Happy Mother's Day?

My poor dear sweet husband.  It is so hard for him... he tries so hard to make me happy, but I think he's having a hard time realizing that he can't take my pain away.  My girls would be 15 months now, and most days "life" keeps me pretty well distracted.  And then there are days like today.

The fact of the matter is that no matter how many special things that Tom and Tommy do for me on Mother's Day, there is no way to balance out the pain.  The roller coaster of grief drops very quickly to the bottom on days like this, and there are very painful "grief bursts" that really ruin the day.  And on top of it all, I feel guilty for not being able to be happy for what I do have.  Like I said, the pain is just so intense that there is no good that can outweigh it.

I know that sounds horribly depressing and melancholy, but it's not the case every day.  I can smile, I can laugh, and I can even do those things when thinking and talking about my time with my girls.  But on their birthday, holidays (especially Mother's Day), and multiple other times (funerals, resurrection-focused sermons, songs about heaven, etc) it just all wells up.  It all comes back like it was just yesterday.

Slowly but surely I learn ways to cope.  One that helps bring me some peace is going to the girls' grave.  We aren't as frequent visitors as some bereaved parents would be, but we go when we feel the need and are searching for a chance to feel just a little bit closer to "baby sisters" as Tommy calls the girls.  We find things to do, usually planting flowers or bulbs, pulling (or spraying, if you're Tom) weeds, cleaning bird poop off of the headstone (Tommy was quite concerned about the presence of bird poop on his sisters' stone) and answering Tommy's million questions about who is buried where and if and how they are related to us.  While I know it is not for their benefit, it does a lot of good for us.  It is time to do something and remember our dear sweet babies.

So maybe the concept of "Happy" Mother's Day is not the same as Hallmark intended it, but we make the most of what we have.  And given that I can only hug, kiss, and watch one of my three children grow, I think it was as "happy" as it could have been.

All it takes is a little insomnia!

Finally, I have time to write!  Of course, when it's 1 am and you've been laying in bed awake for hours, why not do something constructive with your time?

This is the second bout I have had with insomnia in the last year.  The first was just over 10 months ago; 2 days before Tommy (then 3) was scheduled to have tubes put in his ears.  Despite my rational understanding that the surgery would take all of 5 minutes, I was obviously shaken.

It seems I've mistaken anxiety for excitement.  On Saturday, I will be attending a Unite Grief Support training for support group facilitators.  While I know there is a certain amount of real excitement to be able to focus on something that means so much to me, I now think that I may be experiencing as much anxiety as excitement.

I have allowed myself to get busy with everything... work, keeping up with the house, work, the animals, work.... and now I'm just overloaded.  There is so much I want to do, but I want to do everything well, and there's just not time in the day, week, month, year, to do everything!  How many times in life do I need to be taught this lesson?  Sometimes I really am such a slow learner.

Ok, enough rambling.  I am looking forward to this training on Saturday to meet with others who have similar missions in their lives.  Through the loss of a baby, it has caused a change in us that has created a new drive to make a difference in the lives of others.  We know what it is like to be supported and want to provide that kind of help to others; we know what it is like to have many needs unmet and want to help fill those needs so that others will not have to struggle alone.

So is it excitement, or anxiety?  Maybe a little of both.  I guess I'll just have to wait to see how it all works out.  I know what God has inscribed on my heart... I have responded, and now the ball is in His court again.  Yep, putting it that way, it is definitely a combination of excitement and anxiety... because I think we all know that when our Lord show us His way, sometimes it seems a fabulous blessing, and sometimes it seems like a struggle that will be insurmountable (without Him, of course).

I'll end with a verse that was one of my favorites as a teenager, and has recently been brought close to my heart again (not just for what I have experienced, but from friends of our family who are experiencing their own life-altering struggles). 

1 Corinthians 10:13: "No trial has come to you but what is human.  God is faithful and will not let you be tried beyond your strength, but with the trial He will also provide a way out so that you may be able to bear it."

