Tuesday, June 21, 2011


Every once in a while, I feel at peace. I feel like Aiden and Sophie were a miracle and I've changed so much from having them here and know that I'll see them again someday-and I feel ok.
Sometimes, I wish that I could escape from all of this. Lately I have been desperate to avoid it all-the grief, the knowing, the sadness.
I think I maybe understand why some people ran from me when I lost the babies. Why when something terrible happens, sometimes people flee.
Because right now, I want to. I want to plug my ears and close my eyes and yell
"NANANANANANANANANANANANANA I CAN'T HEAR YOU" like I did when I was a kid and I didn't want to hear what my mom was telling me.
I don't want to admit that babies can die.
I don't want to be the first person that someone tells when it happens to someone they know.
I don't want to be the person people think of when someone they know needs support.
I want to run, run and hide. Pretend it never happened.
I am ashamed to admit that. But sometimes, I want to pretend it never happened. What if Avery was my first born? What if I stop talking about them-my family would get right on board with that-trust me. They are forced to remember them, by me.

I might need a blog break. Maybe there are times when this actually is not good for me? I feel safe here, though. On days like today, when I can't stop crying, and my heart feels like it's busting through my chest and like a 1,ooo pound man is sitting on top of me making it hard for me to breathe, this is where I go. It's my safe place.

But then I check the LFCA, and I read about another loss, and I get so PISSED OFF (sorry for the language, yo, but I will admit I have a potty mouth in real life) and I forget how the anger part of grief can rip through you.

And the stupid "WHY WHY WHY" starts all over again. And really, for being unlucky, I'm pretty damn lucky. So why should I even start this-I should just be happy. Happy that I have Avery. Happy that I have what I have. Greedy for wanting more.

And then I want to run away.

But, of course, we all know that running away doesn't help. Grief knows no boundaries, no limits. It follows you wherever you are, wherever you go.

I wish.

Big sigh.

Saturday, June 18, 2011


The first summer that I had to live through without Aiden and Sophie was awful. It was weeks out from their loss. We first decided to plan a trip to France, just Brian and me. We've been together before, but always with students. So we contacted our friends, booked the flight, and I threw myself into planning what we'd do while we were there. I had the whole thing planned down to the tiny details.
Around the same time, I decided I wanted to sell our house. I don't know what came over me, but I HAD to sell it. I talked Brian into it. I'm not sure he thought it was the right time at all-but when your wife is sobbing hysterically all day long every day, I think you do whatever she wants. So we contacted a realtor.
I hate thinking of that day. The twins' nursery was still set up. Right before he came, I panicked because I just didn't know what to do about it. So on top of one of the cribs I put the book "Empty Cradle, Broken Hearts" that I had just finished reading. He, of course, didn't notice it and looked at me funny and said, "Are you guys planning on having kids someday, or what?"
Anyway, it was a terrible summer from then on out. My husband worried that the house would sell quickly (BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-14 months later, is that quick? LOL) and so we canceled our trip and lost a lot of money. Then we waited. And waited. We had no showings. No phonecalls, nothing.
I think if there was anytime that I was depressed in this whole debacle, it was that summer. People expected me to be "over it" and couldn't understand why I didn't want to hang out. I went out once for the fourth of July, and I will never forget sitting in the dark, sobbing while the Fireworks went off and listening to the children squeal with delight. Sophie and Aiden would never squeal at a firework-that's all I can think.
I know that most people get very reflective around New Year's, because it is the end of the calendar year. For me, it's the end of the school year, since I was a teacher. Right now I am thinking back to last summer-that anticipation of Avery's arrival, the desperation that she arrive safely, the waiting-and then the rest of it a haze of sleep deprivation and snuggles.
This summer is so different. It's just so....different. Having Avery here is like a dream. The littles things make me so happy-walking with her outside, putting her in a kiddy pool-but then later, after she goes to bed, I sit here and I think. I let my mind wander...
And I know I shouldn't.
The wondering is not very good for me.
I just feel like my brain goes round and round. It never seems to end on anything, or when it does, something else comes along and jumbles up my thoughts.
When I get like this, the only thing I can think of to do is come here and blog, but I feel like mostly everything I say isn't making any sense anymore. This is backed up by the low number of comments and new readers, I'd say :) I just am in a weird place.
Summer. When they should have gotten here. When I should have had TWO tiny infants, oh, man, how many times can I think this?
I get so stuck in the should have...could have...
I feel like a broken record.

Sunday, June 12, 2011


Today, I had to drive back and forth to my mother-in-law's a bunch of times-she lives just a few minutes away and my husband was helping her clean and organize her garage and we kept needing things from our house. Anyway, each time I drove there and back, I noticed an elderly man sitting on his front porch.
He was alone, it a white rocking chair, just sitting. Looking. Thinking.
He must have been out there for at least a few hours. He looked so peaceful.
I guess I don't know if he was, or not, but just watching him, eve n for a second made me envious.
I wasn't envious of his free time, or the fact that he looked peaceful or happy, or that he had a very nice house.
I was envious of the fact that he can be alone with his thoughts.
After all this time, I can't do it. Driving in the car alone is never a good thing for me. Letting my mind wander is just dangerous. If I'm at home and the baby is asleep, I have to be online. I swear, sometimes I sit and I click aimlessly on the internet. I go to face.book and hit refresh, refresh, refresh. I still can't seem to concentrate as well as I need to read a book. I used to be an avid reader, but the books I can read now have to be mindless-flimsy. Not substantial.

This man, as he rocked on his porch, looking out-I wondered what he was thinking about. I wondered if there was someone he was missing.

I hope that I can do that, someday. Be alone again. Be comfortable again. Be comfortable with myself. Trust my thoughts.

Trust silence.

Saturday, June 4, 2011

Where I am right now-792 days. Fading.

The good: most times, the hurt has faded. It is less pointy around the edges. I've healed some-I can see pregnant people, hold a new baby, discuss pregnancy and birth. This is thanks to the amazing blessing in my life-my beautiful daughter. If not for her, I'm confident I would be in the same dark hole about pregnancy that I was in April of 2009.

The bad: the memories of them are fading. The details are starting to get a little fuzzy. I can't quite remember those exact moments in the correct order as I used to when I would lay in bed at night and relive each one instead of sleeping. Sometimes, I could almost pretend that it had never happened.

The middle: Grief. Will it ever go away? I don't think so. It's almost as if it's just lying there, waiting, and will get angry and attack every so often.

I think someone said it really well-life can still be good-but never quite as good as it should be.