you'd waited nine long months to meet. It is an indescribable pain. I no longer felt blessed, I felt betrayed.

To say that I was angry with God would have been an understatement. I spoke to Him in ways I am ashamed to admit and when "Christians" would offer me some sort of "God loves you" message I would nod and then go home and roll my eyes at them- knowing that He saw my every mood. You see, I knew that He had the power to save my little boy... and He didn't. I believed in Him and that is what made me angry!

But I never doubted His existence. I went from thanking him for Joe to cursing him for Andrew and walking around in a fog where light could not reach- and I wasn't going to let it. Don't tell me about God! I talk to Him every day! I don't need your 'feel good' message right now! I know the 'real' God!

But here is the thing... somewhere during that time- of me rolling my eyes- wondering how God could make such a mistake... something happened. My tone started to mellow. My shoulders started to slump and I got tired. I was tired of blaming Him. And that day when I was on the floor with Andrew's ashes in my hand. I was tired. Tired of being angry and all that was left was a sadness. I had no strength left in me. I was tired.

No one knew what it was like to lose your son...

But wait...

He did.

His son was better than me. He was thoughtful and kind and lived His life in a way that was pleasing to His Father. He was faithful in every sense of the word. His Father must have looked into His son's eyes and fell in love. And He could have saved Him... but He didn't. He let Him suffer and die. Suffer. Why? For me. For this moment. So I could be picked up off the floor and live again. If I chose to.

He knew what it was like to lose your son and for the second time that year I felt him come over me and I felt His pain and mine. I felt Him hurt, for me. I felt His sorrow and His pain. And I was so sorry.

He was the only one who truly knew what I felt when I lost my son. He knew those emotions for which there are no words. He was the only one who knew my every thought- my every moment. He saw me on the floor. Screaming into my pillow. Hiding in the fog. He saw it all... and yet He never left me. And it was in that moment that I truly fell in love. For more than anyone in this world He knew me. He knew my sin-filled heart and He loved me still. He knew my anger and despair. And he stayed.

Yes. He could have saved Him... but what happened was, He saved me.

For love for God is more than going to church and singing some songs. It is more than reading your bible and praying. Loving God is surrender. It is giving yourself to Him- good, bad, ugly and beautiful- and the best part is... He takes you as you are- and if you're not ready... He'll wait.

He waited for me.

And I can't wait to look into His eyes and thank Him for that. I close my eyes and I can almost see it as He takes my hands and leads me to the other eyes I have so longed to see. The ones that brought me to Him.

Blessed?

Indeed.

Saved?

Forever.

Christ is Risen.

He is Risen Indeed.

Happy Easter- May His love break through the fog!

And he was there...

2011-04-18T21:47:00.002-04:00

For those of you who are new to my blog- new to my story- I have been traveling down this road for some time. Andrew was my first born (over 7 1/2 years ago) and since then my family has had many blessings and of course, heartache.

Recently we packed up our family and took a vacation to the mountains. It was a hectic time getting everyone ready~ packed. I told my children they could only pack books and/or toys that could fit in their backpack and we were off.

There is something about going on vacation that makes me think of them. The people in my life know my story- know my family- but out there... people see us- a family with four children close in age and they have no idea what our story is- who is missing.

Over the years I feel like I have found a good place. One where there is more blessings than sorrow- even though some days I need to search- more blessings than sorrow- especially when it comes to the two lives I long to meet again one day... but even in that place, I have moments.

On our drive down, I was thinking of Andrew- nothing specific- his name just has a way of fluttering in and out of my thoughts often throughout the day. I was thinking of him when my middle son pulled a book out of his pack and asked me to read it to him. I looked at the cover and it said, "We Were Gonna Have a Baby, But We Had an Angel Instead."

And he was there.

Our last stop before our final destination was my friend's home. Our lives crossed when I lost my Andrew, and not long after- she lost her Brooke. Seeing her again was so sweet.

And he was there.

Toward the end of the night our boys were performing a show for us in the basement full of dancing and fun. My son had two shirts on and was hot so took one off. I glanced at his shirt, "My twin is an angel."

And he was there.

Sometimes I feel like life is so busy that I don't take a moment to really sit and remember and thank God for what I do have- a son (and daughter) in heaven who one day I will meet again. Too busy- but then something will happen and I'll feel it.

He is there. And he reminds me. Not with sorrow but with pause. Slow down. Look at the blessings around you. Slow down or you could miss them. Especially when your world starts to turn again. The good news is that they're always there- when you're ready.

Blessings.

And reminders.

That he was there.

"Twin"

2011-03-30T22:21:00.005-04:00

~Twins~

Oh that word that still at times can make me wince...

I remember when I first became pregnant and it was terrifying and exhilarating all in the same moment. What would we do... He'd just lost his job, we weren't planning for this... but we'd make it work... Twins? Really?

When the news spread that not only was I pregnant, but with 'twins', the number of babies I was carrying wasn't the only thing that doubled, so did the excitement. And while it felt good to get all that attention, I also- from that moment- decided that I didn't want those babies I was carrying to be identified by that word 'twin' and so if you knew me then, and you know me now you never heard me refer to that first pregnancy as a 'twin' pregnancy but when I carried my "babies"- and later- my "boys".

~Twins~

It took a while for the idea to settle- it was not what I had wanted. I had always imagined myself as a mother with one in her arms, looking into one set of eyes, having one steal my heart... How can you share that love? Split it? I suddenly began to add another to my dreams... and while I didn't know if they were boys, girls, perhaps one of each I did know that I would refer to them as 'the babies', celebrate their differences, raise them as individuals and not split my love but double it.

And so when the babies were born, the boys were born, I remember feeling guilty... I had always dreamed of one... imagined one... were my dreams what was meant to be? Did I somehow 'will' this... by avoiding that word? By taking so long to shape my dreams- add that extra baby?

No. Of course not. Absolutely not. I know that now, but the thought crossed my mind more than once and I do remember moments when I would have it out with God wondering, "Did you think I couldn't handle it? Because I could have! I would have! YOU were wrong!"

And though I didn't have 'twins' (I had babies), that dreaded word that I had avoided even in my 'perfect pregnancy' found me... driving behind a TWIN camry... shopping and seeing TWIN packs of items... The word was everywhere and so were they. When you lose a child, suddenly babies are EVERYWHERE. When you lose a child, suddenly pregnant people are EVERYWHERE. And when you lose a twin... suddenly they're EVERYWHERE too. And so was that damn word.

~Twins~

A word I never used, but I grieved it still. I grieved the very idea of it. An idea that I had to try out... imagine... believe... and now that idea was gone- and not just for me, but for him- that little boy whose eyes looked into mine for the first time. Eyes that found mine as I told him that that little boy he'd spent so long with was gone. His brother. The little boy who he'd played with and kicked- gone. That relationship that I had dreamed of... that could have been... gone.

And that is the danger of it. The unknown- for our dreams can play games with us~ make us think that what we don't have is always 'better'. I imagined what they would have been~ best friends~ but how could I know that? It was after all just my dream.

I was grieving that "Twin" when he contacted me. Told me. He had a twin. And he told me as gently as he could that that dream I had, wasn't his experience. They were brothers sure, but who's to say that that relationship was any deeper than it was with his other siblings. It wasn't.

I often think of those dreams we have. The ones for those babies we lost too soon. For mine are 7 and 2 now and try as I may, I cannot see them clearly. I do not know their laughter and while I feel them dance around me, I cannot make out their eyes. How can I possibly know what it would have been like... I can't.

But I can dream. And I allow myself that. But I have changed it somewhat~ changed it for my babies. Joe and Andrew would have loved each other. They would have played together and been best friends- the same way that Joe is best friends with his sister and his brothers... not because they were twins but because they were family. For to me, family is what we lost~ a piece of who we were- not a piece of who he was.

** And these thoughts came to me because of a recent video going around with two twins babbling... their own secret language. And if you are me~ the mom of a "twinless twin", or just someone grieving babies and this video hurt to see (as I know from hearing from many of you that it did), I want you to know that my twin had that too... a secret language with his younger (by 15 months) sister~ not because he was a 'twin' but because they were babies and close in age and that is what babies do. Be gentle on yourselves. A cute video yes, but a cosmic twin language it is not. Don't let that dream- that word- that idea- rule you (easier said than done).

Wishing you peace tonight.

New Blog Feature

2011-03-26T08:45:00.001-04:00

Right now I have three blogs set up to Network Blogs because I know that some people who read my blogs don't 'follow' through blogger and this way it publishes directly to my facebook(even when I am not 'on facebook') and notifies all my facebook friends. I have decided to take that feature (the automatic publishing) off of my facebook account because I have so many blogs and it seems they fill up my page so quickly (network blogs will still be there and I love that so many of you 'follow'... if you don't you still can!).

Blogger has a new feature where if you'd like you can enter your email you will get a notification (via email) every time I publish a new blog. No need to check in (for those who don't follow) when there is nothing new~ unless you just feel like checking out my 'older' stuff.

Thanks for reading and commenting and following!

I'm publishing this now and seeing if it works... (I'm following my own blog... I even bought the book!) If interested you'll see the new feature on the top right of this blog.

Hugs-

E (?)

2011-03-22T19:45:00.003-04:00

With every step I felt it... E. E. E. E. E.

I was out, enjoying my walk- the air was crisp- the sky was blue and all I could think about was E. And it was March. It is March.

September I laid on that bed, ready for surgery- a DNC- an abortion. Sure my baby was gone. I knew that. Not only was that heartbeat gone, so was my baby- but still I had hope that somehow this would help us know. Help me know. Why? Who?

There was A (Andrew), B (Jonasen), C (Ali Jane), D (Zach) and E (?). And we had seen that heartbeat. We saw it again... and again... and again... and still I knew something was wrong- but they say that when you see that heartbeat you're 'safe'.

I should have known better.

The heartbeat does not make you 'safe'. Twelve weeks does not make you 'safe'. Full term does not make you 'safe'. But still I held out hope.

And when that heartbeat was gone. That baby was gone. There was one thing I wanted and that was to know why? And because I know that such things rarely have an answer (and when they do ~cord~ it hardly made me feel better), what I really wanted to know was 'who'.

We were driving home after seeing that dark screen that once showed us E's heartbeat and my husband had to pull over. He couldn't drive. It was too much. It was all too much. It had happened again and he looked at me and he said, "We can't even give our baby a name. I don't know why it matters. But it does."

And days later as I lay on that bed- waiting for surgery, I prayed that my baby would have left enough that we would know the answer to our question... boy? girl? We would have our answer and we could give our baby a name.

I cried. I cried for it all. I cried that I wanted this answer so much~ that it meant so much to me. I needed a name. I needed a picture. For he was five about to turn six and I found it a comfort that they were together. They were together and though I had carried that baby -E- for only a few months, I could close my eyes and see their hands together. And that gave me peace. I could see those hands but I couldn't see whose hand he was holding.

I waited on that bed and was soon joined by familiar faces. Faces that have been with me on this journey since he put me on it. Nurses. They came. They cried. They held me. And they listened. They listened as I asked them to pray that somehow I would have the answers that I felt I needed.

And she said, "Laura. You know. You already know who that baby was- who that baby is. It's in there ~it's in you~ and if you don't see it now, you will. But you know. You do know."

There was so much blood. And after my surgery I could tell by the look on my doctor's face that she couldn't give me my answer. And she didn't. E. I would call the baby E. And that is who you were to me. ~E~ How I wish you had left me something...

But then it was March- the month you were to be born and I sat there with my arms on my stomach wishing it was swollen with your life- wishing that I could see that heartbeat once more. I had cried so much that first March. You were gone and so was she. I was getting ready for her funeral- cancer had taken her at such a young age. And I thought of you both two young lives gone- And all I wanted was some hope. Some life. I took a test, folded my hands on my stomach and thanked God that in that moment it could happen- That test showed it could happen- it could grow again. And it did. F (Sean Asher).

E~ you were sent for a reason- for a purpose- and I still wish that somehow I knew~ had the answers I sought- the answers that I seek still. But Sue was right. And I think I know.

I still can sometimes close my eyes and see your hands together, but I zoom out and see you walking (always walking away)- hand in hand with your brother. Your blond pigtails swaying in the golden sun.

Today he dances...

2011-03-11T19:21:00.006-05:00

It is funny how a child that you hardly know can make you pause- evaluate things. Perhaps that has happened as you've read my words here. Perhaps my Andrew's life or sweet E have changed you in some way... made you look at the world a little different. Made you hug your children a little harder.

It is March and I am reminded of two Marches ago when I wrote of sweet Maddison a wonderful young girl who was taken to heaven after a courageous battle with cancer.

And this March heaven welcomed another child. Little Avery passed away this morning. I first heard Avery's name in late February and not a day has gone by that I haven't thought of him- of his family and prayed.

And while my heart aches for his parents and his young brothers- all his family and friends and those who knew him, I do know that today the little boy that has been confined to a bed, unable to move, is dancing. He's home. He's at peace. He's whole.

When I first lost Andrew, I felt I had failed as a mother. I was supposed to keep him safe, keep him here. I failed. I found myself analyzing everything I did, or what I didn't do and wondering, how could I not know... How could I have not felt it somewhere- in my soul- that he was gone? I wrestled with that for a long time, and while I do not know Avery's parents I imagine that they wish with all their hearts that they could turn back time and somehow change what happened that day in late February when their lives changed in ways they would have never imagined- in ways that they have yet to see...

But for me in those early years, I would go back and wonder and blame myself for not keeping him 'safe'.

But then what is 'safe'?

From the moment Andrew's silent body was pulled from mine, I knew he was 'safe'. I felt it stronger than I have felt anything in this world. In that moment, I knew who held him. I knew he was home with the one who knit him together inside me- with the one who loved him and who loved me enough to give me that peace- to die for me...

For we are but strangers here- we will walk this earth for such a short time- yet we will have an eternity to dance, dance with them, again. And what a sweet reunion that will be. What a sweet, sweet day.

May God bless Avery's family as they remember him and mourn his memory as well as the future that they had dreamt for him. And may you pause tonight, hug those you love, and thank God for all that is good, all that you have, and all that is to come knowing that one day it will be even better.

Click here if you would like to send a message to Avery's family, letting them know that you care. I cannot tell you what this means to a family- if you are thinking of them- tell them. Some of the letters that touched me most over the years, were from people I never met (perhaps you)... I wonder if they will ever know what a comfort they were to me.

Hugs-

A Moment

2011-02-28T21:01:00.002-05:00

It is not often that I write two 'Pause' (as I refer to them) blogs so close together. Usually something will happen or I'll find a thought sitting in the back of my mind that won't seem to leave me until I write.

What I am writing today has been on my mind since I opened an email late last night. It has stayed with me throughout the day and while I am writing about it now, I know that this writing will not be something that will ease my mind. At the same time, it is something that needs to be shared if only for my belief in the power of prayer and my petition to you to join me in prayer. Even if you are angry with God- or don't believe- just take this moment. Please.

Last night I got the following forwarded email from a dear friend. Her friend's son is Avery.

Today, February 27, 2011, around noon is when this all started. Avery was eating a hot dog and starting choking. We called 911 and ran two houses over to grab our neighbor - an off-duty Dodge county sherriff. He and his wife helped us out tremendously!

We were transported to Oconomowoc Memorial Hospital and they wanted to have flight for life take Avery to Children's Hospital. Flight was unavailable, so we came by ambulance.

