The Price of Love

It’s 11:30am here. We’re all on the couch, Jynx curled up on Bella’s lap as she plays with her animals. Sam is playing SkyRim. On Saturdays I usually get up before him to tidy up the house, so now it’s rather clean and I’m pleased.

We had a very, very hard therapy session yesterday. Sam goes with me each Friday and we have art therapy together. At first I thought it was going to be pretty dumb – would I be drawing pictures of sad faces and having them interpret colors? But the more we get into this, the more challenging it is. It’s not about the process so much as it makes us use an entirely different part of our brain. I usually end up crying about things that I thought I was pretty much over, or remembering parts of the past two years I haven’t thought of in forever.

It’s not magic or anything. In fact it’s pretty incredible how our brains are designed. I’m even more awed by our perfect creation through this.

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Waiting to Collapse

Kaden’s memorial is Saturday.

We received his ashes a little while ago.

Monday we received his death certificate. Along with it came his clothes he was wrapped in when he passed away.

We still have to deal with insurance and bills. Each addressed to him.

Texas sent us a friendly reminder that we hadn’t vaccinated him yet.

I have to go through his pictures for the memorial.

Each month has a birth date and a death date and in May we’ll have three events. The twins and his.

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Why We Talk Openly With Bella About Loss

I wrote this piece today for Babble Kids, but I am so passionate about allowing our children to feel their emotions (especially when it comes to loss) that I wanted to share it on here so that it reaches more of you. Please feel free to share the full article with everyone. 

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My almost 4 year old climbs into my lap and asks for the hundredth time, “Where is Kaden?”

I respond with the same answer each time, it comforts her. “He went to heaven. He’s with the two babies (our twins).”

I can see her brain process this yet again. “You are sad?”

“I’m happy and I’m sad. I’m happy because you are here, so is Daddy, and I know Kaden isn’t sick any more. But I’m sad because I miss your brothers, and it’s ok to be sad.”

She nods. “You wanted them to come home, but no. Two babies were too small and Kaden was too sick.”

This same conversation is played out multiple times a day in our home with Bella. I won’t lie – talking about loss with children is hard. It hurts to see her try so hard to comprehend why we didn’t get to bring a baby home, again. After losing 3 brothers she’s waited excitedly for and been promised all kinds of fun things to do with, I can’t help but deeply feel the injustice handed to her at such a young age.   Read the rest on Babble

The Hospital. 2.

Read the first part here.

Once again: I am (still) working on my PTSD from what happened in the hospital(s) with my therapist. I feel the need to write it down as well, but I want to preface this by saying I do not expect comments or anything, just listening and maybe sharing with someone who might have gone through someone similar. I’m neither looking for sympathy or a rally cry against what happened. I’m not bashing them, just telling my story. And please, no advice. There isn’t anything I can change about what happened and someone saying, “You should have…” really only causes me to feel more pain and guilt as I work this out. I’m just writing this to heal. xo

(Also this is quite long. Really – like a novel. Sorry.)

After being transferred from the first (horrendous) hospital, I was in the L&D unit of the one where everything else would happen. I’m not going to link names or locations, you can find it easily online but that’s not the point of this. It’s just for me to get it out.

I don’t remember a lot of those first few hours Friday afternoon/evening. I had a kind resident who knelt by the side of my bed and explained what was probably going to happen. I would give birth to the twins soon. I remember this hit me as unrealistic, surely he didn’t mean “birth”? I was 19 weeks. It couldn’t be like that. Not like having Bella.

When it hit, I begged for a c-section so I wouldn’t have to go through it all. He told me there was no way they could do that. I didn’t really want one, but I certainly didn’t want to go through labor and have babies. I didn’t want anything. I wanted it all to be over and me to be at home; all big and uncomfortable.

That evening when the shift change came, I was assigned a female resident who wanted me to make a choice. It had been hours since my water broke, I was now facing infection and all kinds of complications. She didn’t understand our hesitation and told me I should be induced asap. Sam and I began to talk this over again and again. We had no idea what to do. It seemed pointless to lay in a bed if they would die or suffer inside me. We agreed to start labor once she said if I was infected I could lose my uterus or die.

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One Year.

My Julian and Preston,

A year ago today, at 3:15, you were born into this world in what can only be described as one of the most painfully beautiful moments of my life. You both were so perfect, so tiny. I can’t even describe to you the amount of shock I felt at seeing you, hearing you, watching you move. When you see ultrasound pictures for so long, it’s hard to picture an actual baby inside your womb.

This morning I woke right before it happened. I had to pee of course, your brother tends to treat me as his personal trampoline. As I lay back down, I turned over determined to think of you but not to cry, and of course that didn’t happen. Your Daddy was woken up and flipped over in fear something was wrong, and I managed to choke out, “It was…” and he said, “Oh poo,” and just held me close. I told him, “I need to cry and then I’ll be ok.”

That was all I needed.

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