But it is more than that.

21. To many people this is a symbol of legalized adulthood. To others it is the luck of a winner. For us, it is just a date. But it is more than that. It is the date that our twins were supposed to be born, and another reminder that they are not here.

The thing is, we realize that if Sarah and Benjamin had survived (ugh, what an awful phrase), that they most likely would have arrived by now. So today truly is just a date. But it is more than that. This due date, like all four pregnancies before, symbolized a hope, a dream, a family. For this date to come around, like each one before it, without having our children with us, and without us knowing when—or if—we’ll ever have living children with us, makes it a heavy day to say the least.

As much as Double A and I are trying not to focus on this day, it looms in the background, just like the song you can never get out of your head. In fact, this “song” has been in our heads now for the past 5-1/2 years. Sometimes it’s so loud that we can’t hear anything else. And other times, it is a faint murmur of an old eery tune you just can’t shake.

The fact that February 21 is here also means that it is over. Not that there was really any doubt, but since we found out we were pregnant on June 12, it had been on this date in the future that we thought—or hoped—that we’d finally meet and get to take home our babies. Healthy. Living. Babies. And when those babies went from three to two, there was sadness, but still hope. And then we lost the twins, and everything changed. Again. But the date was still out there. The “should be” of the future that never seems to come to pass.

Today, and with each due date that has preceded it, there was always the thought or hope that we’d be pregnant again, or since we started the adoption process, that we’d have a baby by the time the date came around. While it wouldn’t make it any easier or replace the babies we lost, it would at least seem like progress. With progress there is hope. Instead, reality is a hard slap in the face. Truth be told, their date—birth and death—is October 9. So today is just a date. But it is more than that.

And the thing is, I haven’t written here lately because it was starting to feel as though this was the place that our family and friends were turning to find out what we were up to, and how we are doing. It started to feel inauthentic. This space is supposed to be about shared experiences. Yet, it felt like it was becoming a place for me to whine and grieve (which I deserve to do), but I wasn’t sure that it was helping others, let alone me. When I talked to Double A about this, he made a good point. He told me that it’s a good thing that people can come to this space to see how we’re doing and what’s going on. That this is a neutral place where those who may not have the words or know what this feels like can come to try to understand. This made me realize something I already knew. Loss isn’t just about the mothers and fathers. It’s about our families and friends, and all of the people who know and love us.

And then I read a post yesterday by Jay over at The 2 Week Wait which reminded me of why I’m here…at least here at Will CarryOn. I’ve said before that Will CarryOn is not just about Double A and me. That it is about the greater us. For all of the babyloss families out there trying to navigate this new, or maybe not-so-new, world.

We are part of a community, whether we want to be or not. And a community supports one another. I don’t know why Double A and I have gone through as much pain, hurt and suffering as we have. I’ll never again believe that everything happens for a reason. And I don’t know what the future holds for us. Through much soul-searching, many tears and even more therapy, I’m realizing as much as I want to, I can’t change what has happened to us and our family. What I can do is find the strength and courage to try to use our experiences to make a difference for someone else. Sadly, there will always be dates, but I know, it is more than that.

In Our Honor

This Sunday a new support group will meet for the first time. We Will Carry On is a “support group for parents who have experienced the death of a child through a miscarriage, stillborn, or early infant death. These parents are now contemplating or are already in the early stages of a new pregnancy, and looking for the strength and support to live through this stressful and difficult time.”

While it is a group that has been named in our honor, it has been created in our honor. The collective Our. It is a group to help babyloss moms, dads and partners navigate the often challenging and scary road that accompanies pregnancy after loss. It is a place to remind us of our strength and determination, while acknowledging our loss(es), grief and fears. It is a place for hope.

Now I should point out, that other than it being named after us, we are not officially affiliated with We Will Carry On. It is the brainchild of one of the hospital’s perinatal loss coordinator’s we’ve come to know. When we were first asked about our thoughts on a group like this, and the idea for the name, we were pregnant with the twins. We were honored and thrilled. Honored for the recognition of what Will CarryOn is about, and thrilled that our mission would be expanded. But I think most of all, we were ecstatic that we’d be able to participate and share our positive experience, having come so far.

Well, we won’t be participating and sharing our positive experience. At least not this Sunday. And honestly, who knows if we’ll ever get to participate by sharing our positive story. But that doesn’t mean we can’t share our story. The truth is, there are plenty of stories out there in this community—positive and not so positive. And we’ll continue to share those stories, and to spread the word of the support groups, resources and organizations like these to connect others with people in the know. To make this awfully frightening time a little easier.

Can you help us add to our resources? Email us with the groups, organizations, books, sites, blogs, etc. that have helped you through.

No Expectations.

The clock will soon hit midnight, and the calendar will flip to a new year. I’ve been trying to sum up my feelings about it and ironically, I’ve been all over the board. I saw this card and at first, I couldn’t agree more. Goodbye 2012 and good riddance. If I never had to think about you again, it’d be too soon. But then I realized that if we never spoke of this year again, then it would be as if Sarah Hana and Benjamin Samuel (and their triplet) never existed. But they did. And they do. So I can’t wipe out this year from my memory, no matter how awful it was. Not tonight. Not ever. Somehow, what I have to try to do is to reframe how I think about it. Somehow.