Wow, that makes me look forward to the day of putting human trials behind us.  I will not be sorry to shed this human skin and struggle to join Him in His Kingdom!

P.S.  I promise to start describing the "mission" in more detail as I continue.  I'm not sure how it will all play out, but I have some ideas based on my experience, the needs I see, and of course I'm hoping that what I learn on Saturday will give me some concrete direction.  All I am certain of is that it will happen in God's time according to His will.  Unfortunately He's not big on giving us a detailed itinerary, but I guess therein lies the "trials" of it all!

The elephant in the room sits at the bottom of my stomach.

Warning: This post is mostly venting and little substance.

Not posting for over a month has nothing to do with not having anything to say.  I've had plenty to say, but no time to say it (or type it).

I again had the opportunity to go to a support group this week, only to find myself the only parent there.  Despite that, the facilitator was kind enough to sit and talk with me.  It was also nice that it wasn't just a one-way conversation; she asked me to share some of my experience in order to help other moms.  It's so refreshing to actually be asked about Abigail and Bethany's short time with us instead of avoiding the reality that they ever existed.

Almost 2 months after their birthday, there are people very close to us that have still not taken the time to check in on us.  I wonder if these people honestly think that they would be upsetting us by bringing up our girls or their birthday.  Nothing could upset us as much as losing two of our children; our only daughters.  And I can think of no greater insult than for our loss to be ignored.  We are continually overwhelmed by the physical and emotional toll that grief takes over us, and I have no energy left to reach out. 

Is it really our (mine and my husband's) jobs to tell others that they should be asking us (genuinely) how we are?  Or if we need anything?  Instead, we are avoided like lepers, or (possibly worse) engaged in superficial conversations about topics or people that have little to do with our lives (or our pain!).  I actually have had certain individuals tell me how "blessed" I am or how "lucky" I am.  Really?  Like the good in our lives could somehow outweigh the loss?  One cannot be measured against the other, because there is nothing fair or just about it.  It is heartbreaking that anyone could possibly be so uncomfortable with another person's grief that they would insist on focusing on the positives in their lives instead of just letting a grieving parent work through their grief.  There are some things in this world that I am certain of, and one of those things is that grief does not go away by ignoring the loss or focusing on what you still have.  Grief is ugly, long, and slow, but must be worked through to be able to "move on".

We were given a copy of a beautiful book by the bereavement staff at Children's Hospital, entitled "Tear Soup".  It addressed grief in a simple but honest way, and the main idea was that you must deal with your grief head-on; admit it, embrace it, and cry all your tears.  My take on it is that tears not cried will be left inside and get moldy, bitter, and rotten, and then you'll have to get rid of moldy bitter rotten tears later on, which could be a pretty bad experience.  The last time I experienced that, I went through a bout of depression that lasted several years and caused me great struggle.  Having experienced that once before, I've been much more open and honest with my grief, and have embraced it.  I'm quite sure that I'm the one that is normal, and people who think I need to just focus on the good in my life and move on from the pain are the ones who just don't get it.

We must be the scariest people alive.  Friends who seem afraid to talk to us or see us, and family who seem afraid to have a real conversation with us.  But we are not scary, mean, or angry people.  We are simply broken and hurting.

The Longest Winter

I'm looking forward to this weekend and the predicted weather of 50 degrees.  It will only be about the 4th time in 3 months that the weather has warmed up this month.  At least it's not been as bad as the weeks on end of 20-30 degree weather that we had in December and January.  It has been a long winter...

I've been reading a fabulous book given to me by a fabulous friend.  The current chapter is about the "seasons" of grief.  Boy, oh boy, has the author got it right about "winter."  He compares the first season to fall, then the deep down depths of grief to winter.  I had no idea how long my winter would last, and these 3 months of winter seem like nothing to the year of winter I've endured.  And just like this winter, just when the weather warms up for a day, it gets cold all over again for a week or more. 