After being here for a while, we finally got to talk to a doctor and we were informed that Avery actually had no heartbeat for about 40 minutes. Lots of other little details as well, but.... So as of the point of writing this (9:10pm), he is still unresponsive. His pupils do not dilate and he does not respond to any stimulus. He is on a ventilator that is breathing for him.

After reading the email I immediately began to pray- I dropped to my knees and prayed. I thought of my own children, how often they have eaten hot-dogs, laughing...

Today I read more information about Avery. He is given a 30% chance of survival and if he comes through he will be a 'totally different child'. I looked at the picture of the sweet little boy (probably about 2 or 3) and I broke down in tears.

A moment.

One moment that has changed their lives forever.

And the sad thing is there is no happy ending in all of this. I sat talking with my husband about sweet Avery and we prayed for him because we believe his sweet soul is in-tact. We prayed more for his family and those who love him- those who had dreams for him- those who are at this moment (like I) at a lack for words.

Why?

Why do moments like this happen?

And that is a question I do not have the answer for.

These moments.

Moments that many of us here have had- a moment that has changed our lives- forever.

And so what can I do? What can you do? And the first thing that comes to mind is pray.

Pray.

Pray for a miracle.

And after the miracle of restoring Avery to the little boy with the sunny smile and bright eyes- Pray for the miracle that his family would feel God's grace through this- that they would feel His peace- that they would know His love.

Oh Avery.

Just a moment and your life has changed.

And although we will never meet and I will probably never even know your family-

this moment- your story-has changed me.

Made me pause.

Please pause with me and join me in prayer.

Dear God,

I know that you hold a sweet special soul in your hands right now. A boy that you sent in this world to change it. A boy that brought smiles and joy to his family.

I do not know what your will is for Avery and his future but I pray that he would feel your love and know you. I pray that his family would look to you for comfort- would feel your grace and your love. Please let them feel you in those quiet moments when they feel empty and alone and confused. Please let them feel your hands upon them. Please let them feel you as you weep with them. For you know their pain more than anyone else.

Oh God bless them.

In Jesus' name I pray,

Amen.

Not my whole story...

2011-02-26T23:14:00.005-05:00

I was sitting at my daughter's dance studio, reading my kindle when I noticed a woman walk by. She was pregnant- only two months- and though I tried to focus on my book, I couldn't help but be drawn to the conversation she was having with two other mothers.

As I listened, I smiled. They were all sharing their 'pregnancy stories' comparing them. They had such fun sharing their stories- it was as if they couldn't take a breath- they had only a half hour to chat and they needed to get it in- the details... Part of me wanted to join in and share!

There were two! The way my husband almost passed out when he found out- He was trying to get used to the idea of being a father- He wasn't sure why our baby had 'two heartbeats'. I smile remembering the way his face looked that morning. When the reality of what 'two heartbeats' meant.

I was so sick! I lost so much weight- 13 pounds that first trimester. I joked that I should have gotten pregnant BEFORE I got married so I'd be so tiny on my wedding day...

I had PUPP- A horrible itchy rash- a reaction my body had to my babies. It was absolutely miserable!

I loved every minute of it! I was huge (measuring 40 weeks at just 6 months) and near the end of my pregnancy I had to sleep in a reclining chair. The babies were too heavy on my lungs and it was hard to breathe laying flat or even on my side for too long.

But I loved it.

And yet, I sometimes feel I can't share my story- even though I loved it- love telling it to my children. Because then I get to the end, the delivery- and then... well, the laughter stops and that uncomfortable feeling settles in.

And my story stops the laughter.

That is what I hate about my story. The way it stops the laughter- skips the record- cancels eye contact- and as much as I want to share it with pregnant moms, be part of the conversation, I can't- and I feel terrible for those first time moms who know my story- the way it ends.

On New Year's Eve we had my old college roommates over to ring in 2011. One roommate and his wife knew our story, lived it with us. I had spoken often with his wife about Andrew and she was so sweet to ask questions, show concern. She knew my pregnancy story.

The other roommate I hadn't seen in years. It was great to see him and meet his pregnant wife. This was her first pregnancy and she was over the moon. She saw our house full of children and naturally started asking questions about pregnancy... delivery...

We were much like those girls in the dance studio, comparing stories, laughing... I had commented that I couldn't wait to get my tummy tuck since my body was so wrecked after my first pregnancy. When the pregnant mom asked how much Joey had weighed, I paused. Six pounds. I felt foolish talking tummy tucks after delivering a 6 pound baby- but I couldn't finish my story... he had a brother who was six pounds 11 ounces... they were in separate sacs... separate placentaes... I was huge! I carried all out front! I had to sleep in that reclining chair...

But I stopped.

I let her think I was crazy and probably a little vain but I sipped my wine and enjoyed listening to the stories. And then it was on to talk of the delivery. Me? I had had an emergency c-section so then all my other children were delivered that way. I don't even know what a contraction feels like.

"Why?"

Oh... it's a long story... the recovery was horrible. I had never been in such pain (from my surgery and my broken heart), but the other sections weren't as bad. I knew what to expect...

I chose that night to keep Andrew's existence a secret. Or rather- not share his story.- the whole story. I had a choice and I didn't share- and even now I know I did the right thing.

But that wasn't always the case... I remember that day (months after delivering my boys), someone asked me if I only had one (referring to Jonasen) and I remember nodding. Yes.

As soon as I nodded I felt sick to my stomach and needed to get to my car. I drove home hysterical. I pulled over to the side of the road- head in my hands. Oh forgive me Andrew. I don't know why I said that. I don't have one, I have two. Forgive me. Forgive me.

But that New Year's Eve night, I looked at her face- beautiful with the glow of pregnancy and I told her she would do great. That there was nothing like becoming a mother. I didn't tell my whole story- because I looked at her and I saw me-

So happy.

So excited.

The nursery was ready, the baby books already being filled out.

She was beautiful.

And I would have been so angry had someone told her that this would be her story- taken that glow- that smile that she wore everywhere.

For she only had it that first pregnancy- and she never got it back.

Ignorance is bliss- and after she has that beautiful baby in her arms, maybe I'll tell her the whole story. I'll tell her how beautiful you were- how beautiful you all were- and how with every heart that beat in me, I grew to be a mother, and I have a story for each precious soul and what a blessing that is.

My story.

Your picture... Another Piece

2011-02-12T20:02:00.008-05:00

Oh Andrew-

It's so odd- you're always in the back of my mind, and yet when Joe says your name it steals my breath- only when he says it- and I don't know why... Perhaps it's because I am waiting- waiting for that next question- the ones he asks when trying to put his story together... your story.

Last night your dad was at practice and your three youngest sibs were tucked into their beds fast asleep. I was a bit tired after a long day at work and was reading a bit in my bed when Joe came in. He had a smile on his face and came in my bed, gave me the biggest hug and told me what a wonderful mom I was (he has a sweetness about him- a trait he inherited from his namesake, no doubt). He was looking at his belly button and asked me why we have them. I told him that his belly button marked a very special place. I explained to him that there was a cord that was attached between the two of us- how it was what kept him alive- it was how he breathed, how he ate- and then he said, "Did Andrew's not work?"

And for some reason, I found myself telling him more about his story- your story. I told him that when you were both in my tummy you did lots of flips and somersaults- that you were having a regular party in there- but that with all that fun, that cord wrapped you guys up and that you were caught in a tangle. He asked me if that is what happened to you and why you died. I nodded- but I also told him that he was wrapped up in it too- and that God knew to get me in that hospital- so that he could be born- and that he would be ok.

I watched him as he took in my words- adding the newest piece that I gave him to his puzzle. He did not look alarmed or even saddened. I watched him so closely, Andrew- and I wish I could have crept into his mind- but he's seven and I do not want him to see my grief- the magnitude of it. So when I share your story, I try to share the joy- the hope. I told him that perhaps when you both got tangled, and God called you home, that you said to God, "My brother needs to be with my mom." And sometimes I like to believe that is the way it happened. That somehow you protected him- or probably more so... protected me.

And then he asked what you looked like. I told him that you were bigger than him! That you were bigger than all his sibs. I told him that you looked a lot alike. That you were pink and beautiful and just looked like a sleeping baby. I told him how I carried you both back to my hospital room- how we had some time together- I put my finger in his hand and told him how you seemed to grasp my finger. He smiled.

And then he pointed to the dresser where I have your picture- high above where he could really see it. He said, "Is that his picture?" "Can I see it?"

And I hesitated.

I remember when I got those pictures of you. How I hated them and loved them all at the same time. I hated that they were taken long after you left me- after your body began to change- I hate that sometimes I wonder if they are replacing those memories I had that September night... And then I love them. I love that I have a picture of you. A reminder that you were real- Not some made-up story- Not a dream that I had, once upon a time...

Those pictures.

The ones your dad doesn't like because they, too, are not his memory. The ones that I looked at for hours until I could see them without being overcome with sobs. The pictures that I chose to keep in my room only- for my eyes only-

Until now?

And here he was asking. I got up from the bed and picked up your picture. Your darkened lips, your reddish hair, your darkened hands... and in those steps I prayed, that Joe would be ok to see this, that I would be ok sharing with him- for, after all, you are his brother...

I sat next to him and we looked at your picture. I didn't even look at Joe's reaction, I couldn't take my eyes off your face. For though your picture is always there- like you are always in my mind- I hadn't sat and really looked at it- not really- not like that.

Joe took a breath and mentioned your hair. And I told him that he and the others all had little wisps of hair before they were bald for two years- He didn't mention your lips- your hands- your coloring. Perhaps he saw you as I did- as a perfect little person.

And then we talked of heaven and how you have a perfect body now- one that doesn't get sick or hurt. One that never needs a band aid. I told him that he would recognize you- that I would recognize you- and I watched as that made him smile.

And tonight I am thinking about those words- and that conversation that again turned suddenly to his poor fish, Rocky- that you must be taking care of- even now as I type. We fell asleep in each other's arms until daddy carried him back to his bed when he came home.

And I wonder now as I type this if you were there- somehow seeing all that took place- somehow felt all the love that grows for you still. Oh Andrew, there is so much that I wonder...

But for now he has yet another piece- and I wonder when the next moment will come- the next question...

But for now, I know he is full, he is at peace, he is safe. And though he talks about God and how He is always with him, he has also mentioned you- and just like being a twin must have been so special- having a twin is special too- and I'm so glad that he has you- still.

I love you.

Always and Forever,

Your Mom

Finding the Words

2011-02-07T21:59:00.006-05:00

Late last year, I was contacted by Franchesca and Carly who are two amazing women who also happen to have children in heaven. They were putting together a calendar for the Babylost and asked if I would be one of the people to offer some words. I felt honored to be asked to do this and so I read back over some of my posts here to find some words that particularly touched my heart.

As I read and remembered and thought about the words I had written, there were some posts that really stood out. Most were written before anyone had even read this blog. My only problem with the quotes that I treasured most was that they were too wordy (If you haven't noticed my motto seems to be, "Why say in 10 words, what you can in 100!" Needless to say I had a bit of a problem).

And so I thought- and prayed- and thought some more about Andrew. About E. About the gifts they have given me- Gifts which seem too numerous to count. I wanted what I shared with others to be about hope, about living- because that is where I am in my journey and before getting here I remember secretly wishing I could feel happiness again (though my comfort was in my grief).

And so while pondering all of this- all the goodness to be shared- the words that came to my mind in a moment- without thinking were, "He's grown me. Wise beyond my years- if only life's lessons didn't come at such a cost."

Those were the words they sent me- my babies- and in September, people who purchased the calendar will read those words and hopefully feel that too- for in that moment in September we were aged. They grew us. We are bigger and better and more full of life and love than we could have ever imagined... but it took time to get here.

For he has grown me.

I look at life through different eyes now. I look at children through different eyes- at strangers. I remember shortly after we lost E, going for ice cream and seeing the pregnant people and feeling so angry- why do they get to be pregnant- why not me?? And then in a moment I looked down at my children, standing around me. No one would have guessed my story, and yet what a story it is.

We all have a story. And many of those reading these words tonight have a character in their story that is no longer with them, but changed them in ways that have yet to be seen. I used to be someone who thought in black and white, but now I know there is so much more- so many layers- so much hidden that is still waiting to be discovered- even for me.

He's been gone over seven years now- and still he speaks to me- changes me- grows me.

Oh- but what a cost- if only those life changing lessons wouldn't have come at the loss of a life that I would have given anything to know. Anything.

**And if you'd like to see the calendar, the beautiful photographs and the amazing words from people who have lived this, click here.

-As always, thanks for reading...

This I know...

2011-01-23T21:59:00.003-05:00

There is something that I have been pondering...

Many have said that there is no pain quite like the pain of losing a child. And having been through it- twice- I nod along with that statement. It is hard to describe to others who have not experienced it. It is a physical pain and more- and it is something that never quite leaves you- is always there- lingering...

I have also heard "everyone has a miscarriage" and it suddenly dawned on me that those who make that statement (about losing a child) are probably referring to those parents who (in addition to grieving dreams) are grieving memories. They are talking about those parents who left the hospital with a baby in their arms. They aren't talking about me.

And to be fair. I can't imagine that. I can't imagine grieving both dreams and memories and I pray with all my heart and soul that I never will have to experience that pain...

But I do live with pain- the pain of losing a child. It is my 'normal' by 'reality'.

But at the same time my 'normal' doesn't mean I'm 'OK'. Sometimes I will go outside just to look at the stars- see the moon's reflection sparkling on the fresh fallen snow and I want to scream, "I MISS THEM! I AM THEIR MOTHER! I MISS THEM STILL!"

How can you miss something you never really had?

How can you miss someone you never really knew?

I knew the way that Andrew would kick me. I knew the weight of his body when I held him that dark September night. I knew the way he smelled. But that was all.

I will never know his favorite flavor of ice-cream, the sound of his laugh, the color of his eyes...

Oh, the color of his eyes...

How can I miss them? Miss them like this??

But I do- and I hate that I have all these 'holes' in who my children are/were/could be. I hate that I feel them dance around me- as if they can hear me- and yet they are beyond me- I hate that they know me... and yet... I don't know them.

But this I do know.

I know that they know me. I know that they lived and breathed my breath. I know that they slept to my heartbeat. I know that they heard me sing. And I know that they felt my love.

-That they feel it still.

And yes- I think they know that I miss them- and that while I feel like screaming it from the rooftops, I don't need to.

They know.

There is nothing quite like the pain of losing a child- and yet I go on- and they know that.

He's Right There

2011-01-13T22:36:00.004-05:00

Tonight I went and watched my first grader as he sang songs about ants and bees and... butterflies. And all of a sudden my eyes blurred and I remembered. I remembered that boy that I never do forget. The one who is always right there, lingering.

And as I watched, I got a lump in my throat as I heard the first grade voices sing...

Butterfly, Butterfly, Where do you roam?

Whose lucky garden do you call your home?

Butterfly, Butterfly, Why won't you stay?

Why are you always fluttering away?

And as they sang, I thought of my son. The one that is so often not remembered. Wondering where he was that night. Wondering if perhaps he had fluttered into that crowded Elementary gym to listen to his brother sing. Wondering why he couldn't stay.

He didn't stay.

And yet he's always right there.

Right beyond my thoughts- and he appears at a moment's notice.

Walking down the hall of my school I overhear, "Andrew."

And he's there.

Walking through the store and seeing 'Twin pack."

And he's there.

Watching his brother on stage at his first grade concert.

And he's there.

He's always right there.

And I find comfort in that.