Right now when I think about 2012, some choice words come to mind. I’m sure I could string together a proliferation of profanity that would make a sailor blush (who am I kidding, I could do that on a good day), but what good would that do? Who would I be yelling at? No one can change what has happened. Life will continue moving, and who knows what’s ahead of us. I look back on this past year and am once again am amazed by Double A’s and my strength, courage and perseverance:

We didn’t think we could have a worse year. We did.

We didn’t think we could be faced with something even more horrific. We were.

We didn’t think we could survive more loss. We are.

I remember sitting here a year ago, counting down the seconds, thinking the worst year of our lives was behind us. There was so much hope in the air. So much promise. Last year, I talked about not knowing what 2012 would bring, but I had hoped it would be better. And yet here we are.

We have no expectations for 2013, but once again, we find ourselves hoping. And that in itself, says more than I can write.

Holidays are a B*tch, Huh?

I wish I could take credit for that title, but I have to give that to my friend and fellow babyloss Mom, S. She actually said it about Thanksgiving, saying it’s hard enough to make it through a regular day sometimes, let alone when you’re supposed to be with family and giving thanks. But I think it sums up the whole holiday season perfectly, doesn’t it?

Double A and I decided not to acknowledge the holidays this year. We didn’t attend any of our family’s Hanukkah gatherings. We didn’t even light one menorah candle at home. Not one of the many that reside in our collection. We passed on the tradition this year to focus on what we needed—to not think about the holidays and not focus on the fact that our children are not here with us. Hanukkah has now come and gone. Life continues moving.

But the thing is, most of the rest of the world around us are acknowledging the holidays. They’re celebrating and spreading good cheer. And they should. It’s just that that cheer rings boastful to us right now. Every holiday card we’ve received from family and friends has gone immediately into the recycling bin, unopened. It’s the same reason I’ve stopped going on Face.book. It isn’t that we expect the world to stop and for everyone to be miserable with us. Rather it’s the fact that we don’t want their happy lives, with their happy families and happy stories rubbed in our faces. These are daily reminders of what we don’t have and what’s been taken from us time and time again. They represent what we want more than anything, yet can’t seem to get.

We realize that our friends and family probably didn’t think twice about sending us their yearly update. We’re on their list, so they had to cross us off. We know they likely had no clue that this seemingly normal yearly act would prove to be so hurtful to us. But that’s just it. So often in our situation, we’ve come to realize that people just don’t take a moment to really think about what they’re doing before they actually do it. On the flip side, we realize that some may have thought that we would have been hurt to not be included. Once again, there are no easy answers.

My intent in saying all of this isn’t to hurt any feelings. I’m glad there are people celebrating. I’m happy that there are good things happening in this world, especially in light of recent events. I only want the best to happen. It’s just that we’re tired of always being the ones on the reading and listening end. It’s time for us to finally experience the joy and happiness we’ve been teased with so often.

An Hour Fifteen

I’ve held off on writing because I’m still trying to process the follow-up visit last Wednesday. But I realize that if I wait until I can process or fully understand everything, I’ll probably be waiting a very long time.

My tears started when we got there. And by there, I mean across the street. Double A’s favorite joke these days when I break down in a public place is that people are going to think he’s the a*shole who is breaking up with me, and he tried to use it here to make me laugh. I pulled myself together only to slightly lose it again walking off the elevator, and completely once we got to the waiting room…turning into convulsing sobs when the nurse came out.

“She’s here!” She’s here!” the other nurses whispered, running around. “Page him. She’s here.” If it were different circumstances, I would have felt like royalty. Only this time, I just felt appreciative of these caring women who knew how hard it was for us to be back in this spot.

I’m not going to lie to you, it SUCKED. And I wish I could tell you that we got some answers. That there were some a-ha moments which led to an explanation of what happened, or a clear path for any future endeavors. But there weren’t. While I had found this helpful list of questions you should ask during your follow-up appointment (thank you to Stirrup Queens), most of them didn’t apply to us. Our babies were perfectly healthy. My cervix was normal. There was nothing telling from the placentas. And since I’ve already gone through about every RPL test there is, there’s not really more to be said on this. Once again, we are left with no answers.

The doctor talked with us about a potential next time. Double A and I shuddered at the thought, yet wanted to hear our options. He said if we did find the resolve to try this again, that we should do everything we can to ensure a singleton pregnancy as there’s greater risks associated with multiples. That he would recommend doing so either via spontaneous conception (you know, like “normal” people do it) or IVF (which we’re not covered for). But if we did do IVF, that they should only place one embryo at a time, which may limit our chances, but it also somewhat protects us from multiples. IUIs with gonadatropins and even clomid are out.

He talked about if we did have the resolve to try this again (a phrase he kept using), and were successful in getting pregnant, what would or could be done differently. Bottom line: not much. We could look at doing progesterone shots and/or a cerclage, but neither of those solutions would have been of any help this last time around. And there are risks associated with the latter.