There was something that rang so true for me, though... the concept of "acceptance."  Of course we all know the stages of grief - denial, anger, bargaining, deparession, and acceptance (I think that's the order... I think my bargaining came before my anger, so I'm always confused).  But my concept of acceptance was a little skewed.  This has always been a problem for me.  When I was 16 I went to a counselor with my parents, arms folded, stating "I know that Chris (my brother-in-law) is in Heaven.  I've accepted it."  I wonder if that counselor ever told my parents that I wasn't in denial of Chris' death, but of my own grief.  It would have saved me a lot of therapy and medication in college.  So, I have been struggling with what it is to "accept" the death of my daughters.  I mean, there's no denying it... I have 3 kids, only one of whom is living.  I have no babies to hold, feed, kiss, and play with.  There is no way around "accepting" that two of my children are gone.  What I have realized is that the loss of my girls is not what I have to accept.  I have to accept (seriously, how many times have I used that word in this paragraph?) is that I am forever a changed person - a "bereaved parent."  I will always be bereaved, and that is what I have to accept.  That my life will never, should never, and can never be the same.  As other authors have put it, this is my "new normal." 

I think the toughest part of acceptance will be to truly let go of the anger.  It is just so unfair... in a single school year I will have taught 3 pregnant/new mom students.  I just found out about the third one today.  The sick feeling didn't leave my stomach the entire day.  There's no way around it, it is messed up.  To think of these healthy babies being born to single teenage mothers, and here I am, a college-educated, married, church-going, teacher, mother of a child who needs a sibling, and my babies die.  I know life isn't fair, but does it have to be so grossly unfair?  See what I mean about my anger?

Another part of acceptance is just accepting that I will not understand everything.  And even though there are some things I do understand, that will never outweigh my maternal desire to simply have my children alive and well with me.  I am still human, after all.  While I am well aware that God has used my girls as a way to show me His path for me, I wouldn't have minded being shown down a path that didn't include quite as much raw pain.  The only thing I can figure is that what He has in store for me is huge, because nothing small could justify such a loss.

I wonder how much longer this winter will last.

No easy days...

As I began my adventure in blogging, I was pleased with the positive response I received so far.  Of course, I have only given the site name my two best friends so far; one of whom is my sister and the other may as well be.  To this day, they are some of the only people who freely talk about my daughters, and it is always welcome (despite what the tears in my eyes may say).

One of the reasons I had the courage and clarity of thought to write my first entry was that I had just spent the evening at a support group.  It is so empowering to spend time with people who simply understand... and to escape the day to day stuff that really doesn't matter and talk about what does: our kids.  The babies that were with us only a fraction of the time they should have been... Just to sit in the same room with someone and share our experiences is, well, I just can't put it into words. 

I'll have to finish this later.  Right now I have a 4-year-old who is trying to get me to catch lincoln logs.  Not a pretty sight.

Ok, the trains are put away, teeth are brushed, and Daddy is reading him a story.

Some are quick to think, and even say, that having a child at home would soften the blow of losing a baby.  Well, I don't know much about losing one baby, but it sure didn't soften the blow of losing two!  What I mean to say is that despite the joys of having a child, it does not negate the loss of another.  Some days the joy outweighs the sorrow, but some days the frustrations of parenting are a very nasty mix with the pain of grief. 

Grief is such as slow process... and it is often buried below the surface of our everyday life.  I am so weighed down by anxiety, disorganization, a shorter-than-usual temper, etc (seriously, I could create an entirely separate blog dedicated to the secondary symptoms of grief) that I am very easily overwhelmed.  While my girls are not always on my mind like they were in the early days, I still struggle with my life being turned upside down and inside out.  Some people understand that I am simply not the person I was before, and never will be again.  Others just think I need to get back to reality, learn to laugh, and get on with life.  No comment.

There are no easy days... I'm just happy to have a tolerable one.

Welcome!

Ok, here goes.  I still refuse to "facebook" or do anything else social-network-y, but it is time to start getting connected.