To quote a mother who recently was reunited with her son...

"If you know someone who has lost a child and you're afraid to mention them because you think you might make them sad by reminding them that they died- You're not reminding them. They didn't forget they died. What you're reminding them of is that you remembered that they lived- and that is a great gift."

-Elizabeth Edwards

Tonight he was right there for me. I could almost see him. Remembering that he lived. That he existed- and had things been a bit different, I would have been cheering on two winged first graders that stayed- instead of remembering one that flew away too soon.

Our Sparks, Our Children.

2011-01-02T16:23:00.005-05:00

Sometimes someone will walk through your door and change your life. You don't realize it when it is happening, but they do. I still remember one of those moments.

I remember the way she looked that night. Her face. I remember listening as she spoke - not of a baby that she held in her arms- nor a child who had breathed but was gone- but a spark- sparks. Children. Children who lived inside of her- hearts that beat inside of her- but gone far before anyone else would even know they existed.

She was my first real window into what it must be like to have lost a child so early. I remember after losing Andrew, one of my husband's friends said, "Everyone has a miscarriage." It bothered me. Not just the words he spoke, but their implication... Everyone has one... No big deal... and then comparing my full term son to a miscarriage bothered me...

But as I listened to her, tears streaming down her face, tears streaming down mine (which was rare because having gone to so many meetings my tears seemed to have run out), I finally got it. I learned something that I should have already known. For it is in that moment when you look at a positive test that your love starts to grow. Your mind starts to dream. Your heart starts to soar.

And like the babe I held in my arms that September night... the babe who left too soon- who shattered my dreams- who broke my heart- Well, sparks can do the same.

When I was pregnant with E, and praying and pleading with God to spare my child, to spare my spark, I called my dear friend. We cried together and she carried me. She spoke every word I needed to hear that night. And she spoke them again. For I needed her to carry to me- and she did. She has taught me so much in this world, but in the days that followed, I understood. I understood the pain of losing someone you only dreamed about... someone who is just a shadow... someone you would have given anything to meet.

I always think of my dear friend on New Year's Eve. You see, that was the day one of her sparks would have been born. I remember the story of her and her husband, toasting a New Year, when there didn't seem much to celebrate. I know that there are many in this world that did the same- 2011 was to be their year. But life has a way of taking turns down paths that we never thought we'd walk.

I think of those like my friends and I said a little prayer. That this year would be kind to you, and gentle to you. I prayed that there would be angels in your life, like those in mine, who have gotten me through so many storms and that the rainbows would find you- for I have seen that after those storms they are there- waiting to pick you up again.

Thank you Mary, for picking me up when I needed it and sharing yourself. The world is blessed because you are in it.

And to those missing their sparks, their children, their loved ones... hoping your storm passes quickly and you will be bathed in the glow of that rainbow that awaits. You will never forget, but you will see peace again. I hope it finds you.

Reason.

2010-12-21T09:12:00.005-05:00

It's cold here.
Today I strapped on my shoes, bundled up, put my music in my ears and went for a walk. I love going walking. The fresh air- the time I spend with myself. Time with my thoughts. Time with God. Most of my 'moments of pause' happen when I am walking. Today was no different.

Recently I read something that stuck with me.
"Not everything happens for a reason."
It made me sad. And yet I understood it.

What reason is there for suffering? What reason is there for the death of a child? What reason is there for hope and then having it snatched from you- right beyond your grasp? There are so many things that I do not know the reason for.

I think that the quote was right. Not everything happens for a reason...

But then again... It can...

I could have chosen to take my feelings of loss and despair and keep them to myself. I could have chosen to deny Andrew's existence- most of the people I know now would have no idea that I had a son- that I lost a son- even my children would not know had I chosen to keep this pain to myself.

And I did ponder it... though only for a moment... Would it be easier if Joe never knew he had a twin? But then what about his birth certificate? What about those pictures of me pregnant- with two full term babies...

And yet I had a choice. I could have kept it. I could have 'crossed those bridges' when they came. I could have chosen to deal with "it" in other ways.

But I didn't.

The night that Andrew was born- the moment I kissed him that last time and turned away as they took him from me- that silent night- I knew. I made a promise. I would give this reason. I would say his name so that everyone I knew would hear it. I would not forget that baby. And I wouldn't let you. I decided to give it reason- though at the time I had no idea what that reason would be- how it would look- what it was.

Isn't that life?
We choose what to give reason to and what not to? We can choose to hold on to pain- or to let it go. We can choose to share our grief with others- or keep it to ourselves. We can choose to say their names- or simply feel them in our hearts. And it is our choices that make us who we are and how we choose to impact others.

No. Not everything has to happen for a reason. But he did. He happened. And because of him...

I know pain.
I know love.
I know forgiveness.
I know grace.
I know peace. True peace.

Because of him...
Twins are born before their (40 week) due dates.
Families who have lost a twin will have a picture of their twins together.
Parents in this journey will be able to meet someone who has been there and can walk with them through this.

Because of him...
I have three other children who would not be here.

Because of him...
I am wiser.
I am kinder.
I am more patient.

Because of him I have met some of the most amazing people who have walked this earth. People I would not have known, had I not chosen to share him.

Because of him...
I am a better wife.
A better mother.
A better teacher.
A better friend.
Better.

Make reason.
Give meaning to the life that has changed yours.
Don't keep it to yourself.

Over my years, the reasons keep coming and I can share a smile with heaven knowing I got that from them. Do I miss them? Yes. Do I think about them still? EVERY day.

But 'tis the season to give.
And today I give you my reason.
My reason for living and moving and waking up each morning.
They have shaped me and made me who I am and- though a work in progress- I will embrace it.
And give it reason.

My Baby.

2010-12-14T21:42:00.004-05:00

It was a baby who was sent to save the world.

It was a baby who was sent to save my world.

Sometimes no words need to be spoken.

Sometimes it is the actions that speak louder.

Wishing you peace and strength this season.

Thank you Jeremy for sharing this video of the baby who saved me, thinking of the Baby who saved us all.

The First Christmas

2010-12-08T21:26:00.003-05:00

For many this will be the first Christmas.
The First Christmas without their mother.
Their Father.
Their Brother.
Their Sister.
Their Friend.
Their Child.

Perhaps the person they are missing has been gone for months- time for the outside world to go back to 'business as usual'- back to 'life as we know it'- back to 'normal'.

But for most of those people- the first Christmas will be anything but normal.

It may be the anxiety of wondering what they will feel on that first Christmas. The hole left from the person who was for so long- a part of the gatherings- or the person who was dreamt of- who would be there amidst wrappings and laughter- the first Christmas.

For me that first Christmas happened only months after he was gone. I hardly felt like celebrating but I went through the motions. I felt I had to. After all, I had much to be thankful for- there would be one more stocking added to our mantle... but I had wanted two.

Two.

I hardly knew how to feel- happy- sad- blessed- cursed- And though I tried to get a grip on my emotions, I look back now- eight Christmases later- and I wonder why. Why did I have to 'understand'- why did I have to try to 'feel' something- for hadn't I learned- even in those few months that had aged me more than all my year's previous, that feelings are not right or wrong- they simply are?

A man approached my husband recently. His wife had lost a baby. As my husband was telling me the story I winced when he said, "It was early- only ten weeks or so..." And instead of jumping on what he had said- sharing with him that it does not matter 'how long' I simply asked, "What did he say?"

"He said that they had lost the baby a while ago and that he had recalled us losing a baby(E). When I asked how he was doing, how she was doing, he said, 'She's getting better. I think she'll get over it soon.' to which I replied, 'Really? I don't think I'll ever be 'over it'."

And so I got to thinking... what makes us so different? What makes one grieve a lifetime and another's world start suddenly spinning again?

I don't know.

But I do know that though you may not see it. There is a chance- that that first Christmas- and perhaps even that eighth Christmas- they may be thinking- wondering- dreaming of what it should have been like- what it could have been like-

That First Christmas.

Thinking of you on your First Christmas- your 91st Christmas- and all those Christmases in between- missing them.

Thankful

2010-11-21T13:33:00.004-05:00

I have been asked-
If you could have chosen for Jonasen to be a singleton so that you would not know the pain of losing a child, would you?

It's an easy question. One that I can answer without skipping a beat.
No.

Jonasen grew with his brother. My heart grew for Jonasen and his brother. For them, I am thankful.

It is an odd thing to say that I am thankful, so I feel the need to clarify. I am not thankful that I never was able to see the color of their eyes, soothe their cries while holding them to my breast, laugh at them as my heart burst with pride... because those are things I will never have.

But early on in this journey, I made some conscious decisions. I decided that I would thank God for what I do have, because for twenty minutes on that fall night, the doctor had told me what I didn't have. He told me that I had lost them both. But he was wrong, and for that I am thankful.

I am thankful that Andrew and E have made me pause. I can see the beauty around me, and I know there is a God. And I know He has my children. Prior to being their mother, life went fast. They have allowed me to slow, to remember, and to be thankful.

For every second, every day, every moment that their heart beat in me was a miracle. I am saddened that for some they didn't even have that- though they dreamed of it still.

Driving home from church today, I was quiet. Thinking of all that I am so thankful for- my sweet angels included- when I thought of him. Wondered how he was. It had been years.

I remember hearing about it. A man had lost his wife and son. She had died in childbirth. I remember being at a loss. A complete and utter loss. I spent two days thinking about him non-stop and finally grabbed a pen, looked in the phone book, found his name and penned a card. I felt I had to let him know, that I was thinking of him, praying. Though my words seemed so small, I had to do something. I signed the return address, "A Stranger Who Cares".

Two days later, my phone rang. The voice on the other end was one I did not recognize. When he said his name though, my heart stopped. For I had just written his name on an envelope. After stating his name, he said, "You were wrong. You are not a stranger." As we spoke, I learned that he lived next door to a friend growing up. Suddenly I pictured a young blond boy with a head full of curls. I remembered.

He spoke, and I listened. Tears streamed down my face as he spoke of his wife. She was so excited. It was their first child and she was beautiful. Pregnancy suited her and she glowed when she entered the room. He remembered how she looked that morning, the look on her face. She was concerned. She could not use the bathroom and so late in pregnancy, she found it odd.

They went to the hospital and it was there that they learned. She was sick. Something was terribly wrong and there was rushing and efforts made. He stayed with her still. And then they told her. The baby was gone. He told me of the tear that fell from her eyes. He knew she'd be going too. She could not let her baby go alone. And she did.

I found it hard to breathe. The way he described- it was the ultimate love story. He spoke of how he imagined them together. He never did see his son. He could have, but figured he should stay with his mother, in the place that had been a safe haven for him for those days, months, and moments when he kicked, and grew and listened to their voices, felt their love. They were buried together.

And though his world had suddenly changed more than anything I could imagine, he spoke so highly of his wife's love for their son. In that moment, he did not focus on his grief, he focused on her love. He was so proud. He was so thankful. For she was grace, she was beauty, she was an amazing mother.

So this week, as I reflect and think about all that is good in the world. I think not of loss and sorrow- but what can be left in spite of it. I think of strength, of healing, of grace. I hope that it finds you this season.

And I hope that despite your sorrow, you can look to those heavens, know there is love- know they are safe- and know they are there- just a whisper away.

Thank you Andrew.
Thank you E.

You have opened my eyes to a grace that is given so freely that sometimes I feel that it overflows to those around me. You have made me a member of a community where I have met the most amazing and inspiring people. You have changed my life.

For the Better.

And for that, I am thankful.

Dear God.

2010-11-09T21:34:00.002-05:00

Dear God,

Today we were talking (as You and I often do) on my way into work. It was such a beautiful sunrise and the way the sun broke through the fog was breathtaking- I sometimes lack words. And I did- silence- but the tears said it all and I know you read my heart, felt my exhale. Of course it made me pause- and made me think of him, of them, of You.

I sometimes wonder, why me. Not why you chose to give me Andrew or E, or why you chose to take them away (though that of course is a question...) but I was thinking about my faith, and I wondered, "Why me?"

When I listen to others who are struggling with You, angry with You, crushed with You... I nod. I understand fully and completely. I know that You nod too. You've felt it too. You felt it when it was me.

But I sometimes wonder why me? Why was I able to be so angry with You, scream at You, and then in moments feel that sweet release? Feel as if You scooped me up off that floor and held me. Feel as if You carried me. Why me? Why not them?

I wish somehow I could tell them to wait. That it's ok. That You will be there for them tomorrow, in a year, or in a decade. I wish somehow they knew that the best thing about You is that no matter how angry we get, how furious... You are always there waiting, feeling what we feel, ready to embrace us again, and carry us.

So tonight Lord, there is someone out there. Someone somewhere who is ready. They are beaten and battered and they have nothing left. I pray that You would find them and scoop them up off that floor, like You did me, on so many dark nights.

And if they aren't ready for You, I pray that You would send them someone. Someone to listen and feel. For a child's absence can feel so suffocating, so lonely, even though You are right beside us.

I feel Your peace tonight. I pray that they feel it too. If only for tonight. Sometimes that is enough.

Amen.

Soup for the Soul

2010-11-01T21:49:00.002-04:00

This morning as my children were eating breakfast, I ran upstairs to get something I had forgotten. I noticed that Jonasen has left the light on and so I stepped in to turn it off. It was then that I glanced at Jonasen's fish tank and noticed that his beloved fish, Rocky, was dead.

I didn't say anything at all. I simply went downstairs, kissed my children goodbye thanked my mother for watching them and left for work. I phoned my mother when I got to the car. I told her the news and asked her to take care of Rocky after she got the kids on the school bus. She did.

I thought about Rocky all day. I thought about Joe. I dreaded breaking the news to him and ran a million ways that I might tell him, through my mind.

There wasn't a good time to break the news to Joe. While playing after dinner I finally couldn't take it anymore. "Joe," I said. "I have some sad news. Rocky died." "He did?" To my surprise, Joe didn't seem very upset. I breathed a sigh of relief and said that perhaps we could get a new fish soon, since he really did such a wonderful job taking care of Rocky while he was alive.

Our night continued as usual.

And then I heard it. Sobs. Coming from Joe's room. I ran up the stairs and saw him. Head on his dresser next to an empty tank. Sobs. I gathered him in my arms and carried my seven year old to the glider in his room and just held him as we cried.

I remembered. I went back to the emptiness of the room. The crib being gone, and the chair. I remember how it sent me into uncontrollable sobs. Uncontrollable heartache. I watched him cry and I knew how that felt. And while it was 'just' a fish. Sad is sad and my dear son's heart was breaking.

Joe couldn't talk. He tried, but the words wouldn't form. And so we prayed. We thanked God for Rocky the fish. We thanked God that he was such a good fish to Joe and we asked God to take good care of Rocky. And that is when Joe's sister asked if maybe God could give Andrew Joe's fish... perhaps he would like to watch a blue Betta. Suddenly I had an image of another seven year old, head in his hands as he watched a blue Betta flutter and glide. I wondered if Andrew would have liked a fish. If he would have chosen a blue Betta like Joe's... Another question I will never know.

And as my mind was going to that place, Joe's sobs subsided and he said, "Mom? Do you think I could write about it?" I was so completely shocked that for a moment, all I could do was nod.

Joe has no idea that I have been writing letters to his brother. He has no idea that it was through my writing, my letters to Andrew, that I found my way. It was through my writing that I learned about my grief, found my way, found my peace.

