So this is life..............

Tonight is one of those night where I feel like slave to my thoughts, to my memories. I should be in bed, I should have gone hours ago, and put my weary mind to rest, but here I sit. Parked in front of my computer screen, melancholy music playing, and the faint hum of appliances keeping me company, the house is otherwise still and quiet, the perfect breeding ground for lamentations and wandering thoughts.

Tonight I'm thinking of the past, which is most often the case. I'm thinking of what I've had and what I've lost, and how things could have been, how they should have been. I'm thinking of Everett, and of Elvis, and there's an undeniable ache in my chest and a welling of heat and moisture behind my eyes. Tonight I'm waxing poetic, and philosophic, and I'm eager to make some sense of this mess that has become my life. Joe Purdy, my companion in grief, is providing a thoughtful and heartfelt soundtrack to tonight's soul searching, thanks Joe.

Life appears to be a series of highs and lows, successes and failures, celebrations and mornings. We ride the ups and down's like a roller coaster, sometimes exhilarated with hands in the air, some times terrified and pleading for the operator to stop the ride. In hindsight we can see that the ride wouldn't have been quite as thrilling without the fearful apprehension that comes before the twists and loops, its the unknown and the fear there of that adds the element of excitement and the feeling of being truly alive. Too bad we generally only know this in hindsight. Generally in life, we only enjoy the highs, the predictable joys of life at its best. But the highs wouldn't feel high if the lows weren't so darn low now would they? Damn life's lows for being as necessary as breath.

I tried to go to bed tonight, at a decent hour, determined to make up for some lost sleep, but my book I was reading until fatigue overwhelmed me made me sad, and contemplative. Having been so tired to begin with, my defenses against sad thoughts were weakened, and I allowed myself to think of my husband. Not with anger, or with resentment, but with love and with longing, and I ached to feel the shift of weight in the bed as he climbed in beside me, the tug on the duvet as he settled himself in, even the uneven and noisy shift of his breathing as he drifted from conscious, to semi conscious, to dead to the world. Tonight I miss my husband.

And since I'm indulging in painful longing tonight, I thought of Everett too. I strained to remember the weight of him in the crook of my left arm, the silky dark hair on his head, the tiny cleft of his chin, and my heart nearly stopped beating. I flashed to a photograph of me in the NICU with both babies, one cradled in each arm, displayed proudly to the camera, fatigue and joy adoring my face. This is how it was, and how it should have stayed. The life I wanted. The life I'll never know. Damn life for changing just when it gets comfortable.

The truth is, I don't regognize my life. I don't know the tired and worrisome woman in the mirror, with dark sad eyes that project a muddle of confusion and pleading. Pleading to be rescued from this disaster, saved from this difficult phase of life. I've entered into one of those dips of the roller coaster, I'm in the midst of a big loop, I can't see what lies ahead and I'm one of those riders calling out for the man at the controls to have mercy and stop the ride. But the ride won't stop, and I know it, just like riders on a thrill ride, you're on it to the end, whether you're having fun or not, you just have to trust that the maker of the ride knew what he was doing, and you'll come out safely on the other side. That trust is difficult. Damn faith for being so contrary to human nature but so incredibly vital and important.

Not too long ago I was a happily married woman, a young mother with a glorious baby girl and identical twin boys on the way. I was basking in all my pregnant glory, feeling elated and womanly and proud, feeling vital and important and undeniably pleased with life and my many blessings. Not long ago, my life made sense, I was comfortable in my own skin, I was excited for what was next.

Now I'm strained, weary and unrecognizable. Abandoned, confused and pained with more loses then I ever cared to know. I bask in nothing, but am in constant search of refuge from my life and from myself. I'm calling out to God for comfort and protection from this world, and though I can't hear him, I am thankful that I still have enough faith left to know that he's here. Having been through loss and pain and despair before and having had my faith strengthend for it, I'm not so hopeless now as I could be, and have been. I know that this is life, a big, crazy, brilliant and horrifying ride. I know the highs are fabulous and the lows are devestating, but I also know that at the end that both are vital in making the ride memorable, and real, and relevant.

I should have gone to bed hours ago, just turned out the lights, pulled up the covers and given way to my tired mind, and I would have, if thoughts were as easy to turn off as lights. Waxing poetic and feeling deeply contemplative, I'm in no condition to sleep. Ironically, as tired as I am, and with feelings and thoughts as clear as mud, I'm in no condition to think either.

Perhaps the best thing to be done tonight is indugle in a big dose of B-Flo therapy, it never fails to make my heart beat faster, and skip a beat or two as well!

Katie

On a new road.......

We like to think that we're in control of life, that we can steer it, or influence it, or sway it a certain way, but we can't. Life doesn't collaborate with us, it doesn't consult and it doesn't need approval before it happens, it just happens to us.

Sometimes we feel blessed by life and what it heaps out on us, we lay back and bask it in and praise life for being good and praise God for letting it be good. And then sometimes we feel like life is something being inflicted upon is, we bury our heads in our hands and wonder "why me?!" and we question God for letting life get so bad. Life is tricky.

My life has felt a lot like the latter these days.

