I See Pregnant People...

The months after I lost Andrew, I saw twins everywhere. They were in the stores- in the park- in our church. When I drove I found myself always behind a 'Twin Camri'- When I shopped I found myself staring at "Twin Packs" of food items.

How I longed to be pregnant again- to feel that way again- and just like 'twins' were everywhere I looked, so were women who were pregnant. They were everywhere I turned. I would look at them and remember that ignorant bliss I felt when I carried the boys. I remember thinking my biggest fear then was how labor would feel- not how losing a baby would feel.

I would watch them, the pregnant people, and part of me wanted to run to them- to tell them- don't be so sure- don't be so happy- Listen to what happened to me! I would watch them shop for clothes and strollers and part of me wanted to run to them- to tell them- don't buy those things- they are so hard to return- it is so hard to have those things when you don't have your baby.

That's how I felt in those early months. I hated seeing twins. I hated seeing pregnant people and I found them around every corner. It seemed to be some cruel joke.

The morning I learned that Baby E was gone and my heart had broken again, we decided to take our children for ice cream. They had seen their parents cry a lot that day and it seemed that something sweet would make things better- at least for them. It was a fall day and we sat licking our ice cream cones and I noticed they were there. Pregnant people. Five cars pulled up with passengers who wanted ice cream and every single one of them carried a woman who was expecting a child.

Again there was that cruel joke- I went back to that raw place- those feelings I felt when I lost Andrew- I wanted to tell them- I was pregnant- I was pregnant just like you- just yesterday...

And then I looked around me-
Three children sat near, enjoying their special treats. Three children close in age. Three children and their mother... me.

Had anyone looked at us, they would have never suspected, never guessed, never believed that I, a woman in my early thirties, had had my heart broken twice by children who left me. I was a member of that secret society of broken hearts and I suddenly looked at the women and wondered if perhaps they were members of the secret club too. But I wouldn't dare ask. Not anymore. I'm healing- but I did wonder...

We've talked about it at meetings. So many of us felt it. Those of us who have been walking this path for some time... We could look at pregnant people and be happy for them. I could look at pregant people and be happy. But as happy as I was for them, I was more sad for me.
I wonder if that's right,
or wrong-
and I think it just
is.
My reality.

Lessons

I have always been a planner. And things in my life have always fallen into place in my time frame.
In college I met the love of my life.
After college I got a job that I truly love.
I had a beautiful, picture perfect wedding.
A wonderful husband, home, dog.
Amazing friends, family, life.
And then I became pregnant and with not one but two babies. I loved being pregnant and it was everything I ever imagined it would be and more. I had never struggled.
Life was good.
I was happy.
I was full.

And then life threw me my curveball.
In a moment I learned that despite all of the the planning, all of the hoping, all of the praying- sometimes life just doesn't turn out the way we think it will- Sometimes it's not the way we dreamed- the way we pictured it in our heads as children- growing up and dreaming about what our futures would be. Sometimes we find ourselves in a place we never dreamed we'd be and it can feel so lonely and so, so dark.

Losing Andrew was the hardest thing I have ever been through in my life. It has been a journey on which I have found myself- And at times I've wondered how I got to this place- to this person that I have become. I had a choice and somewhere along the journey, the path, I chose to listen to the lessons that he teaches me- daily- just through loving him, and knowing him and losing him.

Andrew has:
Made me a better wife.
Made me a better friend.
Made me a better mother.
Made me more compassionate.
Made me more understanding.
Made me more forgiving.
Made me pause-

We should all be so blessed with life's lessons-
If only they didn't come at such a cost.

Mother's Day

Mother's Day.
I couldn't wait to celebrate it.
But then it was here. And he wasn't. And my Mother's Day was different than I had imagined. I sat in church, with my new baby, a corsage pinned on my blouse. I looked down the pew at my grandfather and he knew. He was looking at my son, tears streaming down his face. He knew. This Mother's Day was different than I imagined.

Was it different for you?

I have met women who wanted to be mothers, but couldn't. Friends who go to church every Sunday, except this one.
This Sunday.
This holiday.
Mother's Day.

And I understand.
Today I stood in church, surrounded by my children, my belly swollen with a new life growing inside of it, but I understood.
I wore his ring,
And I remembered.
I wore his ring,
And I remembered who gave me the new name- Mom.
I wore his ring,
And I remembered the tears flowing down his face.
Because he knew.
And he remembered.

Today I did. And a tear fell from my eye. His ring on my finger.
I remembered how I got here, my journey, his story, and I was thankful.

Thankful for the mothers with children beyond this world, with children who are missed, with children who are loved. Mothers who paved the way for my healing, who have given me strength, who have given me hope, who have given me reason.

And I remembered.

Happy Mother's Day my friends. No doubt your children are watching, so proud of the mothers who gave them life, who loved them, who carried them, and who remember them.

I love you.
I remember.

The Wonderings

When I was little I wondered about it.

I wondered if I had a twin what it would be like.

I wondered what she would have looked like- what it would have been like to grow up with a friend so close to me- what it would have been like to have someone to share all my secrets with- my childhood- my adulthood.

But I didn't have a twin.

But he did.