And so I watched as Joe took his pencil and began to write. He wrote in silence for a while, drawing pictures and then forming his thoughts into words. As he began tears steamed down his face still, but I watched as after a while his breathing calmed and his pencil flowed. I watched as a smile crept across his face, remembering... dreaming...

He found soup for his soul in the form of a pencil.
And tonight I found soup for my soul in the form of a seven year old writer.

One.

2010-10-15T22:10:00.004-04:00

In seven years I have met so many.

So many.

My heart always hurts when I see a new face- hear a new name. I am happy they have found us, and yet so sad that they are part of "us".

Us.

Some of them I see again and again-

Others I see once a year- or once a lifetime.

But still we are connected.

All of us- united in one common bond.

Loss.

The loss of a child.

And it is a bond. A bond of acceptance. A bond of understanding. A bond of kindness. It is a bond that spans ages, genders, towns. It can happen to you no matter your financial situation, your religion, your lifestyle. It can happen. It happens still. It happened to me.

And yet I am thankful. Thankful to be here for you and thankful you are here for me. We are a community. We are one. When you are weak, I will carry you. When I crumble, you pick me up. We are in this together.

One.

Tonight we gather around the world to light a candle and remember those lives that left us too soon. Tonight we remember. Do you remember? Perhaps it was a heartbeat that was gone before you could see it- perhaps it was a baby you held in your arms as he flew away-

Tonight I remember. I remember them, and I remember you.

Who do you remember?

Write their name so the world will see.

We are everyone.

We are one.

Left too soon.

2010-10-10T21:22:00.007-04:00

This year Joe wrote "Andrew" on his balloon.
His brother's name.
And we both kissed it and knew that it would soon make its journey past the clouds to the heavens. It would fly to the sky where Andrew could see just how grown up his twin was. See how he could write his name. How much he has grown these last seven years. Seven years since they shared that space together, listening to the beat of my heart.

We were in a sea of blue, pink and white balloons when I saw it. Andrew's balloon slipped through Jonasen's hands and meandered it's way up into the crystal blue sky. It was a beautiful sight. I watched as it's string danced in the wind. I watched as it seemed to get smaller and smaller as it traveled further away from us. And then I watched as my little boy flung his arms around me and sobbed, "It left too soon!"

Left too soon.

All I could think was, "Yes, it left too soon. He left too soon."

And I know that there is not a mother or father on this earth who wouldn't have given the world for one more hour, one more minute, one more moment with their precious child.
But those who were there- gathered at the garden- all knew that feeling. All lived it. For all of us had a child who had left too soon.

I gathered Joey in my arms and we cried. He for the balloon that left too soon, me for the boy. I turned him around and we looked at the sky and I whispered, "Watch it Joe. It's going. It's on its way. Watch it."

We sat and cried and stared, watching the lone balloon as it traveled further and further away on its path- and finally- it was gone.

After a moment he turned to me and said, "You know what mom? I think that Andrew is up there." And with a gesture he said, "And he just scooped his arms through a cloud and gathered up his balloon. I think he liked it."

I think he liked it too.

But there was another balloon left to set sail. Ali Jane held tight, not wanting to let it go. Wanting to hold on.

Wanting to hold on, until it too left, and we watched, and wondered and imagined... two arms reaching down through the clouds, smiling at her very special balloon. With one letter on it, written by her sister.

Where do balloons go? It's a mystery you know. But just hold on tight, until it's time, to let go...

Where Peace Lives

2010-10-01T21:31:00.002-04:00

I often wonder how I got here.
I often wonder when I got here.
-The place where peace lives.

Today I looked all around me and saw what was good. I saw white fluffy clouds in a brilliant blue sky.
I saw leaves beginning to change as one season ends and another begins.
I heard laughter in the distance.
I felt the sun.
I saw life.
And I felt peace.

I remember when I couldn't see the stars. It didn't matter how bright they were, I could not see them. I remember when I couldn't hear the laughter, because my pain was much too loud. I remember when I could only think of him, his absence- and cry. And had He grabbed me by the hand and led me to that place, I don't think I would have seen it. I would not have arrived. I wasn't ready. My heart was not ready.

Today I thought of him, as I so often do. And while I wondered what he would be like, what his dreams would be, and of course the color of those eyes- I would have given anything to gaze into those eyes- ah if just for a moment...

Today I thought of him. I felt peace. Perhaps that is odd, but knowing he was beyond those clouds. In a place far better than here. Beyond those clouds but just a whisper away... Beyond but watching. Watching with those eyes... Watching from that place. Sun on his face. And I know that place because sometimes I feel it. The place where peace lives.

I wonder when it was I got here. Did I wake up and find myself here? Or was it gradual? Did I arrive so slowly that I didn't even notice my leaving? Did it find me or did I find it? Did it tiptoe across my heart, find it's way into my soul? Did it sneak in on my breath? Find its way into my clenched fists? Lead me here? Soften me?

When did I arrive? And perhaps more importantly... will I stay? For if there is one thing I have learned traveling this road, it is that feelings aren't right or wrong, they simply are- Feelings- not to be controlled- but to be.

There are days where I question- where I wonder, why me? why you?
And there are days- like today- when peace finds me and I think, 'why not me?' Because I know that he's there. Beyond those clouds. Sitting in a field of gold, watching the most amazing sunsets of purples and oranges- Oh yes. He is there. But he's not alone. Where peace lives. Close my eyes and I can see it. Today I live there too.

I thought of you today.
Said a prayer.
Hope you find your way soon- or that it would find you.

But until then, I will walk beside you on this road of uncertainty. Not knowing what tomorrow will bring, but being thankful for today. I walk with you on this journey- for though it can feel so very lonely, I take you by the hand, lead you there, though you may not feel it yet.
Yes. You will find it. Or it may find you. When the time is right.
The place where peace lives.

And I am so very thankful for those moments- The moments I find it... or does it find me?
Does it matter? For today I have arrived in that place.
And with him beside me- whisper thank you- because he was. And for today, that is enough.

Seven Years. Today.

2010-09-15T21:09:00.004-04:00

Seven years ago, it was warm.
I was in a white T-shirt and khaki shorts and they were the only thing that I could wear at that point. You and your brother were getting so big! I had to sleep sitting in a chair because you were so heavy on my lungs.

Seven years ago, I wondered if today would be the day. My calendar had a big circle around the 22nd. I was sure that was the day you would be born. 40 weeks.

Seven years ago, I got a call. She said it was time. I nearly ran through the hospital. I couldn't wait to meet you!

Seven years ago, I changed. You were gone. He was here. But I didn't know where I went... I sometimes wonder what happened to me... Where did I go?

Today it was warm. The sun was out. I bought your balloons and I drove to your garden. And then it happened... I just started saying it. Saying it out loud.

"Andrew! Don't forget your backpack!"
"Andrew, what kind of ice cream do you want?"
"Andrew! Go to your room!"
"Andrew honey, what book do you want to read?"
"Andrew... Oh God my sweet Andrew... Do you know how long my heart has somehow continued to beat? Continued to keep me going? Continued..."

How did that happen? How is it I am still here, and you are not?

Seven years.

I said your name over and over because for seven years I've dreamt of saying those things. Saying those words and so many, many more. I've dreamt of calling your name... and of you calling mine.

Mom.

Andrew.

My tears fell today and like those nights that I spent alone calling your name, I wondered if they would ever stop. Seven years. Seven.

But I sang to you.
Blew out your candles.
Wrote to you.
And sent seven balloons with seven kisses to a seven year old who I miss more than anything...

Did you see my message on that balloon? I wonder what the answer is... How can I hold you so close each and every day- and yet miss you so?

Perhaps the answer is love.
Love.
For there is no other word that comes to me tonight.
This night.
Seven years after I first held you, touched you, kissed you.

I love you my son.
Now more than ever.
But tomorrow I will miss you more.

Happy Birthday. Thank Him for the sun. Thank Him for the birds and the butterflies. Thank Him for you.
My baby.

Two Years. Today.

2010-09-09T20:52:00.003-04:00

Two years ago today.
I was driving to school.
I had been bleeding, but I had seen that heartbeat. I had seen it three times.
As I drove I could think of nothing more than getting through the day. Coming home. Resting with my feet up.

It was in the afternoon that things began to change. I felt some cramping and an urgency to call my doctor. I took my students to my friend's classroom and got on the phone. It was the third time I had called, needed to know it was ok. I needed to be home and yet I put on my smile and pretended all was well. As the students wrote in their notebooks I picked up mine. I begged and pleaded in my own notebook- a note to God. Please, please don't take this baby...

As the bell rang, I walked to my car as fast as I could without putting strain on my body. I needed to be home. Five minutes into my drive, I knew I wouldn't make it. I drove to my childhood home, my parents' home, and climbed up the stairs to my old bedroom. I curled up in a fetal position and prayed. I rocked and prayed.

But there was so much blood.

I had never experienced such physical pain. I cried but refused to take anything to dull my pain. I could do this for my baby. My mom was worried. My dad was worried. I cried out loud as they watched. I begged out loud.

But there was so much blood.

I called my doctor and she calmed me. Said to lay and be still. She would pray, but for now all I could do was be. Be still. I could go to the hospital but the added trauma of an examination would not be good for my baby. I cried with her.

And there was so much blood.

The pain. I wanted to leave but I was a prisoner. I could not drag myself further than the bathroom. I climbed back into my bed. And then I called.

I called my friend. A friend who had lost so much. Sons. But she had a daughter. She had bled. There was so much blood and yet her daughter was safe. Lived despite going through such horror. I called her.

I cried and asked her to tell me her story. There was so much blood, but she lived. There was so much blood, but she was safe. There was so much blood but she is here.

I clung to that. Clung to her sweet words. Clung to that hope and prayed.

Four hours later, I felt I could go. My mom drove me. My children were in bed. My husband was so worried. But I felt better. I clung to hope.

But there was so much blood.

Two years ago tomorrow we went to the doctor. Looked at the screen. And hope was gone.

There was just so much blood.

My sweet baby E. I think of you now and I picture you. A child who could walk. A child who can smile. A whole child. A child who knew that I stayed in that room and cried and begged and pleaded for you to stay... and yet you didn't. But had love been enough, you would be here. Asleep in this house. Fast asleep... But for some reason you were sent to my life for just a moment. Such a brief moment... but you left something. Peace. Your brother is not alone. He has a hand to hold. You have a hand to hold. And I feel in my soul you heard my heartbeat, felt my rocking and heard my prayers. You knew my love. You know it still. Today I look back and I wonder... what might have been had you not left me.

Two years ago.
Today.

September

2010-09-02T22:54:00.004-04:00

September: The ninth month of the year.

September: The month the heartbeat stopped. And I held his precious body. Kissed him goodbye.

September: The month the heartbeat stopped. And I could only wonder... What would have been... Who would have been...

September.

As a teacher, this is the month there is a flurry of activity. Setting up a new classroom. Wondering what will come of the future year. Meeting the little faces that will change me.

And then it hits me.

It's another September.

Seven years ago today his heart still beat inside me. I remember wondering if it were possible for my body to stretch any more. It was hard to breathe. But I assumed the longer they were in, the better. Seven years ago today, I was different. I was excited. I was whole. And he was still here.

Three years ago today there was another's heart beating inside me. And I wondered who this last child would be? I had a feeling it was a girl. I felt great and looked forward to a March birth. Never one to hide good news, I was telling others, asking for their prayers- For though losing a child could never happen twice, I was beginning to bleed. But I was hopeful. I was broken, but healing. And that heartbeat was still here.

But it was September.

I would say that September is a horrible month. One I'd like to forget. Skip all together.

But then-

September was the month I first became a mother. The month my precious Jonasen entered my life. The month my transition to strength and grace and forgiveness began.

September.

For now I will welcome you. For I've tried to escape you and yet you still come, again and again... For seven years I've prayed you'd forget, yet you always come. And I always find myself here. Torn. Wondering how I should feel about you. Wondering still.

September.

Decorate your own soul

2010-08-19T22:40:00.005-04:00

We were teenagers.
Laying in the sun.
Basking in our youth.
Dreaming of the future.

We would be teachers. (check)
Marry the men of our dreams (check)
Have babies and live happily ever after (well...)

We were dreamers.
Hopeless romantics.
Good.

We would lay in the lake.
Dream of our futures.
And wonder where our lives would lead us.

When I think about those times I think of the poetry that I had plastered along the walls of my room, the song lyrics that spoke to my soul, the dreams that I had of the woman I would grow to be. Wondering what events would shape her.

As I think back I am drawn to one particular poem. One I have read so many times, I believe that it lives in me still-

After a while you learn the subtle difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul
And you learn love doesn't mean leaning and company doesn't mean security.
And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts and presents aren't promises
You begin to accept your defeats with your head up and and your eyes open with the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child.
And you learn to build all your roads on today because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.
After a while you learn that even sunshine burns if you get too much
So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul
instead of waiting for someone else to bring you flowers
And you learn that you really can endure, that you really are strong and you really do have worth
And you learn and you learn
With every good-bye you learn.

Author: Veronica A. Shoffstall

Twenty years later we can remember those moments.
Those girls we once were.

Think of those words.
The words we spoke so many times.
A simple poem.
The words.
See their truth.
Feel their power.

For tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans.
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

But you learn.
You do learn.
And we have learned. Having spoken a goodbye that we never could have imagined- never dreamt- never had believed would lie in both of our futures...

But we plant our own garden and decorate our own souls.
Because we know that's what they'd want us to do.
Because there is a place that is so serene and beautiful and our's. A place within us that dances in the sun, sings their names knows our peace.

A place.
Find it.
When you're ready.
It's there for the taking.

The Dance

2010-08-12T21:59:00.003-04:00

Tonight I was watching.

My children were at play outside. They were running and laughing in the summer sun- but it wasn't this that caught my attention.

As they were at play there was a butterfly. One that seemed to frolic with them. Dance really. And while I know it is just a butterfly, it made me think of him and wonder.

Andrew would be turning seven next month! SEVEN! He'd be reading, riding his bike and probably writing like his brother. I wonder what he would say.

I watched Joe and the the butterfly that seemed to chase him, chase all of them, join in the fun.

And then to my delight another butterfly came and suddenly the laughter faded and I just watched the dance. Delighted in it. It was beautiful and peaceful. They would rise and fall, flutter and glide. They were a pair. And as I watched my heart grew.

Suddenly I had an image that I hadn't had before...

Our baby E would have been walking by now. As odd as it is, I remember feeling sad that Andrew did not have the joy that I see in our children as they play together, laugh together- but today that feeling left me. For in my mind, I could imagine him running. Running hand in hand with a toddler- what would have been our toddler. I could imagine him helping and guiding and supporting and laughing.

Laughing.

I could see their outline. The sun in the distance keeping them a shadow to me. But I saw them. I watched the dance. I heard the laughter.

I know he's there. I know they're there. They have been there with me, dancing around me, celebrating with me, cheering me on. They have been there all along. Supporting their mother as she learned to live again. To breathe again. To feel again.

They've been there all along.
I hold them close and yet they soar.
Tonight I saw it all.

A Hat

2010-07-23T15:02:00.006-04:00

It's odd.
Just a hat.
But seeing it- wearing it- brought back a flood of memories.

2003 September.
His mother was diagnosed with cancer. Our boy was gone. His father diagnosed with cancer.
Given a year.

He didn't quite make it that long.

My father-in-law had a personality larger than life and when I close my eyes I can still picture him- see his contagious smile- hear his boisterous laugh.

I miss him.

That last year of his life was so very hard.
I watched as he began to fade. A man that was so full of life was losing his.

