The Coat

It was winter.
Cold.
He had left in the fall.
I was in a new season.

I felt I needed to pick myself up-
Face the world-
The world that needed to start spinning once again.

With the changing season, I needed a new coat- one that would fit the mother who had just delivered babies- full term twins- a mother of two-

I went to a nearby department store and quickly found a coat. It was a perfect fit and I smiled as I brought it to the cashier to pay.

"Will this be all today?"

"Yes" I replied, "I just had twins and was in desperate need to find a new coat that would fit me until I lose the rest of this dreaded baby-weight. This will work great." I said smiling.

"Congratulations!" The unsuspecting cashier replied, "What did you have?"

And that's when I said it- the door had been opened- and with such ease I said,
"I had two boys- but one DIED!"

I remember the look on her face. The horror. She was at a loss.
I remember watching her as she searched for her words- her mouth hung open- searching-
I didn't help her- I stood and watched her- so uncomfortable- I sat and watched-

"I'm so very sorry."

"Thank you." I took my coat and left the department store and as I walked to my car, a sinking feeling crept over me. That poor cashier- just doing her job- I had made her so uncomfortable- why had I done that- why had I felt the need to tell her-

The Coat was one of many trips. Trips to stores to talk about my babies- my baby that DIED- returning the many items that I had received 'doubles' of at showers- Trips for clothing items- casual trips to buy groceries-

I found myself talking about them to strangers- Anyone who would listen.

"I had twins, and one DIED!"

In that moment- as I would say those words- see the horror on their face- I felt good. Something about their reaction- made me feel good-

And then- as I walked away from my victims- I would feel remorse- Why? Why had I felt the need to share my grief with these people- these poor innocent people? Why?

It was in that season that I knew.
I knew I needed help.
And I wasn't sure if the Secret Society knew the answers-

And so I went-
I went to see a counselor-
Someone who spoke to people like me-
Crazy people-
Because... well... I felt crazy!

I didn't know what to do-
I hadn't ever seen a counselor before.
I knew I had an hour and I needed to talk.

I spoke to her-
said his name-
and cried-
I told her about my victims
about what I was doing-
and cried-

She sat and listened as I talked for my hour-
an hour I paid for-
and with each word some of the weight I brought in that room lifted-
But still I needed to know why?

I saw her pause as she pondered my question.
I wasn't sure if this was what was supposed to happen when people see counselors-
but this was what I needed.
I looked at the clock as it ticked-
my hour almost over-
Please- tell me why?
Why?

"When a woman is pregnant- it is work. Her body works hard. Her heart works hard. She feeds her baby- she breathes for her baby- she carries the weight of her baby- it is work.
When a woman has a baby- people see that- whether they acknowledge it or not- they know she did that- she went through all of that work to bring that baby into the world- she did that- they can see it.
People can't see what you did. They see your baby and they smile- but they don't know the whole story- they don't know because they can't see him- they don't see what you see.
Perhaps that's why- Perhaps you want them to see."

Yes.
I got it.
It made sense.
I paid my money and thanked her.
I didn't feel a connection to her and I knew I wouldn't be back.
But my money was well spent.
I had my answer.

I stopped telling strangers.
Stopped saying those words that stole their breath-
I saved them.
Saved them from me.

Yes. I had done that. I carried those babies. I loved them. I breathed for them. I ate for them. I prayed for them.

I had done that.
Been the best mother I could possibly be-
Even though it wasn't enough-
I had done that.
All I could.

And knowing that was enough.

He is. I am. You are.

He is going to be OK.
I know it.
I feel it.
And it makes me happy.

He is special.
Although he doesn't know it, he healed our heart.
He saved us.
By staying.
By being here.


I am going to be OK.
I know it.
I feel it.
And it makes me happy.

I am special.
God chose me to be the mom of an angel.
A little boy that I was able to see, and touch and feel.
A little spark that I saw beating on the screen.
God chose me to be the mom of an angel.
And though it is a big job, and often times I didn't think I could do it-
He knew I could-
And so I continue to learn- and listen- and grow-
Because of Him
Because of them
Because of you.


