Three

This month my sweet babies spent their third birthday in Heaven.  It's so hard for me to understand; I can't quite grasp it, still, after all this time.

It was worse this year.  It was better this year.  It was the same as always.

The same people forgot.  I swore I wouldn't remind people and then I weakened and did it because I couldn't bear if they all forgot.

I allowed my emotions to derail me, momentarily.  I cried at work.

My husband sent me three deep red roses.  One for each year. 

I miss you so much, Aiden.  I miss you so much, Sophie.  It's so hard to be without you.

Escape Artist

Today is one of those days. It's one where I go from sobbing to SCREAMING to pitiful to SO ANGRY I COULD RUN AWAY to wallowing.

If you went by the "day" and not by the date, which I decided to do at some point, apparently, today would have been the day, 3 years ago, that Sophie and Aiden were born. All day long I relived it. Easter morning my mom commented to me that I didn't look like I felt well (apparently my infection was growing) and then in the night I kept waking up, unsure if it was indigestion or not...Monday morning I went into Labor and Delivery...all day long, I kept up with the time. Right about now, I actually can't remember the time but it was somewhere about now, I begged my mom to push me away from the NICU, begged her to get me away from there. I thought that if I could get AWAY, that Sophie couldn't DIE.

How freaking stupid I was. They chased me and made me come back. I ran away from my daughter. I tried to escape.

Today, my husband yelled at me. He said, "You wouldn't be so sad if you would just stop thinking about it." I screamed at him, but inside I was laughing like a crazy person. You know, that laugh where you feel like you've just realized you're at the edge of the cliff and you might go over. If I could JUST STOP THINKING ABOUT IT. If only. If only.

I checked facebook all day long, in between my avoidance of all phone calls and pretending like I wasn't around, and crying, and reading sad books, and wallowing in general, and I found out that a very sweet friend of mine has lost her baby. I wanted to shout from the rooftops, to make it not so, for someone to say it has been a mistake. Because right after it, one of my friends from high school, pregnant with twins-due in September. Their first daughter is even younger than Avery.

WHY oh WHY is it so easy for some people and so hard for others. And, of course, you may tell me that I don't know how easy it was for them and etc. etc., but in my head it was easy, ok? When I'm riled up like this I don't try to be fair.

I didn't ask for this. I didn't want this to be my thing in life. I wanted to be a mommy.

I know it's futile to ask why. I know it's not ok to be complaining about it. I know it's probably wrong that I am still THIS ANGRY 3 years later. I know I should just be grateful that I have Avery and shut up about all the rest. I know about a billion things that I should or shouldn't be doing.

But, alas, I can't help what I feel. And so here I am, begging for a world where my beautiful friends who have endured so much heartache can get a BREAK. Where we didn't have to think about fertility treatments or D&Cs or memorials or ashes or footprints. Where we could decide to grow our family and have it work.

I wish we could escape the pain. The trials.

I wish.

Pain

The pit in my stomach is building. I am feeling heavier, the knife is twisting deeper. The haunting memories, the numbers on the calendar, the Easter holiday arriving.

Three years.

How is that possible?


It's there, it's definitely there-but it's nowhere near the pain in those first days.

I have been thinking a lot lately about the early days. In the first few weeks after Aiden and Sophie died, I had one goal for the day: get up and shower. I kept telling myself that if I could at least shower once a day, I wasn't in the deepest darkest parts of a real depression. I don't remember if I cooked or not. I don't remember anything except laying in bed looking at the internet, crying, avoiding people, and getting up once a day to shower. My husband went back to work and I don't remember if he resented me for getting to stay home or not. I know it cost us money for me to stay home. I just don't really remember. We put our house up for sale in an effort to run away from everything (that didn't work so well!).

I do have some random, distinct memories. Venturing out on my own and having the lady at the gas station ask me when I was due. Deciding to stain the deck and have the neighbor literally turn and run away from me when I told her the babies died.

I don't even remember if I went grocery shopping or not. I haven't really asked my husband, I don't know if he would remember either.

I look at that, at us in that other house, and I don't recognize us. What was it like? Who was I before this happened?

Three years. Incredible.