A week before he left, we were all there. We sat in a crowded room and watched and prayed. Prayed that by some miracle of God, things would get better and that once again he would be sent home. Home to heal. Home to live.

But as time drew on, we knew it was the end and the nurse told us it could be any time. That some leave quickly. Others stay around for something... someone...

He didn't talk much that last week in the hospital. His breathing was labored, but he was comfortable. The medicine gave him sweet relief and for that we were grateful. I remember we brought Jonasen- weeks shy of his first birthday. He noticed him. He noticed the presence of our little boy. The one who had visited him so much in that year. Had he heard him crawling? He said something about our Joey. And though it was August, he asked if it was December.

December.
Did the others realize like we did? December. December was when she would be born, another grandchild. The one that was growing inside of me. We were months from December, and we knew that he wouldn't make it to the first snow. My husband and I looked at one another.

I watched him closely in that time. My husband. Watched him. He had lost the son he named and now he was losing his mentor. His father. He was fragile. His faith was fragile. In the span of a year he had lost so much. I watched him and I had no words. I just took his hand. I took his hand and was still. So much. That one year aged him. Aged us. Though only in our late twenties, it felt as if we had lived a lifetime.

We stayed as my father-in-law's speech left him.

We stayed.
We waited. We prayed.

It was at that time I also thought of Andrew. -Though he was never really far from my mind- I missed my Andrew. A boy that would be turning one just that next month. Instead he'd be celebrating his first birthday in the heavens. Without me. I thought of my Andrew and wondered about his eyes. What color were they? I looked at my father-in-law and knew that he would learn those answers about our son. His grandson. Soon.

It felt like a long time. But it was only days. Days which felt like an eternity and yet you wanted to slow them still. Stall the moments. Because though you didn't want to say it aloud, you knew that moments were all that were left. We wanted him to stay. But we knew he had to go. We knew that peace was what he needed. Peace was what he would have.

The nurse told us it could be minutes, days or weeks. She encouraged the family to go home, shower, leave the cold sterile room that had become the place that held their days and nights. A room that they wanted to leave, but not without him.

And so the family took turns. But someone was always at his bedside.
And that's what I remember.

Just the two of us.
My husband and I.
We sat at his bedside.
One on each side and he spoke,

"Dad. It's o.k. you can go home now. I heard you mention December. And I think I know why. But dad, it's o.k. This baby will be born and you can watch. You can watch from the heavens. Right now you need to go home. There is another grandchild that needs you. He's waiting for you. We're going to take care of mom. I promise you. You need not worry. Go home. Hold my son. Tell him that we love him. That we miss him. That one day we'll see you both again."

I looked at my husband with tears running down our faces. And though his faith was fragile. Though he was so very, very angry, and hurt, and shattered. I knew that still he still believed. Because that was all he had left.

It wasn't long after my husband spoke those words, that his father's breathing changed and while that could have meant nothing, it could also have meant something. And so my husband called his mom. She rushed to the side of her beloved. Touched his arm and whispered, "I'm here."

It was with his love at his side, knowing that she would survive, that he took his final breath. They sat there for some time. And I felt I should go. That I had witnessed something so tender. So sweet. That I should not have been there. It was so peaceful. So very, very peaceful. I left the room and walked down the hall. I sat on a bench and I cried. I looked to the heavens and said, "Grandpa's home. You are going to love him!"

He was home. Home with his grandson.

I am blessed for having known him for the time that I did. I wish I had had longer with him- as did everyone who knew him. But I also know it was time. A time for suffering to end. A time for a new beginning. And I know he held our son. He told him.

He watched that December, as his granddaughter was born. He smiled with Andrew from the heavens. He knew it would be alright. And it was.

An odd thing. Just a hat. But I remember and think of him still.
Thank you for that moment. Yet another moment in this journey that lets me know that there is a heaven. And that he's there.

Watch him, Remember me, Remember him.

2010-07-12T23:29:00.003-04:00

By now I know that Joe has no memory of it.
No memory of sharing a home for nine months with his brother.

And while I have pictures of them, videos of them kicking at each other, writings to them- my own memories of that time, those images, and those feelings- are also starting to fade.
Starting to blur.

I worried early on that he would be forgotten. People may remember that I had a son- once... Wasn't he a twin? Which baby had the twin? What was his name? Or was it a her?

I couldn't let that happen.
I wouldn't let that happen.

And so I started to say his name. I spoke it often. I spoke it often so that they would hear it. I spoke it often so they could say it. I spoke it often so that they would remember.

And they did. And they do. And when I hear someone say his name, it makes my heart burst that he- MY son- ANDREW- was not forgotten. Even as the days and months and years pass. Even when the world started spinning again. He was remembered. He is remembered.

But I spoke his name.
And I spoke it often.

I don't talk about him as often as I once did. But others know. They read my words here. They see his name in our home. But I don't feel the need to say it as often as I once did.

But I watch him. I watch Jonasen.

My Nana Jonasen, (1/2 of the couple he was named after) is forgetting. She is not just forgetting my Andrew, she is forgetting others... the names of my living children... the things she did that day. And so we visit. We visit often and I find my children 'testing' her. Asking her what their names are through giggles. She answers them and (more often than not) remembers their names with a chuckle.

And then he does it.

He says his name.

After going over all of his siblings names (and sometimes mine too) he will add, "And then there is my brother Andrew, Great-Nan. Do you remember? He was my brother who died. He and I were born on the same day. He's in heaven. His name is Andrew. He's six just like me."

And I watch her.

I watch her as she nods and remembers.

Perhaps she remembers the night she got the call. Learned of their births. Of his death.
I watch her and I want to save her from reliving that horror. She had experienced the death of her own son, and then great-grandson. I don't need her to remember...

But he does.

He says his name. Speaks it often. So that she will remember. So that she won't forget. And as I watch him, I remember me. In that time when I did just what he did. For perhaps the same reasons. I watch him. I remember me. I remember him.

And though now it is only with his great- grandmother, I wonder if he'll start doing it with others. Or it will be enough. Enough knowing that we remember.

Time will tell.

But for now I will watch him.
And remember me.
Remember him.

The Greatest Things in Life.

2010-07-01T16:12:00.005-04:00

The Greatest Things in Life-

Are Not Things.

I had this written in my bedroom as a teenager- when the world seemed so full of material and "stuff". As decades passed, these words remain true to me still. The greatest things in life are not things.

My grandma passed away when I was just a year old. I have no memory of her and I feel sad about that. But she had a sister- my beloved Auntie Irene. Auntie never married, nor had any children. She listened to her mother who didn't want her to marry. The man she fell in love with was neither polish nor catholic and my Auntie, though in love, listened to her mother- took care of her mother and lived most of her life in her mother's home.

My Auntie Irene.

We visited often and wrote letters frequently. She was more than just an 'aunt' to me- though she would sometimes make comments that she was 'just' that... an aunt. Later when she grew too old, too fragile, to live by herself, she moved to our town. Though she missed her home, I was secretly and selfishly happy. A woman I had grown to love and respect was now living so close and because of that, I enjoyed Tuesday dinners with her each week and grocery shopping trips with just the two of us. Over that time, I gained more than I could imagine. One of my childhood mentors had become a friend.

My Auntie Irene.

I remember her face when I rushed to her apartment and held out my hand. She looked at the diamond, tears in her eyes. She was so happy for me, and yet I could see that she was also sad. Sad for herself. "It's so beautiful," she whispered. "It is just what I would have wanted."

My Auntie Irene.

We laughed together, and as she aged I would care for her, wash her feet, tuck her in bed, kiss her goodnight. As she became more and more sad about her life's circumstances, I gave her a journal and instructed her to write in it something she was thankful for each day.

On the day I took a test- a test that would tell me that in nine months another amazing woman would be born, we buried my sweet Auntie.

My Auntie Irene.
Who never wed.
Never had children...

But oh she did!
She had us!
She had me!

I can't imagine my life without her influence- without her laughter- without her guidance. I can't imagine my life without her! I sometimes wonder what if she had married, had children of her own... would she have loved me as much? Would our relationship had been as special? Would I be exactly the person I am today? Perhaps not. But the 'whatifs' do not matter now. The truth is that she loved me as if I were her child. She loved me as if I were her own. And I only pray that she knew how much I truly loved her in return.

The children that grew inside us, are not all in our lives. But children will be in our lives- if we choose to, we can be that someone- like my Auntie. We can change someone, love someone, mentor someone, share ourselves.

I do not know why my Auntie's life went the way that it did. I do not know why she passed on a lifetime of love. I do not know why. But I do know that God put me in her life for a reason and she in mine.

There will be others. Perhaps that is why. There are other lives to touch and mentor and share with. And though we wished we were touching and mentoring and sharing with the ones we are missing, I sometimes wonder if there is someone else out there that needed us more. Needed me more. Needed you more.

And one day those children will grow up, and reflect and be so grateful. Grateful that the greatest things in life, are not things. And that God gave them a gift, YOU!

In that journal my Auntie wrote many things she was grateful for. She wrote that she was grateful for me, but I was oh so much more grateful for her. And I pray that she knows that. But one day I will tell her, and tell him, and tell baby E.
Grateful.

I love you sweet Auntie.
Thank you for being so wonderful to me.
Thank you for holding my babies until I get there.

Goodnight Irene,
I'll see you in my dreams.

For Grieving Dads

2010-06-20T12:39:00.002-04:00

I am thinking of all the grieving dads out there today. For those who do not know, Nan and Mike have created a Forum for Grieving Dads. Please click on the picture above to learn more about all the amazing work they are doing.
I'd also like to wish a happy father's day to an amazing dad I know an ocean away. His words have taught me so much and while I do not want others on this journey, I'm glad that he is walking it and sharing himself with those who need it. There is no doubt that Abigail is looking down and smiling at the amazing Dad God chose for her. Happy Fathers Day!

So dads everywhere,
Wishing you peace.
Always.
Hugs-
Laura

PS. Please grab Nan and Mike's button and put it on your blogs for others to learn about it and if anyone knows how to make a blog button for un-tech savvy me, shoot me an email. Thanks all!
Blessings!

Dear Dad,

2010-06-20T12:19:00.003-04:00

Dear Dad,

I've been watching.

I've been watching you for almost seven years now. I remember how your face looked the moment you learned that I was not going to be coming home with you. I remember how you prayed to God that somehow there was a mistake, that they were wrong, that I would grow and flourish in your home, with you and mom.

I watched you. I was with you when you hurt. I wish you could have felt me. I was there next to you all along and my only wish was that you could feel my arms as they wrapped around your neck. Could you feel me there? I know there was so much that you wanted to teach me, but I'm here to let you know I've been watching. And you've been teaching me still.

You have been a source of strength when you didn't think you could be. I know that you remember me in quiet times in your way when no one else sees. I have watched you and I hear you. I hear your prayers, your songs, your words. You have shown me that a father's love is a love that cannot be broken.

I want you to know on this day, Father's Day, I am remembering you. The one who wanted me and wants me still. I want you to know that I'm watching as your love continues to grow. I hear every word, I know every wish. I want you to know that I'm watching and waiting. For I know that one day we'll be together again and then I will be able to show you, return the love you so unselfishly have given. You've given of yourself. You've given to mom, to my brothers and sister and you've given to me.

Close your eyes dad. Know that I love you. That I miss you and that I look forward to that one day when I can look into your eyes and tell you that.

Happy Father's Day Dad.
You're amazing and you're not forgotten.
Not by me.
Not ever.

Beautiful

2010-06-13T22:01:00.003-04:00

Waves.

She's never known a pain like this. For months she carried them. Dreamed of them. Wished for them and in a matter of moments it was gone. A bad dream. And while she tried to wake up, she couldn't. Sometimes she tries to wake up still. A bad dream. A terrible dream. And perhaps if she tries hard enough she can see him, hear him, wrap her arms around him... but he's always beyond her grasp- beyond- and it hurts. It hurts that he's gone. That he's not coming back- pain like this. Hurt.

She stands alone. Wondering if anyone has felt this way. Surely no one who has lived. Felt this way. Cried these tears. Tears that don't stop. Tears for him. Tears for her. Tears so she'll remember. Tears that they may forget. Tears that come still when others think they have long since dried up. Alone.

All that she's done is fail. Looking around she sees children. Everywhere. Children laughing, and smiling. Children who are full. Children who had mothers who brought them here safely. Kissed them in the night. Held them close. She failed him. He's gone. And had she gone in earlier- done things different...

Hang onto hurt. She did that. She did that for a long time. And when she finally began to let go, loosen her grip on it, it was too much to bear. She crumbled. Her grief was her's. A way to feel close to him again. To show her love for him. Can you let go and still hang on?

If you've been there, you know

If you're still there, hang on.

We're all dealt our lumps of coal.

But what you do with it can turn beautiful.

Beautiful.

Peace. Peace from a little boy who sent it to her on that dark September night. The night he was born to the heavens. She felt a peace she will never forget. A peace that she will hold onto until the day she joins him. A peace she can see when she closes her eyes and can see them. Walking hand and hand into the most beautiful light. Laughing. running. Because they know. They know her love still.

Beautiful.

You're not alone. She has an ear. To listen and to cry and to feel. To feel deeply because she's been there and she knows the pain. The pain of being so close and losing it all. The pain of dreams that are snatched away before they've even begun. An ear that will never let you feel alone.

Beautiful.

A voice. To share her story of the deepest pain and the greatest love. The pain of a mother who lost but gained. Gained the love of a boy who knew her love before he took his first breaths- in a world beyond her own. The love of a boy that felt her heartbeat, knew nothing but warmth, nothing but love. She'll share his story. His lessons. His life. Because it mattered. It matters still.

Beautiful.

Moments. Moments to pause and remember and love. Know that it doesn't end here. This is where it begins. This is where your story starts. Look at today. At your choices. Choose the one they'd want you to choose. Choose the one you gave them while their heart beat inside of you. Choose Love.

It's beautiful. Isn't it?

There's a life outside of your madness

And there's a face behind every scar

There's a love overflowing with gladness

Get out of that place that's restraining your love.

Break free.

They'd want you to.

If just for today.

If just for a moment.

Beautiful.

Ugly Me.

2010-06-11T21:03:00.002-04:00

I try to hold on to hope.
I always have.
Even that night.
Six Septembers ago.
I talked about how blessed we were.
The peace I felt.

And it was all true.

But that is not the whole story.
There was an ugly me.
Gripped by the pain of what had just happened.
Gripped by the horrific thought that my baby was dead.
Dead in the next room.
And I couldn't bear to see him again.
Not that way.
There was no peace in that.

All true.

And I hear of people who are pregnant.
Pregnant after years of trying.
Pregnant with multiples.
And I am so happy for them.

All true.

And still- almost seven years later-
I feel it creep upon me.
The jealousy.
Why do they live?
or more importantly...
Why didn't he?

All true.

Jealousy rears its ugly head.
And normally I keep it at bay.
Normally.

In those early years I would write in my journal.
The ugly me.
So raw.
So real.
I would write through the pain-
Tear-stained face-
clenched teeth-
Tight hands.
The ugly me.

I worked through it and learned more and more about her.
When she would come.
And sometimes I welcomed her.
And needed her.

But every time- When I felt she would swallow me up-
my words would pour out upon wet pages
and the waves would subside.
And that peace I felt.
That peace I felt in that room- six Septembers ago-
Would return.
I'd return.

I know that my reality is this.
This is my reality.
My Peace.
My Jealously.
My Ugly.
My Me.