And then we had the birth control talk. You know, the same one from high school, only this time it was for a different kind of protective measure…emotional protection. There’s also the physical protection that it would provide too, as he said my body should continue to heal for at least 3 months. Speaking of physical, the actual exam showed that all is healing properly, and looking and feeling normal. Too bad the same could not be said for our heads (and the PTSD from being back in the hospital gown and on the exam table didn’t help either).

We spent an hour and fifteen minutes with the doctor, and came out with no more clarity than we had arrived. While I was expecting that this would be the case, there was a tiny part of me that hoped that he would have come across something, anything, that would explain why we lost our twins. I know we can’t turn back time, but having some sort of answers may provide some closure. But we have no answers and I’m not sure we’ll ever have closure.

As I said before, we have a lot to think about, and a lot to process, especially when it comes to what’s next for us. And while we don’t have to make any final decisions right now, we know we need to soon. Of the five years we’ve been married, 4-1/2 of them have been consumed by pregnancy, loss and the road to family. Enough is enough. But what’s enough when we don’t have we want?

7 Weeks and 1 Day Later

Our neighbor came over recently for a glass of wine. It was the first friend I had seen since the twins’ funeral. Truth be told, I don’t really feel like being around people. I told her about having finally called the doctor to set up the 6-week after appointment. It is something that I kept pushing off. I didn’t want to acknowledge that it was going to be six weeks. I didn’t want to be back in the office where everything was different and still OK. I didn’t want to have the conversation with the doctor about what happened, only to find out there are no answers…again. Or to talk about options, next steps or the idea of trying one more time. Yet I knew that this check up is important to make sure my body is healing properly. So I made the call, and through tears left a message, and then cried my way through a conversation with the nurse to schedule the appointment. That appointment is today. 7 weeks and 1 day later. And I’m terrified.

There’s the anticipation of going to the office. This was a weekly routine that Double A and I had down pat. While we had sworn off superstitions this time around, one thing we did every time was park on Bing Crosby. It was the 6th level of the parking garage, and after finding a space there during our initial appointments where we had received good news, Bing, singing Sweet Georgia Brown, brought us some comfort when we were scared or unsure as to what was happening as we moved forward. Now our memory of Bing is that of me doubled over in a wheelchair faced with the intense pain of contractions and the panic of if our babies were alright.

In speaking with the nurse, I made sure to take some precautionary and protective measures for us. We’re scheduled to go today when there won’t be any blissfully happy pregnant ladies in the waiting room. And I specifically asked her to let the ladies at the front desk know what happened so we aren’t faced with having to answer any awkward questions. Yet I know that walking those halls, and being in that space will bring back a flood of memories and new waves of grief.

But back to my neighbor. She told me about how months after her father passed away, her mother was trying to get back to her “normal” routine. Part of this routine included a 5-mile walk she once did every day. When she finally was up for it, she found she couldn’t get through it. Not the physical aspect of it, but the mental. Her friend told her that she had to change her routine, which in this case, meant changing the route she walked. That was now the route from her previous life. A life that still existed, but now in memory only. Life now was different.

I realized that I’ve been craving to change our routine. Only it isn’t anything specific, rather various aspects of life overall. First it was clothing. One of the initial things I did was of course to give back all borrowed maternity clothes, and push all that I had purchased to the back of my closet. But I felt this urge to clear out my closet and start fresh. I guess like I said in this post, maybe if I didn’t look like myself, I don’t have to be me. Too bad our bank account wouldn’t support this complete overhaul.

I find that I want to change other things too. I look around the house and ask Double A if we should paint the second bedroom. If we should get a new duvet cover for our room? How about we change out the shower curtain and towels in the bathroom? I’ve changed my music and what I can watch on TV or movies. We talk about moving, either locally or someplace far away, but we know running away isn’t the answer. That said, there’s something about the idea of changing out the old, of what our life once was, with things that don’t remind us of what our life has become.

I realize that none of these changes will actually change what has happened. None of these changes will bring back our babies, wipe out the hurt or actually make us feel better. Yet at the same time, I know that incorporating some changes and new routines are going to be what is going to enable us to move forward and carry on.

So today we will take my friend’s advice and change up our doctor’s office routine as best we can. There will be no Bing, rather a cold walk from my work parking space. We will still have to enter the hospital and walk those halls, but as Double A reminds me, we will do so, together. Today, we will be forced to face the realities of what was, what is, and what may not be. But that’s a post for later. For right now, we have to find the strength, courage and determination to walk out the door.

Emotions of A Minute

We are sad. We are mad.
We are angry. We are tired.
We are beat down. We are supportive.
We are weak. We are strong.
We are together. We are alone.
We are hurting. We are pained.
We are tired. We are scared.
We are anxious. We are broken.
We are fearful. We are worried.
We are missing. We are longing.
We are confused. We are unsettled.
We are lonely. We are panicked.
We are crying. We are numb.
We are heartbroken. We are dumb-founded.
We are wondering. We are exhausted.
We are pissed-off. We are sorry.
We are spent. We are questioning.
We are unsure. We are breathless.
We are shocked. We are supported.
We are worn down.

We are here. We are.