You are going to be ok.
I know it.
I feel it.
And it makes me happy.

You are special.
God chose you.
You.
And it will happen.
And you will feel it again.
And it makes me happy.

And so I pray you continue to learn- and listen- and grow-
Because of Him
Because of them
Because of YOU.

-peace (and thank you always- from the bottom of my blessed heart!)
L

How is he?

He keeps me up more than the others-
I wonder what's behind his words-
his thoughts-
his eyes-
I wish I could know what he thinks about-
and sometimes he gives me a look into what I long to know...

How is he?

He's been raised a singleton- a twinless twin- with a sister 15 months younger that is often mistaken for his twin.
He's always had company-
a built in playgroup-
and yet he is my quiet one, my thinker,
and I wonder...

How is he?

Today was the first day back to school and while he normally is bubbling with excitement, today he didn't want to go.
He didn't want to play with his 'normal' group-
and that's o.k.
But he seemed so sad...

How is he?

I worried about him all day
Don't worry- they said- it's just kids going back after being home so long-
the new toys- his siblings at home playing- it's just kids...

Is it?

He came home and I asked him.
I asked him about his friends and he said he spent his recess with Andrew.
It didn't cross my mind- not even for a moment as I asked him about this new friend I hadn't heard him mention before.

But I had heard him mention him.

"My brother mom. The one who died."

I felt my eyes begin to well and prayed that they wouldn't give me up- that he wouldn't see me cry. He hasn't seen me cry in so long for his brother- A memory he has probably long since forgotten...

"I went on a walk- just he and I on the mountain of snow. I think I'll play with Tyler tomorrow."

Raising children is hard. I don't want my children to be the smartest, or the most popular, but I want them to be happy. Happy and full- and to know beyond a shadow of a doubt how special they are- how much I treasure every thing about them- how they are so very, very loved- I know they feel it and still I wonder...

How is he?

Most of the time happy. Most of the time bubbling with excitement and laughing at the days-

But sometimes I watch him pause- and I make assumptions- and I get so angry- so angry that he can't go on walks with Andrew where others can see the two of them. Angry that he is a twin without his twin. Angry that I have to guess what he's thinking- when his eyes get quiet-

My thinker-
Am I angry? Or just sad?

I hold onto these things. These pieces. I want so much to read into all of it- to know- to know beyond a shadow of a doubt- that he's o.k. That he is full. That he doesn't want for anything- for anyone-

How is he?

Right now, I just don't know. So I will hug him and kiss him and always tell him how much I love him and how special he is. For right now he is fine- sleeping and dreaming about his new pet fish- the walk with Andrew- perhaps forgotten-

Perhaps forgotten by him-
but not his mother.

Just for tonight...

Is it because it's December?
Is it because his name is all over my tree?
Is it because all the talk of angels? Of joy?

This December has been going so fast.
A new babe at home and my children fighting illness.
Presents to wrap- cards to sign-
Going so fast.
No time to pause-

Until today.
I was at his kindergarten party-
Watching him make crafts and eat treats amongst his friends.
I was there-
snapping pictures of his party-

When I left.

I could see him.
The outline of him-
Near his brother-
Stringing beads on an ornament that would go on our tree.
Stringing beads.

How I wanted to focus though-
to see his face-
but all I saw was a shadow-
a shadow of him-
a dream.

What had made me go there?

As I snapped my picture, I saw my son.
Sandwiched between two boys-
two boys-
wearing the same thing-
the same hair-
the same eyes-
the same last name-
two boys-
brothers.

I took this picture of him- of him between them- and my mind was far away from the reality of the room I was in.

The rawness of when I first learned that Jonasen was in a class with twin boys has worn off. I can look at them- I watched them interact and I wondered what it would have been like... what it should have been like...
I watched their father helping one and I desperately wanted to go to him- to tell him- Jonasen was a twin- he was a twin- I had twins too- I had them- I had him- I did-

Slow motion-
My fog-
My black and white-
Only his outline-
Fuzzy.