All of it.
Comes and goes-
Ebbs and flows-
Down again.

Jealous?
Yes.
The Ugly me.

Sums. (What's right)

2010-06-03T21:35:00.007-04:00

We are the sum of our parts.
The sum of our experiences.

There is a reason why I keep his pictures in my room. For my eyes only. For only those who ask to see him. Those pictures are him. But they are not him. Not the way I remembered him. Not the way I see him now- six years old.
I keep his pictures in my room.
It's what's right for me.

There is a reason why I announced my pregnancies early. I shudder when I hear that they've waited to share their exciting news. The news of a new baby until that 12 week safe zone. Is 12 weeks safe? 20? 39? Safe? I had no safe zone. I needed your prayers from that moment- from the moment I saw two lines.
I announced my pregnancies early.
It's what was right for me.

There is a reason why I may leave early from that baby shower. Hearing the excitement, that the clothes are washed and put away- hearing that brings me back- reminds me of a girl I used to know- a lifetime ago- and sometimes I miss her- and sometimes I may feel that sorrow- that longing to feel what it would be like to be her once again- it brings me back and I may not want to share it with you.
I may leave early.
It's what may be right for me.

There is a reason why I speak his name. To remind you. To remind me. That I once was in love with a little boy that may just have lived in my home had I went just one day earlier. Just one sweet day. I once was in love, but he broke my heart and took a piece with him. I love him still.
I speak his name.
It's what's right for me.

There is a reason why I say I have four children at home. At home. Two words you will always hear me add. For two are no longer living in my home, but in my heaven. I forgot those words once. I will never forget them again.
I say those two words.
It's what's right for me.

I don't expect you to know or understand
why I do what I do,
say what I say,
or think what I think.

I am the sum of my parts.
The sum of my experiences.

What I do is not wrong or right but it is-
What's right for me.

And the sum of my parts changes- with each life I am touched by- whether I knew you for a moment or forever. I was changed. Changed by you. And along the way I've learned that what may be right for me, may not be right for you.
And that's ok.

They may not understand now.
They may not understand ever.
But you are the sum of your parts- your experiences.
Do it.
What's right for you.

My Book- Not the end-

2010-05-17T21:51:00.004-04:00

September 15th.
A page from that first journal.
The first page.
A page written in my mother's hand.
A page from the story of my life.
September 15th.

The truth is that my story began long before September 15th.

There have been many chapters in my life.
I look back now and my life is a book.
A book full of chapters.

I look back at some chapters and I wonder what my character was thinking- I laugh at her mistakes and nod, knowing that she would learn from them. I smile at the times her heart was broken and she thought she would never get through- because I know that she did. I've seen her grow from child- to adolescent- to young adult- to woman. Her transformation before my very eyes.

I look back at some of the supporting characters and know that while they may have been in the book for just a chapter or two- there was a reason for that. There was a reason they were there, there was a reason why they no longer are- a chapter.

I have made peace with those chapters. Those characters I thought would be there until the end of the book, but I now know they will not be. And that is ok now.

But- I used to stay up at night, thinking of those characters. Wondering if somehow I could rewrite those chapters- make things different- change things. But in the end I know that the story was written and there was a reason for it- each laugh- each tear- each rage- all of it. It helped shape that main character. It helped shape me.

And then there was September 15th. It is a chapter I have read over and over and wished somehow that that chapter, that chapter, could have been different. I look back at September 14th and wonder if there was something she could have done- that would have had September 15th ending a different way. But there will be no revisions- no editing. The truth is the character did all she could. She carried two babies for 39 weeks. Two babies who were alive and kicking on September 14th. She had no idea what she would find on the next page and she did everything in her power-expecting September 15th to be written differently. Everything.

September 15th. Such a chapter. A chapter that has totally reshaped her character. A chapter that she looks back on still. Flips back to and learns. There is so much there- so much she is still discovering- so much still there to learn- September 15th- the reason she understands that some characters will not remain for an entire book- September 15th- the reason she understand that some new characters will be there until the final pages.

I look back and I learn.

And yet I read ahead. For I know that the best chapters are yet to come. I know that- as with every great book- as exciting and wonderful and painful as one chapter can be, the next is always better. Always.

My life.
One big book.
Still being written.
And I know it will have a happy ending.

Not the end.

Especially on Mother's Day.

2010-05-08T21:31:00.004-04:00

Mother's Day.

I think of those with children at home. People like me. Pins upon our blouses. We wear a smile. But there is something hidden. Something we keep from you. Tomorrow we will go through our day thinking of that person. The one who made us a mother. The one who you don't see. You may not even remember. But we will.
Especially on Mother's Day.

I think of those who have no children at home. At least no children that you can see. They go to the stores- see the signs, the flowers and the cards. They watch the strollers and carts and want to scream, "I am a mother!" "I am a mother too!" But no one else sees. No one else may even remember. But they will.
Especially on Mother's Day.

And I think of those with no children at home. And none in the heavens. I think of those that prayed for months. And months turned into years. And years turned into decades. But no one came. They have done this before. And they will do it again. Remember the struggle. A struggle that no one else sees or may even remember. But they will.
Especially on Mother's Day.

We all had dreams. Dreams of breakfasts in bed, fists full of dandelions and painted plaster creations. Dreams of laughter and hugs, and sticky kisses.
Dreams of being a mother.
And we will remember those dreams.
Especially on Mother's Day.

Our journeys to 'Mother' may have taken different paths.
Paths we wished would have taken us a different course.
But we will all wonder, "Why?" And remember.
Especially on Mother's Day.

We are in this together. We are different but the same. We are in every city, state, country and Continent. We will close our eyes and dream, and remember, and wonder and wish-
Especially on Mother's Day.

Wishing you peace,
Especially on Mother's Day.
L

Fields of Flowers

2010-05-01T21:21:00.004-04:00

Years before I changed.
Years before I became a mother- or even a wife- I received a gift of a framed picture of a rose. Underneath it were the words, "I can complain because the the rosebush has a thorn, or rejoice because the thorn bush has a rose, it's all up to me." I love that quote still and find such truth in it and it still sits upon my desk- A reminder when I start to feel like I'm stuck in the thorn bushes of life.

It's so easy.
It's so easy to get lost in your grief- to get stuck in it. The truth is that there is nothing in this world as painful as losing someone you love. And when that someone is your child- there is an added sting. Our children are supposed to outlive us- not the other way around.

For a long time I only saw the thorns.
It was hard to see the roses.
I couldn't see them.
They didn't exist for me.
Why- Why after 39 weeks of an amazing pregnancy- Why would God not spare him? Not let him come home to us? There were no roses in that!

But the seasons passed-
Springs came-
And the roses bloomed and I began to see them.

I saw the roses- I saw you- I saw people who came- people who remembered- people who said his name- people like you- an entire community- I close my eyes and I can see fields of flowers- fields of blessings that all came-
All came-
because he didn't.

It still pains me that he isn't here.
It pained me today.
He missed the game today.
The one he would have played with his brother.
Their first ball game.

But he was there- watching- looking down- from his own field of flowers- that beautiful place where he waits for me. Where they wait for us- looking down- sending us roses amidst the thorns. Showering us with them- if only we open our eyes to them. Look to the heavens- tell them you're ready! See them!

Thinking of those around the world tonight and remembering.

And sending kisses to my little ball player in the heavens.
Did you see your brother today?
He said your name- spoke about you.
Makes me think you were there-
in the fields-
watching-
Thank you for that.

The Future.

2010-04-19T22:00:00.006-04:00

The future.
I wish I could see it.
Could tell you it is going to be right.
And all will be well.

Sometimes I sense it.
Can feel it for you.
Feel that peace.

I wish I could bottle it up.
Send it to you.
Pour it over you.
Drench you in it.

It was so hard.
Worry.
Wanting.
Waiting.
Wondering.
Who is coming?

Building your family.
It seems so easy.
Get married.
Get pregnant.
Have children.
Live happily ever after.

But for us...
It wasn't so easy.
Because plans have a way of falling apart in mid-flight.
Crashing before our eyes.
Breaking our hearts.

But I have been there.
And picked up the pieces.
And it happened.
It does happen.
It will happen.

There is a baby in my house.
Fast asleep.
A baby who lives.
Because they didn't.
A baby who was worth it.

It was so hard.
But he was worth the worry.
Worth the wanting.
Worth the waiting.
Worth the wondering.
He was coming.

And he stayed.
He came.
And he stayed.

I wish I could bottle it up.
Send it to you.
Pour it over you.
Drench you in it.

Sometimes I sense it.
Can feel it for you.
Feel that peace.

The future.
I wish I could see it.
Could tell you it is going to be right.
And all will be well.
All will be well.

Someone will come
And you will know
Peace.

A trip to my garden, with Patches...

2010-04-12T21:13:00.002-04:00

Patches is a bear that is traveling to the homes of broken hearted families. Families like mine. Patches has been all over and you can read about his adventures here. I wanted to take him to a special place. A place I normally go alone. A place I have spent countless hours. The Memory Garden. I also wrote about our trip on my family blog.

For early in my journey it seemed that nothing would help.
Nothing could patch up the hurt that I felt.
The pain that I felt.

When I pictured myself becoming a mother for the first time, never in my wildest of dreams would I have guessed that my reality would be what it was. I suddenly became a woman learning to find her way. Trying to balance celebrating life with a beautiful son, while grieving another.

I felt guilty when I would cry or be sad. I had met people on a similar journey who had no living 'patches' of their own (yet) and when I would look into the eyes of my living, breathing miracle- well- crying felt like something I shouldn't do- for I felt blessed. Blessed that God had sent us two so we could keep one.

As crazy as those words were- I needed to find something- anything- to explain why it was that God had called my baby home. I sought reasons- prayed for them- but at the end of the day I knew that I really never will know 'why'. And all my 'reasons' were never enough. And that is something that I am still trying to make peace with. Still. Over six years later.

And it was in his garden that I sought answers- prayed- cried- wrote and screamed at my God. It was in that garden that I found my breath again- spent countless hours and days- rocking and sobbing and writing.

Writing him. Writing letters to a boy I won't meet. Not in this lifetime. And that is so very, very hard to accept. But I have to. It is my story.

My words here now are to explain my path- where I've been- and where I'm going- in hopes that someone, somewhere will feel a peace from it. That it will be a sort of patch to know that good does come from sorrow.

And for those who know me (or don't) who have never had the pain of losing a child- my words are to help you understand- that while time will provide patches and scabs over our severed hearts- they will never truly be healed. But you to can help. Say their name and just be.

Be there.
Be an ear.
Be a patch.
Be.

My Answers (Our surviving family)

2010-04-11T09:17:00.003-04:00

The last of the questions I had from others followed the same theme... What about my Jonasen (my twinless- twin) and our family. I've decided to answer the questions from both Elizabeth and Catherine here.

When Joey started school, did you have a conversation with the director/teacher? What other things if any, did you do?

Joey actually went to preschool at an extension of our church and while I (assume) most knew about Andrew, I did not know his teacher well and so I did tell her about their story. I wrote everything down because I wanted to make sure that everything that I felt needed to be said, was. I also wanted to make sure the teacher had that paper to reference if she needed to- and being a teacher myself, I appreciate all information I get from parents that helps me better understand their child.

When Joey went to kindergarten, I again knew his teacher and have been in regular contact with her. She has shared with me when Joey has talked about Andrew (and yes he has) and how it has gone. I will be writing another letter this summer for his first grade teacher and every year he is in elementary school. I have learned that 'Andrew' has meandered his way into Joey's thoughts throughout his six years and I know he always will. I think it is important to make sure that those educating Joey will know about this very unique piece of him.

That being said, I will also let my younger children's teachers know too. Sometimes they include Andrew and Baby E in their pictures (and sometimes they don't) But I want the teachers to know my family's story- to know that these siblings my children sometimes talk about are not imaginary friends or figments of their imagination.

(And as a side-note, Elizabeth I imagine it is hard that the director had (I assume) healthy twins. I have found that most of the parents that I know that have intact twins have been very supportive of us... but I encourage you to write a letter and explain everything you need to.)

Can you remember when you first discussed Andrew with Jonasen?

I can. It was that night in the hospital. Andrew had left us forever, my husband was asleep on a pull out chair, and I held my son, hours old, in my arms as I told him his story. I told him that his brother- who had shared all that time kicking him- had gone to heaven- that we would see him again, but not until we are (God-willing) very old. I remember those quiet moments still. Looking into his little eyes and grieving for something so big.

Throughout Jonasen's baby and toddler years I would say Andrew's name in prayers. I would say, "God bless mommy & daddy... and my brother Andrew in heaven"- I did not want there to ever be a moment where I sat him down and said, "You know how on your birth certificate it says you are a twin... well..." And so Andrew's name has always been in our house- and it always will be. Doing it like we did- every day- so innocently allowed me to be comfortable with it- to talk about Andrew without tears. In doing so, Jonasen (and his siblings) have felt comfortable asking questions and not worrying about upsetting mom or dad.

Talking about Andrew in this way- (always) was one of the best choices we made in this journey and one that I have NEVER had second thoughts about.

Have you always mentioned Andrew to him and how did he grasp and come to terms with his twin's death?

I don't know when Jonasen grasped the idea that he had a twin brother- or if he fully has yet. He has a set of twin boys in his kindergarten class now and he talks about their eyes sometimes and how they look alike. All of my living children had blue eyes, and Jonasen is the only one who has brown eyes. He has asked me about Andrew's eyes and I can't quite answer them- just tell him that one day we'll know. Because our faith as a family is so strong, there has never been any doubt that one day we will see Andrew again. I think that that has been a comfort to him. I also told him that like God can read our thoughts- perhaps Andrew can hear them too and if he ever wants to just talk to him, he can. And he does. He's talked before about his "walks with Andrew" and while they make me sad, they also make me happy. He's finding his way and I'm ever so proud of that.

Has he asked any questions about his brother and the circumstances of his birth that have surprised you?

Not yet. He asks me to tell the story of his birth often. And I do. He knows that he is the only one in the family who had a brother with him in my belly- he knows that his brother was born first and that God felt it was important to call Andrew home before we got to truly know him. Though we don't know why. He knows that God felt it important for Joey to be on this earth with us. I have written his story in his baby book and in journals of notes I kept for him for later when he is better able to understand it.

His questions don't often surprise me- as I expect them to come- but I am always caught a little off guard when they do come- without warning often. That I haven't gotten used to yet...

Did Andrew's death change how you and your husband envisaged your future family?

Yes and No. When we were married we always dreamed of having four children at home. When I first became pregnant and it was with twins, I had assumed three pregnancies to get those four children- not five-and with two losses. Getting pregnant again (each time) was terrifying- and my husband was scared too. At the time I think he was happy just having Jonasen and his sister- I really pushed to have that original dream of four at home. We now have four children at home and my tubes are tied so there will be no more fears of pregnancy for me.

Did you both feel that you wanted subsequent children? Was it something you spent a long time discussing?

We knew that we wanted more than one child. We had always dreamed of having a larger family. After I lost Andrew, I wanted nothing more than to be pregnant- and I did become pregnant just seven months after we lost Andrew. While I wanted nothing more than to be able to say that I had 'children' (plural) I was afraid to 'try'. Our daughter was not planned but I knew there was a possibility of her coming if God wanted to give us another child at that time- (She was conceived while out of town and we had no birth control with us...)