First of all, let me explain the name of my blog.  “Eternal Blessings” has been running through my mind for a long time; not just because my girls were such a blessing to me, but because of their names.  For those of you who don't know, we chose the girls' names by starting with the very first names they had: "A" and "B" (how they label twins in ultrasounds).  It may seem silly to some, but exactly 15 months ago I spent 5 hours on an ultrasound table only to end the day by finding out that "A" and "B" share a single heart that will not allow them to live long, so it just stuck with us.  Daddy chose Abigail's name, and Mommy chose Bethany's name.  We thought they were beautiful, classic names, and were proud to give them to our daughters (as well as each middle names that were their grandmothers' maiden names).  It was not until much later that I actually opened the Bible to delve into their names that I found some appropriate connections (though I'm pretty sure that God knew what was going on the whole time... He's tricky like that!)
- Bethany was the site where Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, which alludes to the resurrection and eternal life.... hence the "Eternal" part
- David's words about his Abigail are better than any I could write: "Blessed be the LORD God of Israel, who sent you this day to meet me" ...  and "Blessings" are definitely what I received from my girls, and I am so thankful that they graced my life with their presence.


Saturday is Abigail and Bethany's birthday.  They would have been 1 this year.  What a mess this household would have been!  I'm still dealing with a lot of anger... it will be their birthday, and they're not here to blow out candles and squish cake between their fingers.


This is our first year to start some traditions.  We'll try a few on for size, and see what fits our family best and helps us remember our precious girls in a way that is right for us.  On Monday, we'll attend the March for Life in DC.  Years when the 22nd falls on a weekend, the march is moved to a weekday.


What, you may ask, does the March for Life have to do with our girls?  They were born alive!  They lived, they breathed, and God took them in His time (also still not so pleased we couldn't squeak a little more time out... but as Diamond Rio says, "it'd leave me wishing still for one more day").   Back to the march... when I first found out that I was carrying conjoined twins, I sobbed.  My cry?  "He (my OB) is going to tell me to terminate.  I can't do that.  I can't kill my babies, no matter how much is wrong with them."


I was blessed to carry twin girls for 3 more months.  That night in November when they turned... it was like a scene from Alien (seriously, I think my belly lifted up 3 inches as their heads went past).  Or those last few weeks, when they would both get hiccups (of course in an alternating rhythm).  I would not give up my time with my daughters for anything in the world.


Those memories, those 3 months, and knowing that I was NOT the one who took my children out of this world... these are the things that have gotten me through.  No, it has not been easy.  As a matter of fact, just this week has felt like ripping off a scab of a wound that was no where near healed.  I had no idea how much was still under the surface.


So, back to the march.  We live in a society where prenatal testing and diagnosis has gone to a dark place.  Instead of simply ensuring the health of a baby, it is used as a way to determine which kid will make the cut.  And the recommendation to abort... or terminate... or induce early.... or interrupt.... a rose by any other name still has thorns.  Women are too often told that a pregnancy is futile if their baby has a severe birth defect that is "incompatible with life."  Let's think about this one... so, you find out that your baby won't live... so, instead of finding a way to deal with this, to process it, and to make life-altering decisions, we just cut our losses?  Like ending a baby's life could actually make the pain of losing a baby any less?  Unfortunately, thousands of women regret this decision... whatever the reason for their abortion, it has caused them more pain than it saved them from.


I want to share Abigail and Bethany's legacy.  To help others understand that every life is precious, even if it is disabled, deformed, or assured an all-to-early death.  And most of all, to help families understand the blessings, both in this life and in our eternal life, of continuing a pregnancy with a fatal diagnosis.  While there was nothing I could do to save the lives of either of my daughters, I can make sure that their lives were not in vain, and that they made more impact in their short lives than most people make in their full lives!!!


We have no regrets.  We did the best we could for our children.  It was out of our hands.  The concept that modern medicine is the answer to everything, that it can solve everything, denies that our Lord is in control.  By submitting to God's will, I have survived the most painful experience a parent can go through -- twice over.