I sat there with a heavy heart- hidden by my plastic smile-
No one knew-
No one knew I had gone there-
To where I had him-
in my dreams.

I miss you sweet Andrew. I'm missing you tonight.

I'm looking at the mantle and wishing you had a stocking to fill.
I'm looking at the tree and wishing you had ornaments with your face sewn between pieces of felt.
I'm looking to the heavens and although I feel peace and I know you are safe...
I look to your heaven and I dream
and wonder
and wish
Wish you were here with me... just for tonight-
here-
in my arms.
I love you my sweet boy.

My Curveball

My prayer.
Andrew's Story.
My curveball.

This blog began when I was asked to talk about my curveball.
About my baby.
About the day my baby died.
About the journey this curveball has set me on.

I was asked to share my story with my church congregation and after I did, I felt the memories come rushing back. I paused and so was born this blog.

To hear where it began, my voice, my story, you can hear the sermon here.

Praying for you this season.
Praying for families all over the world that are missing someone this season.
Knowing how cold it can feel.
You are not alone.

One more stocking-

As a teacher I chose to go back to work one week before the holidays. To ease myself back into reality- Answer the questions of curious second graders- I was ready.
It was good.
I needed to be back.

They asked me about him- His name- What he looked like- Was I sad-
And I answered their questions and answering them felt so pure and real. They were not afraid to mention his name or ask what was on their minds. They didn't tip-toe around my fragile heart in fear that I may shatter right there in front of them- or wonder what they should or shouldn't say- they just said it.

And I was thankful. It was December and life had gone on. It had been three months... But it was the first Christmas and my return just before this major holiday drew attention to that.
That first Christmas-

But the children asked. And I could answer with a pure heart. A heart growing with each question they asked- each time they spoke his name- I could feel myself becoming lighter- I was going to make it.

And then a coworker came into my classroom while my students were having a snack and enjoying talking to one another about what they wanted for Christmas. She welcomed me back put her hand on my shoulder and said, "I just keep thinking that when you look up at your mantle you must wish there were just one more stocking up there..."

Though I felt a sort of shock and horror at the honesty of her statement-
-students not far from where I stood-
I swallowed, looked her in the eye and said, "Yes. Yes I do."

I am still amazed that she said it.
I am still amazed I found a voice to answer her.

I kept seeing my mantle-
Three stockings
And one giant hole where one should have been-
She was right.

One more stocking.
One more stocking should have been up there.

Sure I could have hung one more stocking- but why? All I had to put in it were dreams and hopes and to see an empty stocking- empty dreams- empty hopes... with his name...
Well- that broke my heart too.

I look at my mantle now and it is full- I am full-

And yet I wonder
What it would have looked like-
What Christmas could have looked like-
With just one more stocking-

My Therapy

It became my therapy.
There came a time I think that others were tired of hearing me.
I know it.
But I still needed to talk, and monthly meetings were not enough.

It was my therapy.
My pen.
In those days I took his journal with me to his garden. I wrote him there.
In those days I would write in the nights, curled in a chair in my home. I wrote him there.
I wrote, and I wrote.
And those letters- composed in journals- became my therapy.
My release-

I knew he would never read them, the letters, but the moment they left my pen it was as if I spoke them, as if he heard and that made me feel better. I could write and write and write and he was never tired of hearing about how I loved him, how I missed him, how I wished he were here.

Oh how I wish he were here.

On his last birthday- his sixth birthday- I took his journals with me.
And I read.
I read through tears as I remembered the words. I remembered where I was.
My anger.
My guilt.
My pain.
So many, many pages and I could see myself.
Remember myself.
On all the hills and valleys of this journey I find myself on.

Now my pen has changed. I write him here. I write of him here.
And sometimes I find myself going back and reading what I had said, where I was on that night...
And I read your stories.
Your Therapy-
Where you were that night.
And I wonder where you are now.
And I hope you are well.



And to my fellow bloggers, I turned my blog into a book so I can go back and read it. If you are interested in doing the same to your blog follow this link. Thanks for writing!
Hugs-
Laura