What we did spend a long time discussing was the fear of losing another-and that fear was gripping. I wanted nothing more to get pregnant and grow our family time and time again. My husband was more hesitant and he feared we would lose another. Especially after losing Baby E he was petrified. I felt that I had to talk him into trying again... I did go on to have our last child after that. Knowing that was the last time that I would be pregnant was freeing. We decided that either way- baby in heaven or baby on earth- that would be the last. Before, I was worried I would always want to have 'one more baby' trying to fill something that couldn't be filled. After my last son's birth all desires to become pregnant again have suddenly vanished. That has been very peaceful too. In the end I have four children at home- but in an odd sense I feel very blessed to know too that two are waiting for us- watching us- and proud of the family we have become- very strong- very intact- we are survivors and are so much stronger for it.

My Answers (Questions from Holly)

2010-04-11T08:42:00.006-04:00

A while ago I wrote a post asking people if they had any questions for me. I have been down this road a bit longer than many- And early on, I found myself seeking out people further on in their journey. Much of what I learned from them helped shape the roads that I took...

So here are some more questions- and my answers-

The following questions come from Holly, who is missing her daughter, Carleigh and has an amazing blog where she remembers and helps others here.

How do you react to comments that are not supportive?

Differently... Early on I ALWAYS would (lovingly- and sometimes not so lovingly) set someone straight if they gave me advice that I didn't like. The reason I did this is because I remember once when someone asked me if Jonasen was my only child, I said, "Yes." and it made me- quite literally- sick to my stomach. I try now to pause and choose my words carefully before answering or addressing someone- but I do respond- And now (because my scabs have healed a bit) I may set someone straight more for the next people they come in contact with- to educate them- so they don't hurt someone in a more fragile state. A state that I spent a lot of time in... My wounds have healed quite a bit- but I still have the scars- those will never heal. I don't want them to.

Who has helped you the most through losing your children?

This is going to sound odd... but I have.

I did a lot of writing and self talking until I learned my way. I made decisions on how I wanted to travel this road and I am proud of (most) of the choices that I made in remembering Andrew and Baby E and carrying on as their mom...

That being said- my mom was a tremendous support because I could talk things out to her and she would be honest with me. At times I would become angry with what she would say, but it helped me sort things out and find my way. The founder of CLIMB (Center for loss in Multiple Birth) answered many of my questions about raising a twinless twin and I did many things based on her advice. My support group, HUGS, was huge in my healing- and I'm sure this blogging community would have been had I known about 'blogs' then... I imagine had I started blogging back in 2003, my writing would have looked a lot different- I know it would have as I (in a sense) have a blog kept in my journals of letters to Andrew...

What moment was the most difficult in each journey?

It is so hard to pinpoint one moment... As they are still coming- especially in raising Andrew's surviving twin, Jonasen. Early moments that come to me (with Andrew) were leaving the hospital without him and everyone thinking I was just a happy mom to a singleton... Learning how to forgive myself for being happy to have a living child- and learning to forgive myself for being sad for having lost a child- It took me a while to find that balance. Getting Andrew's Ashes and seeing hospital pictures were also very low moments in my journey...

With Baby E- it was that day I went and saw the ultrasound was blank. I literally believed that God had spared my child. Trying to get pregnant again became very scary too because where I had always feared losing a baby LATE in pregnancy (Andrew died at 39 weeks) I now had to worry about early on. My daughter also (though young) talks about her 'sister' Baby E- and not knowing for sure if Baby E was a boy or girl has been very hard.

My Answers (Questions from a Great Dad!)

2010-03-27T16:05:00.011-04:00

One of the wonderful things about the Internet is you get the opportunity to 'meet' people from all over the world. One of those people that I have met is from Living in the Rainbow- these are the questions he asked... along of course with my answers...

1) what things do you have in your home to remember Andrew and Baby E?

When I first got my pictures back of Andrew, I'd envisioned myself plastering them around the house. That didn't happen. But signs of Andrew are everywhere. Andrew was cremated and I wrote here about the perfect gift we found to keep his ashes. It is out in the open, with a picture of Jonasen's hand with my husband's wedding band. We also have a framed picture of Jonasen with his brother's brick and other pictures like that around the house. Above our fireplace we have pictures of all of our children in frames- and in frames the bricks with Andrew and Baby E on them- as they are part of our family- and no one will miss that when coming into our house.

Baby E's picture (though it is only an ultrasound) is also in a frame next to a picture of our daughter's feet in my hand (below). Baby E is not as present as Andrew in our house- though we also have in a frame the paper we picked up with just one letter- the letter E- on it the day we lost our precious babe.

2) what were the most helpful things people said to you in your grief?

This question was easy for me.

His name.

I loved that people would address Andrew by his name- days later- months later- years later. People probably don't realize it but something about hearing people say his name- always makes me smile- and feel full. It means that they remember- that he meant something to others- that his life meant something. And now- (five years after Andrew was born and gone) people still remember our little spark- and refer to (her ?) as Baby E- That makes me smile too.

3) what were the least helpful?

Two things come quickly to mind with this question.

The first was when people would see me so very sad and they'd say, "It'll get better in time." I HATED that- and still do. While I know there is some truth in this statement- what I heard was- this too shall pass- he will pass- you will forget him- you will get over this. That I now know will never be true- but it scared me that I might forget. I will never forget. I'm sure I had said something like this before losing Andrew- that things will feel better in time. I've since taken that statement out of my vocabulary.

The other thing that used to bother me was when people (who had never lost a child) would say things like, "At least he didn't live for a while and THEN die."

First- I have learned through this journey that you cannot compare grief. One person's grief is not more than another person's- it's DIFFERENT. One is not 'harder' than another- it's different. And while it is certainly easier to remember a child who lived- or one that was stillborn- some people (me) choose to also remember the little sparks they had- that left too soon- but still were dreamed about. I choose to dream still- which is why I still remember.

4) what do you think heaven is like?

Ah. I like this question. To me heaven is the most beautiful place- I dream in black and white- but heaven to me is full of vibrant colors. When I close my eyes and dream of going there, the first thing I imagine is falling at the feet of my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ- I wonder if I'll have the words to thank Him- for getting me through this- but I know He'll know my heart. Then I imagine him picking me up off the floor (like He has done so many times) and introducing me to two very special people I've waited a lifetime to see- to look into their eyes. I can't wait to get there! This sounds morbid- but it's not. When I die, I pray that people will celebrate! I've had such an amazing life (even at the young age of 34)- amazing because I appreciate it so- mostly because of the lessons I've learned- and the people who have graced it. Until I die, I will take my lessons and share them with my children and anyone else who cares to listen!

5) have you had doubts in your faith? if so how have you overcome them?

Doubts in my faith.

No.

I wish I knew why doubt did not come to me when I know it has for so many (including my husband.) It took him a while, but I am very happy that he has overcome h.is doubts.

But if you had asked- had been angry with God?

Absolutely! And I guess I doubted him in a sense- I would ask Him- why didn't He save my child if He loved me so much?

I remember screaming at Him! Cursing Him! Wondering Why? I can remember those moments- (I still have them- though not as often) I remember those moments and the odd thing was through my anger- and tears- and shaking- that pain- it always stopped... I always found my breath again. I believe that was God.

And when I think of God sending His only son to suffer and die for me... well- I think having lost a son- having known the pain of losing him (without the suffering)- makes God's sacrifice all the more powerful to me. It takes my breath away still when I ponder it. It amazes me.

6) have your reasons for blogging changed since you started

This blog is relatively new- in that- it was started five years after I lost Andrew- what wasn't new was my journaling. I have journals that I look back on now- journals full of letters to a son who will never read them- but I felt heard every word.

This blog is for me to write my story- I was interviewed about Andrew and it was such a small taste of what he was- what our story was- and so this blog was born in hopes that one day my living children will be able to read it, and understand. I love that others have found it and I write for them too. I love reading comments and hearing from others. It makes his life matter- again his life lives on through me and I love that it touches others too.

7) if you could change one thing about society's response to stillbirth what would it be?

I would love to open the world's eyes to stillbirth- to let them know that those of us who have had a child who was stillborn still held that child- loved him/her. I would love to tell people who have just had a child. Think of how much you love that child- that brand new baby- well we love our children too and they looked just like that- perfect- though without life.

I would tell them that and much, much more- but haven't the time. Maybe I'd give them the address to this blog of my thoughts.... ;-)

8) what one question have you not been asked that you would like to answer?

(cheeky huh hehe!) what is the answer to it?

Hmm... This is what I have been pondering...

How do you feel about twins- and baby showers (OK I put in two questions)?

Better. I'm feeling better about twins. I can look at them- but I don't want to touch them. I can feel happy for others- but still more sad for me. I wish I knew why I felt this way- and when/if I will ever move beyond that. Boy twins bother me the most (obviously) but I never get happy when I hear 'twins'. It's like the record scratches and my mind goes blank. A singleton or higher order multiples... fine... but no twins please.

I have a hard time going to baby showers. I don't like them. I would much rather go to a celebration after the baby is born. I am afraid for friends who are pregnant. (Luckily if they DO read this blog- I'm certain they stay away from it while pregnant- or at least they should.) I look at pictures of myself (huge) at my baby showers and I see someone so happy- and then I think... poor thing... if she'd only known she would have never opened all those boxes... I shudder to think how I will be as a grandma- hopefully this is something that WILL change in time. I don't want to pass that worry on to my children. I was good at my nieces shower so I am growing.

Thanks for the questions friend!

And thanks for reading!

My Answers (My Beloved Support Group)

2010-03-24T21:19:00.003-04:00

It was so nice to have some questions from my last post and because I tend to be quite wordy... (imagine that) I think that I may take a few days to ponder and respond in my 'Moments of Pause' type way. DeniFay from Making Our Troxclair Family asked me the first question about the support group that I have written about on here.

When I delivered my boys I was bombarded with information. It came at me so fast that I hardly had time to digest it. My head was spinning from becoming a mother for the first time and having to care for a little one, to becoming a mother for the first time and realizing that my baby would not be coming home with me. We were making decisions quite quickly- what to do with Andrew's body- the naming of our boys- and we didn't have a lot of time to think things though. When someone mentioned a 'support group', I shrugged it off thinking that a support group would be for people without any children and I had a beautiful one in my arms...

When I came home and reality sank in and the fog that surrounded me began to clear, I hit a wall. I read everything I could get my hands on about stillbirth and (specifically) cord accidents. I gave my doctor a 40 page report with highlighted portions. (as if she needed that) and I sought support from CLIMB (center for loss in multiple birth) and ELIMBO which was a support group on-line for people with a loss of a multiple. And that is when I remembered the mention of that support group and I dug through all of the mementos, papers and brochures that I was sent home with and found a card with a picture of a bear holding a broken heart. It said HUGS which stood for Healing and Understanding Grief Support and it said that they met the third Thursday of every month.

I could hardly wait for the meeting to come and when it did come I realized that this community of people, this 'secret society' was much bigger than I had ever imagined. Early on I saw how people could get stuck in their grief and I felt that though I was in so much pain it never got so dark for me that I couldn't get out of it. It was at that time I made a promise. A promise to my son, and to myself that each month I would go. I would go and speak his name and remember him. I would go and share the blessings of his life by making someone else's journey a little less lonely. I began attending meetings- all of them- and gave my contact information out to the hospital to share with others. While my story is unique in having had lost a twin, at the end of the day, I lost my child. I lost my individual baby. And I still miss him terribly.

My hospital has done a tremendous job with families who have lost a child. My experience (as horrific as it was) was so much more peaceful because of the nurses and my doctor. The staff at my hospital has been trained and I have spoken at two conferences for the medical community to give them a glimpse into the heart of a grieving mother.

As intimidating as a 'support group' can sound, HUGS is a very comforting environment (at least I've found it to be that) and there is always a nurse that is there as well. We take turns sharing who brought us to the meeting and talk about any hurdles we're facing and celebrate those we've conquered. It's a unique group and I have met some of my dearest and life-long friends at those meetings.

I learned recently that other hospitals in our state have heard about HUGS and are starting their support groups based off of HUGS. Perhaps one of the best things about our hospital is that when they have a good thing going, they don't keep it a secret- they share it.

If there is not a support group in your area (and there may be...) I would contact your hospital and ask if there is any interest in starting one. The people reading this blog know that perinatal loss happens far too often and I know that new people come through those doors far too often- and that there are those that can't muster the courage to come to a meeting- but they're hurting just the same. The support of families who have gone through this and shared their stories and experience is what has helped me get where I am. I believe that every life you come in contact with changes you. God has changed me through Andrew's life- and I will strive to change others (to let them know they'll be alright) through his life as well.

To read more about my thoughts on support groups, you can click on the label below, "The Secret Society of Angel Moms" (and I apologize for saying moms- as I know there are many -amazing- dads in the 'secret society' too...) and as for the picture above, that is my little Joey at about 7 months at the memory garden for babies at our hospital. That picture now hangs in the room where you will find me-
The third Thursday of every month.
At 7pm.
In Megan's room.
Changing others- as they change me.

Thanks for reading and being part of my on-line HUGS group!

Ask Me.

2010-03-23T22:18:00.009-04:00

To those who have lost children, and those who have not,

Every third Thursday of the month you will find me at my local hospital in Megan's room where I meet with old and new families who have lost children. After six years, I go now to be the supporter more than the supported and often I have had people contact me with questions they have. I know that when I was trying to find my way (especially in those earlier years) I sought the advice of those who had been on this journey longer than I and it made my journey a lot easier, and lighter, knowing I wasn't going it alone. I know too that many of my friends didn't know what to say to me- or ask me- and felt a loss- they wanted to say something- anything- but didn't know quite what to do- or what not to do-

Now I would like to extend an invitation to those of you reading my words. At the suggestion of a friend, I would like to invite you to ask me any questions you may have. Please know that I enjoy talking about my journey, which is why I keep this journal of thoughts. Also know that I rarely cry when I write these blogs so if you're worried about a question making me sad- don't- Of all of the posts I have written, I have only cried while writing two of them. My scabs are well healed and those who know me in real life, know that I can tell my story, Andrew's story, Baby E's story often without a crack in my voice- not because I don't miss them- but because I feel very comfortable in my reality since I have lived it for so long. I can talk about them as I would talk about my four living children- with peace.

So please, if you want, ask me. Ask me anything. I look forward to sharing my heart with you. And if you wish to leave a comment anonymously, or send me an email, that's ok too.

Hugs-
Laura

Questions- Ask me...

2010-03-20T21:54:00.012-04:00

Most of what I write is triggered by you.

What you've said at meetings where I've sat.

What you've written in blogs that I have read.

What you have asked me.

My dear friend I met through this blog lost his daughter and recently wrote a piece answering questions that others had asked. I absolutely loved the post because I respect him and believe he is doing an amazing thing for fathers who have lost children by sharing his thoughts- and for mothers who may want a man's perspective on such things...

And as I read, I recalled a question that I have been asked on more than one occasion. Like my friend, I enjoy hearing from people who read my thoughts and who ask me- ask me about Andrew- and Baby E- ask me my thoughts-

If you could do it all over again, would you wish Jonasen to be a singleton so you would not have had to experience the pain of losing Andrew? After all in the end you had one child come home with you, as you would with a singleton. Do you wish his birth would have been just that? Just one? Joy without the pain?

Such an interesting question because the world sees Jonasen as a singleton. When I was wheeled out of the hospital, I had a baby in my arms and no one knew the sorrow in my heart. They saw a mom with a baby. A very normal thing to see coming out of a hospital.

The short answer: No.