And he's starting to wonder.

I never know when to expect them- but they come.

The Wonderings.

"Did he look like me?"
"I think so."

"Does he still see me?"
"I think he does, Joe."

"Can I talk to him?"
"If you want. I do."

And after he asks a question he'll begin to talk about something else, but I look at him and I know. I know he's filed it away. Trying to figure out the puzzle of what his story is. Some pieces I have and I can give him now- others I will wait to share- and some I will never know. But he's filing away the pieces he has. Trying to make them fit. His wonderings.

And I know he hasn't always looked to me to for his answers. Some he has found in his heart.

At school he was talking about heaven- and he was overheard by his teacher telling his friends that there is a castle there.- and when asked by another child who the castle belonged to- He replied, that the castle is for everyone and that he would see Andrew there- that Andrew was his brother- and that he can go there because Jesus died on the cross and rose to heaven so we can all go there to.

To the castle.

And he is- no doubt in a Grand Castle in the midst of a Savior who rescued me. Who saved us. And, like Jonasen, I have found answers in my heart. I can see Andrew. Now five. And I talk to him. And I like to think he knows. But I will continue to wonder, and to ponder and to try to fit the pieces together as best I can.

My Wonderings.

But I know some pieces will always be lost- just beyond my grasp- But perhaps I'll find them again, when I go to that Grand Castle.

My Tears

I wondered if it would ever happen. But I didn't think it would.

I had no concept of time, but I had the nights.
I had so many nights. And the nights were our's.

The nights were our time. My new baby would sleep. My husband would sleep. And I would grab his journal. I would grab his journal and sit curled up in a chair, cry and write him. I wondered if it would ever stop- my tears- I wondered how it was possible that I did not run out of tears, but then again this was my son. And he was gone. How could I not cry? How could I not do this every single night? Not write to him? Not cry out his name? Not cry?

I wondered if it would ever happen. But I didn't think it would.

And yet it happened. One night it happened. Months and months later, it happened. I sat there, and I looked out the window at the starry sky and I knew- I didn't need to cry and I wouldn't cry. I could have done it. I could have thought of him and missed him and not cried.

And that made me cry.

My grief was mine. It was all I had. The only thing I had. I had my dreams and my tears. My dreams died when he left- and now my tears were leaving too. Letting go of my grief- my tears- felt as if I was letting go of him. Somehow I was moving on. And a mother shouldn't move on-

The night I couldn't cry, I cried.

I felt I had failed as a mother. I was moving on. I was leaving behind my dreams, my grief, my tears.

And so my nights passed. And sometimes I wrote him without tears. But I remembered. I could look to his heaven and smile. I could close my eyes and see him. I knew he was there. I knew he was safe. And I could smile.

And so I remember him. And sometimes I cry- but mostly I smile. I smile and breathe. He's made me stronger. He's grown me up and taught me lessons that perhaps I may never have known had not God placed him in my life.

I look to his heaven and I know he's there smiling back because his mom found her strength- the strength to let go of a grief that had gripped her- Had taken her hostage. She was able to let it go- and when she opened her eyes he was still there- still residing in her heart- still as close to her as ever- maybe more.

He knew. He had forgiven. And so could she. Forgiven herself. For losing him. But not for letting go. She would never let go. Not really.

And he knows.

Heaven

Heaven.

Does it look like this?

I know your name is there.

I know that you are there.

Heaven.

So peaceful, so calm.

I can hear it.

I can feel it.

I feel you.

And I feel Peace.

Your Peace.

And I miss you.

Peace.

Heaven.

http://namesinthesand.blogspot.com/2009/04/andrew-daniel-doran.html

always on my mind.

I often write about the times when I pause and think about my babies.

Today I am pausing and writing about a friend.

On my doorstep this morning was a package from across the country and I wondered what it was or who it was from, but when I saw that it was addressed to "Dora" I knew in a moment it was from my dear friend, Julie. A fabulous woman, wife, mom & teacher that I worked with a few years ago.

I opened the package and the first thing I saw was a card that read, "impressed, amazed, inspired" (by you)

Just the card made me pause and I could feel a lump forming in my throat.

Julie tried to have her son for a long time- over 10 years (or about that) if my memory serves me right. Julie went to countless doctors appointments and prayed countless prayers that one day she would be a mommy.

I remember wondering why- why this was so hard for her- why she and her amazing husband couldn't have the joy of seeing that positive pregnancy test-

And then I remembered that sometimes God doesn't answer your questions in your time. For while we worked together Julie got amazing news... Someone was on the way! God had answered her prayers. He had said Yes!

And now looking at her sweet Bennett, I know she knows that the best things in life are worth the struggle, worth the frustration, worth the tears and worth the wait.

You, dear friend, are an inspiration! I hope that one day Bennett will know the depths of your love. But as a mother myself, I wonder if our children will ever truly know the depths of our hearts-

And so I opened the package and pulled out an amazing black shadow-box. No doubt made by the loving hands of my creative, thoughtful and loving friend.

My two butterflies- who flew away too soon-

and four simple words-

"Always on my mind"

Thank you friend. For knowing my heart, for taking the time, for remembering my children, for making me pause.

I love you.