Its been very hard not to question God, and wonder "why me?!". Seriously, though, "WHY ME?!" I've lost so much, when do I get a break? REALLY! A son's death, a husband falling out of love and a miscarriage, I've really had enough, how much more can life throw at me? More importantly, how much more can I endure?

The answer is uncertain, we won't know how much is too much until its too late to care, so I suppose there's no sense it giving it much more thought. We'll endure until we no longer endure, and when that happens, we won't have too many worries on our minds.

About a month ago I was on a different road, going somewhere different but just as uncertain. I was no more in control of my life then I am right now, but I was happy with life, I felt safe and loved and certain that God was with me in it. Then I had the rug torn out from under me and it sent me into a tailspin of confusion and sadness and pain not unlike the pain of losing Everett, but different because it was combined with guilt and fear and confusion I did not feel when Everett died. Suddenly I couldn't see the road, I had no idea where I was going and I was beside myself with anxiety and loneliness. Scary. I can see the road again now. Not well, not clearly, but I've got my bearings back. This new road is different, and my not contain the stops I thought I was going to have, but it looks interesting, could have some promising stops along the way, though every now and then I may need to stop and ask for directions (God is a wonderful tour guide!).

Life can be very, very good, and when it is we feel triumphant and powerful. It can also be very, very bad, and that makes us feel small and scared and anxious. When you're feeling low and frightened, its easy to lose sight of the road, confusion is like a fog that settles in your path and clouds your vision, its dangerous to let yourself feel afraid of the road you're on. Since you're not really in control in the first place, God is actually your driver, what sense is there in fearing the road you're traveling? Even when you take an unexpected detour, even when it gets dark, or stormy, you're no more (or less) in control then you were on the sunny, clear path you may have just come off of. You just have to hold on, and ride it out, and let life (and God) take you where they will.

Fear won't put me back on the road I was on, neither will anger, or despair. We can only go forward. I trust that in time, the road ahead will clear up, and I'll start to enjoy the ride again. I trust that in the meantime God will help me navigate while its dark and scary and lonely. I trust that there are good times ahead, on this new road I'm on.

Katie

Finding hope in a bedtime story....

Its been a long day, and a gloomy one at that. Before putting Avery to bed we selected a bedtime story to read and settled on the couch. We chose "When the creepy things come out", a story about Halloween and scary things and not being afraid because God is with us. At the very end of the book was a bible verse, it seems it was custom picked for me.

"Do not fear, for I am with you;
do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
I will uphold you with
my righteous right hand."

Isaiah 41:10

That's just what I need.

Tonight God speaks through bedtime stories.

I am listening, and somewhat comforted.

Katie

Weathering another storm

Nearly two years ago I learned how completely hateful and unfair life can be.

Life can be incredibly painful. We face trials, we struggle, we get knocked down and we climb back to our feet and carry on.

I don't know why I imagined that one earth shattering tragedy was all life would throw at me, I don't why I assumed I was now immune to another event that would shake me to my core. I should have known better.

My son died 20 months ago. I fell to pieces, drowned in the grief, leaned on God for comfort and got myself back on my feet, stumbling daily, but moving forward. Imagine me hobbling along life's path, crippled by grief but living and loving and trusting that things were getting better, now imagine me stepping off a curb and getting hit by a bus. Bam. I'm down again.

Here I am weathering another of life's storms. The skies are nearly black, its raining heavily and I've never heard such thunder! Had I never lost a baby and experienced this sort of storm before, I would fear this storm less. But, I've been through one of these hurricanes, this feeling is so familiar, and I am quaking in my little vessel. And, to add insult to injury, my major support system, my anchor, isn't here for me, what will I cling to now? What will get me through this storm? How will I ever recover from this? How will I get back to my feet this time?

God. Family. Friends. Hope.

I'll lean on these things.

I'll put my trust in God, that he has a plan for this, and he will work it for my good and the good of my family. I'll give this to him and wait for the flowers to grow out of this dirt.

I'll let my family love me, and focus on loving them more. I'll let them comfort me and surround myself in people I know love me UNCONDITIONALLY. I'll learn to survive on this love alone.

I'll let my friends hold me up, they always do. I'll take their advice and listen to their stories and be contented in the fact that God has placed so many amazing people in my life. I'll allow myself to be distracted and to have fun even.

I'll have hope. I'll hold on to hope. I'll watch for signs that there is still hope. And I'll pray that my hope is not false. And this brings us back to God.

This is what I'm up against. Feelings black as the water. Atmosphere's a harsh as the storming sky. Stomach heaving like the waves. Its terrifying. This is where I am.

This is where I thought I was....


I think you'll understand my confusion, my hurt, and my absolute inability to comprehend how I'll ever stand up again. But, with God, family, friends, and hope, this is where I intend to be again.

Katie

A different sort of grief.....

The past few days have been the most heart breaking days since Everett died. I've cried tears only rivaled by the tears I've cried for my lost baby. Aside from the "mother grief", I've never been in so much pain.