A few months ago, I met a grieving mom. She had two daughters, born too early, and like me is raising a twinless twin. I feel blessed to know her, to help her through this journey- and for her to help me- and to see her smile again has been such a blessing. One thing that has stood out to me though is that she has described the day her girls were born as the worst day of her life.

September 15, 2003 was the worst day of my life.

And-

September 15, 2003 was the best day of my life.

On that day I lost a piece of myself. I lost my innocence. Though I would go on to be pregnant four more times, I would never again feel a peace about it. Never buy a single thing for the unborn baby(babies) I carried. I became a person who worried more than she had on September 14th. I became a person who's ears were tuned in to the words, 'loss', 'stillbirth', 'miscarriage'. I became a person who spent nights angry with a God that she loved. I became a person entirely different than the one that existed on September 14th.

And-

On that day I grew my heart. I saw what my husband and I would look like- through the eyes of a child created in love. I nursed a baby for the first time and gazed into the eyes of someone who needed me. Truly needed me. I fell in love as I never had before- an unconditional love. I became a person who would spend nights thanking God because I never knew before how precious life was. How precious he was. I looked at all children as a blessing. A true miracle. The day he came into my life was the best day of my life. I became a person entirely different than the one that existed on September 14th.

It was the best day of my life.

And-

It was the worst day of my life.

And I would not change it.

Andrew is part of Jonasen's story. He is part of my story. He is so much a part of who I am, who I have become, who I am becoming. I would not change it. I would not change our story.

And I had said it before. I would do it again and again- even if I knew I would experience that pain again- even if I knew I would lose a child again- I would do it if it meant I would feel that joy. That love. That peace. And I did. I took the risk of becoming pregnant again four more times (though only three children came home)- I took the risk and grew my heart because the joy- that joy- far outweighed the pain.

Would my joy have been so sweet had I not known the pain?

I don't think so.

But it is. So very sweet. And it is why I say to others- try- try again. It is so very hard- so very scary but that joy at the end is so very, very worth it.

And as for September 15th, 2003... I would have chosen to have them again- have had him again. Because though he did not stay in this world, he stayed in me. He was born in me. That I would not change.

Life is all the more sweeter for having them. Both of them.

Andrew & Jonasen.

Together.

This I know

2010-03-14T14:57:00.008-04:00

Jesus loves me, this I know-
And I knew it then.

Of all the questions that I have been asked...
How do you know?
How can you still believe?

I still pause searching for words to best describe my faith. A faith that has sustained me as it was tested, as it grew. My faith. It is my faith. My God. It is my God. The one reason I can still be. Be still. But how to answer this question so others know- can feel it too...

Jesus loves me, this I know-
And I knew it then.

In the room where mere moments earlier I had learned that one of the children that I had been dreaming of for the last nine months was no longer alive. In a room that felt dark, cloudy- In a room where the silence was deafening and yet serene-

Jesus loves me, this I know-
And I knew it then.

Though my eyes could not focus, would not focus, I knew He was there. I could feel Him and I felt Him. Felt a peace beyond description- A warmth indescribable. A single tear fell, not of sorrow, but of thanks. Peace.

Jesus loves me, this I know-
And I knew it then.

In that moment, God had my child. God had His child. And He was taking him home. And for that- that sacrificial love I will always thank Him, always praise Him, always worship Him. And one day I will go there too-Home- when He calls.

Jesus loves me, this I know-
And I knew it then.

Even though I screamed at Him from a physical pain- The absence of a boy- and the scars that he left- scars that no one saw but me. I screamed at Him. The Pain! But I found my breath. He sent it to me.

Jesus loves me, this I know-
And I knew it then.

And months later, I sat in a quiet room with my Grandfather- A man nearing 90 years- and we talked and we cried. For he had traveled this road. He had lost a son. He had cried these tears. Felt this pain and still he knew.

With tears streaming down his cheeks, "You know it truly is amazing. It isn't time that heals these broken hearts of ours, it is His grace, and aren't we all the more blessed that He has so much to give- again and again in those times we need it most. Blessed."

Jesus loves me, this I know-
And I knew it then.

Yes I believe. And though the dark days have come, they have also gone. And every step of the way I was never alone. Not once. For He was there with me. And though I have pondered it many times, I still lack the words- but I will never forget that night- those nights- when I needed Him most- and I searched for Him- though He needn't be searched for- He was there all along. Waiting.
For me.

Jesus loves me, this I know-
This I knew.

This, I know.

Twins- in a word

2010-03-12T21:00:00.003-05:00

Twins.
I hate the word.
Even when the word was used with my name.
I wasn't a fan.
I was going to have babies.
Individuals.

Twins.
At a work meeting last week.
I heard the word.
Over and over.
She had twins, another had twins, another expecting twins.
Is everyone having twins?
I hate the word.

Twins.
It still makes me pause.
Pains my stomach.
Races my heart.
Steals my breath.
I hate the word.

Just a word.
A word I don't like to hear-
And yet somehow it finds me again and again.

Just a word.
And I feel drawn to it-
It is so hard to look away.
So hard to keep quiet and not scream!
Tell them!
Tell them all!

A word.
That once described something I had.
Something I dreamed about.
Something that was so close.
So very, very close...
Twins.

March

2010-03-06T21:33:00.004-05:00

Last year I wrote you here.

You were a spark then. A dream. And I'd wondered if you would always be that to me. A baby we'd wanted so badly. A baby. A baby frozen in time.

For with your brother we had a name, and a face. We could picture ball fields and all things boy.
With you. We didn't know. We don't know. And so I wondered, if you would be that- our forever baby. Due in March.

I wondered if I would think of you mostly in September, when our hearts broke, when your heart stopped-
Or you'd come to mind in March, when our hearts should have grown-

A year later I know the answer.
Both.

This March I am not folding my arms over a belly that should be swollen with life- I've been holding a new one. Your brother. A miracle that never would have been, had you. And I like to think you knew that. Knew last March that while I folded those hands over a belly I thought was empty- you knew- you knew that I was wrong- for there was a heart beating in there- a heart that would grow ours yet again.

And I know that.
And I feel peace.
And yet I still wonder what you would have been.
Who you would have been.

Weeks after losing you, I got the phone call that your cousin would be born, my Goddaughter would be born. And as happy as I was to hear those words- those wonderful words- that they were expecting- as happy as I was- I was more sad for us- and for you- for you would have grown up together- just a month apart.

And so like your brother, I have a living beautiful breathing reminder of what could have been.
But what wasn't meant to be.
You.
Not my forever baby.
My spark that would have been one.
One.
This month.
March.

Twenty-two

2010-02-22T21:34:00.002-05:00

November 1, 2005.
Over two years.
We had a daughter at home.
We had "babies" at home.

I was healing.
The world was spinning.
And we were happy.
We were healing.

And yet, I still missed him.
I continued to go to support group meetings each month.
More as the supporter- than the supported-
More to say his name-
To remember him-
To make it matter-

I had a fear I may forget- may stop going each month- stop speaking his name as I had-
But it had only been two years.
Would things change in time?

I didn't want to forget him.
Not ever.
I was smiling again and I was afraid the world would forget him.
I didn't want them to forget him.
Not ever.

So I went to the meetings-
I spoke our story-
And on November 1, 2005
Others heard our story too-
His story-
Because it was featured in a newspaper.

I read our story-
Our words-
Saw pictures of my hands-
holding his hat, his footprints, his things-
And for a moment- He was remembered-

Remembered beyond us- beyond the safety of the walls where my beloved meetings took place.
He was remembered still- but now by people we hadn't ever met-
They saw his name-

I was teaching at the time.
The school day had ended and I was erasing the chalkboard.
When I noticed a woman was standing at my door.
She held something in her hand. She had a warm smile and asked if she could have a moment.

I welcomed her in.
She said that she had children who had attended the school years ago.
Before my time.
She was very nice.

And that's when she pulled out a frame.
A large frame with four footprints.
Her eyes glazed as they met mine.
She told me it hangs in her home still.

Under each footprint was a name.
She pointed to one and said, "That one would be twenty-two." I heard her voice break. "She would have been twenty-two. You won't forget."
I stared at the footprints.
The name.
Her name.
Given twenty-two years ago.
Taken home twenty-two years ago.
Remembered.
Twenty-two.
And I remember her still.

I'll remember him still.
Remember him.
Share him.
Andrew.

Her?

2010-02-16T22:40:00.003-05:00

Her.
She prayed for her tonight.
First she asked God if she could one day see her brother Andrew's eyes.
Then she said, "And God, I'd really like to see her eyes too. You know, my sister, Baby E."
(gulp)

Flashback-
September 2009. I was waiting to have the surgery. The one that would take whatever may have been left from our baby, of our baby. Our baby. I wept and I wished I could say more than just 'our baby.' I wish I could speak a name.
"Close your eyes Laura- you know it- you know it in your heart- feel it- you know if that baby was a boy or a girl."

So I tried. I closed my eyes- and I prayed but feelings weren't enough for me. What if I was wrong?

On Valentine's Day, we spoke of them. My husband and I went to dinner alone. It was so nice. And we talked mostly of our children. Our children- Andrew and Baby E. And he told me he had a dream, that when he went to heaven he met God, and he walked with Him and He introduced him to our son. Our son Andrew. And then He turned and spoke the most beautiful name. It was so beautiful- more beautiful than anything he had heard. God spoke the name of our baby. Our baby who lived there, with Andrew.

Flashback-
September 2009. My husband. Hurting so. It had happened again. Another one gone. "And we can't even give our baby a name. That may be what hurts most of all. I need a name, Laura."

So I tried. I closed my eyes- and I prayed but feelings weren't enough for me. What if I was wrong?

Her?
She prayed for her tonight. My five year old prayed for her sister. Her sister Baby E. She is convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that she has a sister. While her brother speaks of Andrew, she speaks of her sister. Her. That one day she'll be able to see her eyes. When we're all in heaven together.
Her eyes.
Her's.

So I try. I close my eyes- and I pray, but feelings aren't enough for me. What if I am wrong?

So tonight I will wonder, and dream of you still. Dream of you, our little spark, and wonder if your sister is right. But I won't know. Not really. Until that day when we're all together. When I can look into your eyes.

And learn your name.

"At home"

2010-02-12T21:19:00.003-05:00

I am a teacher.
When I came back to work after having my boys.
Having one-
Losing the other-
I expected the questions.
They came-
I answered-
And if felt right.

The next year as I introduced myself to a room full of excited second graders, I told them a bit about myself adding that I had a husband, two dogs, and a little boy at home.

Some how adding the 'at home' after I mentioned any living children seemed to be o.k. and no one really ever picked up on those two little words. I felt better for saying them and unsuspecting people sure felt better that I didn't have to put them in the awkward position of telling them the 'whole' story- that I had one at home and one in heaven.

As I told my students my story, one little girl rose her hand and said, "Yes- you have a little boy and you had another boy who died."

I was shocked that she knew- had remembered- perhaps heard from an older sibling- a neighbor-

"Yes. Yes I did."

And then the next question came.

"What was his name?"

"Andrew."

And another.

"Did it make you sad?"

"Very."

And that was where their questions ended about my son- and turned to my two dogs at home- a much more enjoyable topic for children who perhaps longed to have a pet of their own.

I thought about it- the questions hung in the air- but for them they seemed to evaporate- and so eventually I let those questions go- I kept the warmth from their memory- but I let them go- evaporate-

Until I heard from my principal- parents were mad- I was talking about my 'dead son'- parents were angry- and they wanted to confront me.

I was mortified. I didn't know what to do. I was not in the place I am now- I wasn't ready to talk about him and certainly not in front of a large group of people- what if I cried- I knew I would cry...

My story- a story that will forever impact my living children- that yes- babies do die- was now influencing these children, and I felt horrible for it- and even more horrible that the parents in that classroom would think that I would share such sorrow with their children. Share a piece of heartache with them intentionally. Suddenly those innocent questions- that innocent moment was forever tainted- tainted with some horrible connotation- with the shadow of death- and all that was bad- when really for me- in that moment- it felt healing- they remembered- they cared...

The parents never did confront me. I beat them to it. I sent a letter home explaining what had happened- the exact exchange that happened in the classroom and I apologized. I apologized for losing my son- and for their children to know my story-

It makes me angry now-

Six years later, my students don't know of Andrew- or even Baby "E" (Perhaps she had her appendix out...) They know that I love butterflies- especially the blue ones. They know that I have a fondness for heaven and they know that I have a husband, two dogs and four children "at home".

And that is where it ends.
And that is o.k.

So recently when one of my students found my family blog, with a link to these moments, I froze- and that moment so long ago came rushing back- though now six years later- more secure in my reality I know I would never apologize- not for two of the biggest blessings in my life that are no longer 'at home' but remain even closer- forever living in my heart.

I have been quite careful on here to not mention the blessings that I have "at home," though I know that many of you have read about those blessings on my other blog. Because that blog is no longer found through a search, if you would like to still read about those days- please send me an email or leave me a comment and I will send you the new address.

Thank you for reading, and thank you for seeing me for the mother I am. The mother of six. Six in my heart.

Hugs-
Laura

Husbands (3 stories)

2010-02-08T22:17:00.003-05:00

All grieve so differently.
All of us.
And so do our husbands.

~
I remember meeting him at a meeting-
Perhaps there more for his wife than for himself-
Talk?
It appeared to me he didn't know exactly what to say- but he started speaking-
And he held her- so tiny and small in his hands- born far too early- he held her and as his wife lay recovering from a delivery much too fast- much too early- he spent those moments holding his firstborn- a daughter- and looking at her he saw her- her life- flash before his eyes- he saw her as a toddler, awkward steps as she'd learn how to walk- first days of school, awaiting a bus- prom and how nervous she would be awaiting her date- the wedding, walking her down, giving her away- he saw it all- it all flashed before him like a dream- a marvelous, wonderful dream- and then it was gone.
So plainly he said it-
Without much emotion-
But he saw it as he spoke- and we all saw it too-
Tears streamed down the faces of those there that night- mostly by the one who held his hand- the one who carried his daughter- the one who longed to know how he was feeling-
~
~
She felt such a disconnect. He wouldn't talk about her- not really- and every time she brought her up, he would shut down, and the wall began to grow. The bricks stacked up between them grew until she wondered if they'd ever be able to break them down. She began to tuck some money away. What had happened to them? She was so unsure- until the day he came to her- said he wanted to be baptised- why?- because he wanted to see that little girl again- had to- and he wasn't going to take any chances- he wanted to do anything and everything he possibly could to see her- to see her again- And in that moment, the wall that was between them vanished. Perhaps tears? As they held each other in their arms grieving their daughter that was born sleeping- Had he been thinking of her all along- he must have been- but she hadn't known- not until that moment-
~

~
He didn't speak for days- he couldn't- and while he would entertain her questions- his answers were short- he didn't want to speak of him, he couldn't- the pain was too fresh- but the days went on- and the world began to spin and they began to laugh again- live again- they had movie nights- and game nights- and pizza nights- Every Friday they had pizza- and he would get it- even when she offered- no- he would get it- years later she learned he ordered it from the pizza chain that was located in the hospital- so he could visit his garden- see his son's name- talk to him- alone- under their stars- talk to him-
he told me this-
years later.
~

They are all so different- but this I know- they hurt- they ache- they grieve- They grieve for their wives- they grieve for their children- parenting a living child is so very hard- remembering one- honoring one that left too soon is even harder.

Don't forget about them.
I promise you, they haven't forgotten about their children.