The realization that I am partially, if not totally responsible for this pain is unsettling. I broke something a long time ago, and now I don't know if I can fix it. Looking back I can clearly see the warning signs, the stress fractures before the big break, but I wasn't paying any attention, I was too busy trying to deflect the attention elsewhere, and now I am grieved, and sorry, and embarrassed, and scared, scared that what I broke cannot be repaired.

The trickiest thing is that I am sort of powerless at this point. I can't force the break back together, I can't talk it into mending, I can't coerce it, crying doesn't help it either. I just have to wait, and pray, and cry to myself, and pray that God will bring the two pieces together again, and that this pain will be brief.

I can't go into much detail, partially because I'm trying to be private and protective of this hurt and the reasons behind it, and partially because typing out the hows and why's adds a new dimension of "real" to it, and I'm worried that will make it hurt all the more.

Katie

I don't have the heart.....

I remember a long time ago, I was strong and in charge of my emotions. I had a stiff upper lip and was pretty good at not letting things getting to me, I didn't like to lose control of my self. And practically nothing could make me cry.

Now anything can.

Grief has completely transformed my heart, its weakened it, and broken down the protective walls I built around it, its rendered me completely unable to rein in my emotions, I feel out of control.

My eyes have changed too, now I can see all the loss and pain and sadness in the world, and my heart breaks a million times a day, for other women and for other families. I feel their losses deeply and personally, I can imagine their emotions vividly, I can visualize it happening to me, because it has, and time and time again I feel horrible pain and sadness for the losses of others.

I just don't have the heart I used to. I don't have the strength to hold back tears and emotions, I don't have the will to try. I feel everything deeper and stronger, from love, to pain and also fear. Becoming aware of how common the loss of a child is in he world through losing one of your own is like developing a heightened sixth sense. On top of being able to hear, see, smell, taste and touch, I am now incredibly perceptive to grief and despair caused by missing a child you'll never hold again.

Katie

Coming down...

It seems I've been riding high the past couple of days, I've been holding up a wall blocking out all negative things and have been feeling pretty good. These things of course, cannot last forever. This morning I feel like I'm coming down. I've got a lump in my throat and tears burning behind my eyes, just waiting to break free. I'm tired of holding back and ignoring the sadness triggers. Here are some of the things I've been holding back the past few days....

A friend of mine just had beautiful twin girls, I'm happy for her, but I'm jealous too. I know the joy and excitement she's experiencing right now, and I miss it, I want it back.

I just read about a woman who delivered her baby girl, stillborn, the hospital didn't let her hold her baby or take any pictures and my heart breaks for them. I know how valuable these things are and how precious those moments and those pictures would have been, how healing they could have been. My heart hurts just thinking about it.

Twins are everywhere, I know several ladies expecting twins, and yet the odds of conceiving identical twins like we did, is 1 in 285. I'm unlikely to ever have the pleasure again, and it makes the fact that I conceived my beautiful boys even more miraculous. The fact that I had beautiful identical twin boys and then lost one is all the more painful when you think of the odds.

People mention twins so casually to me, not realizing that the word itself is like a weapon, and each time it non-nonchalantly rolls off someones tongue it physically hurts. It stings, I feel like I flinch when I hear it though it must only be in my head. I guess it wouldn't normally occur to someone that I'm not comfortable talking about other peoples twins, or twins around the world, but I'm not. I don't want to hear someone joke about how So and So is so big she must be having twins, or how your second cousin's girlfriend is having twins, or how your grandmother had twins, no matter how casually you (you in general) say it, no matter how airy and light our conversation has been, if you can avoid using the word twins, please do. Unless you want to see me close up like a clam shell.

I took Landon to the Dr. last week to have her check his growth and development. He's rather small, and a picky eater, so its better to check and be sure he's healthy. When I expressed my concerns about having healthy children she buoyantly exclaimed (in a manner meant to be reassuring) "You make beautiful healthy children!". What!? What about the one who died? You know, the one with the serious heart defects? The one who underwent two open heart surgeries and still could not be healed? How quickly the world forgets. I love our family Dr, she's amazing and kind, but I'm not sure she grasps the depth of our grief or our fears over the health of our children and future children.

Its hard not to look at Landon and imagine a mirror image standing beside him, playing alongside him, cuddling with him.... Its hard sometimes to walk into his room in the morning when he wakes, and for a split second not imagine both cribs still set up and two boys with eager outstretched arms waiting to start the day. Its hard to not indulge in thoughts of what it would have been like to take my twins to the grocery store for the first time, or to show off to family, or to have strangers at the mall come to see the sweet little twins. The only people who saw my boys together were the few visitors that came to the hospital within the first 6 days after they were born, and not many did. I didn't have a chance to show off my beautiful identical twins, nor did I get to have their pictures taken together, and its really, really hard not to lament and lose myself if what ifs some days. I had twins, really beautiful identical twins, but not many people got to experience that reality with us. It was real.


Lastly, I've found some music I really like, and the words and the melodies are so beautiful but sorrowful and they pull at my heart strings and really make me ache. Sometimes its a therapeutic ache and sometimes it just hurts with no benefit.

Anyway, I'm coming down today, the high is over and I'm going to have to let myself feel some sadness and frustration for bit, no matter how much I wish I could block out those feelings forever.

Katie