The last two months have been rough. And I finally feel like we're coming out of a deep and heavy fog.
I was having a really hard time with the fourth baby. I loved Delta and wanted her, but I really didn't want the fourth baby. I didn't want the stress, the cost, the responsibility, the worry, all of the "extra" that each baby brings, I didn't want that. I simply did not want the fourth child. And I was having a very hard time reconciling that with wanting and loving Delta. And the guilt that came along with that was enormous.
I felt like I was losing my grip on reality. Like I was spiralling into a dark hole. I was not a happy person and was not pleasant to be around. Getting one kid breakfast was some days more than I could handle. Thank goodness that Matthew is a teacher as was off for the summer and could shoulder a lot of the responsibility.
Then came Thomas day. And I'm not sure what changed that day.
After we let the duckies go down the river and the kids had their rest times we went to my parents for dinner. My mom was shockingly well-behaved. She was calm and good with the kids and good with me. So much so that I even shared that it was Thomas day. This is not normally and are of my life I let her in. She was wonderful with it and didn't make it about her and her losses. The kids ate supper and were really well-behaved throughout dinner. They gave me huge hugs when we left them there for an overnight and nobody cried.
Then Matt and I went to a neighbourhood block party and just visited with people and it was nice. It got us out of our heads and was a lot of fun. We came home, put Lucy to bed, and then just chilled for a while before going to bed.
I felt.... un-phase-able. Like the world was calm and peaceful and OK.
And as Delta drifted off to sleep in my arms I looked at her and something in me broke. My fear, my pain, my misgivings, my panic, my guilt, all of it. And I looked at her and I knew she was a huge blessing. And I am blessed to be a mom to 4 beautiful perfect children on earth. And you know what? I WANT four kids. I WANT the love and the joy and everything else that comes along with that fourth child, even the tough parts.
Since that day the fog lifted.
Thomas continues to change me. I though I was changed by him as much as I could be, but he continues to surprise me. And on our second Thomas Day I became a real mom to Delta.
Showing posts with label Thomas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Thomas. Show all posts
Thursday, 6 September 2012
Monday, 30 July 2012
A sibling for Thomas
Delta is here at last! One of the bigger shocks is that she's, we'll, a she.
Delta has come with so many surprises. Her being here, her being a girl, her giving Thomas a sibling.
After deltas whirlwind of a birth (I think I preferred my 32 hour labour with Bravo over my rocket ship labour with delta) the placenta came out. And then the second placenta came out.
My suspicions were confirmed. The heavy bleeding and cramping very very very early in the pregnancy was another twin loss. The placenta for her twin developed, but the baby did not.
I'm still unsure how I feel about this. The emotions of losing this twin are very very different than losing Thomas. I think in large part that is because of timing. I have ultrasound photos of Thomas' tiny body while Charlie nuzzles into him. He was a fully formed and perfect little baby. Deltas twin, it's different.
Life seems so unfair though. Why did I conceive twins twice just to lose one both times? Why was my body not sufficient to carry those little lives? Why do I have 2 babies growing up without their twin? It's just not fair. Other people get the excitement of twins. I get the loss.
Shortly after delta was born, Matt went to get us some breakfast. While he was gone I was alone with delta. I started thinking about her as I snuggled her tiny body and smelled her perfect head. My thoughts drifted to the news of her twin and then settled on Thomas. Big moments in my life often have my thoughts drifting back to Thomas. I stared out the 3 floor window of my hospital room and watched as the sun was coming up. O
Out of nowhere two white birds came up from the ground, swirled and danced and intertwined around each other and flew up into the sky, twirling and dancing round each other until they were out of sight. And at that moment peace filled my heart. My two twin spirits were together, safe, dancing and happy. Delta lost her twin and Thomas has a sibling. Hoooo. Here come the tears.
Goodbye, my two perfect angels. Look after each other. And if you can, look out for us. And one day, when I meet you, I will hold you and squeeze you and give you a whole lifetime of love in one moment. You are my babies, and I love you with each and every beat of my heart, down to the depths of my soul.
Delta has come with so many surprises. Her being here, her being a girl, her giving Thomas a sibling.
After deltas whirlwind of a birth (I think I preferred my 32 hour labour with Bravo over my rocket ship labour with delta) the placenta came out. And then the second placenta came out.
My suspicions were confirmed. The heavy bleeding and cramping very very very early in the pregnancy was another twin loss. The placenta for her twin developed, but the baby did not.
I'm still unsure how I feel about this. The emotions of losing this twin are very very different than losing Thomas. I think in large part that is because of timing. I have ultrasound photos of Thomas' tiny body while Charlie nuzzles into him. He was a fully formed and perfect little baby. Deltas twin, it's different.
Life seems so unfair though. Why did I conceive twins twice just to lose one both times? Why was my body not sufficient to carry those little lives? Why do I have 2 babies growing up without their twin? It's just not fair. Other people get the excitement of twins. I get the loss.
Shortly after delta was born, Matt went to get us some breakfast. While he was gone I was alone with delta. I started thinking about her as I snuggled her tiny body and smelled her perfect head. My thoughts drifted to the news of her twin and then settled on Thomas. Big moments in my life often have my thoughts drifting back to Thomas. I stared out the 3 floor window of my hospital room and watched as the sun was coming up. O
Out of nowhere two white birds came up from the ground, swirled and danced and intertwined around each other and flew up into the sky, twirling and dancing round each other until they were out of sight. And at that moment peace filled my heart. My two twin spirits were together, safe, dancing and happy. Delta lost her twin and Thomas has a sibling. Hoooo. Here come the tears.
Goodbye, my two perfect angels. Look after each other. And if you can, look out for us. And one day, when I meet you, I will hold you and squeeze you and give you a whole lifetime of love in one moment. You are my babies, and I love you with each and every beat of my heart, down to the depths of my soul.
Thursday, 1 March 2012
In every tree there sits a bird
There are a few parts to my disjointed post today. The first part which won't make much sense until the end is about a dear dear friend who just said goodbye to her angel on Friday. Her heartbreak is huge and unbearable and one I feel deeply for her because I have had to say goodbye to my own sweet boy. When she left the hospital it was snowing. So much snow. Snowflakes all around her. No birds, no rainbows or sunshine, a lot of snow.
Now most of you know this wonderful mommy and her beautiful rainbow. She gave birth to her daughter at 38 weeks and had to say goodbye that day. One beautiful thing about this story is her rainbow. This mom sees more rainbows than I think I have ever ever seen in my entire life. And every time she sees a rainbow she thinks of Mackenzie. And every time I see a rainbow I think of Mackenzie. And every time a hundred people across the country see a rainbow, they think of her beautiful Mackenzie. And it's perfect and wonderful and fitting.
And I must say sometimes it makes me a little sad.
I never really talked about Thomas when I was going through it. It's only been since I started this blog that I really realised I needed to talk about him. But I was scared to. I was afraid that I would be dismissed, that my grief and pain and ultimately the life of my son would be dismissed and therefore unvalidated. I guess I’m still afraid to talk about my Thomas. Afraid that he will be discounted because he wasn’t a “real” baby. And I couldn’t bear anybody to think that because to me he was perfect.
When that little 2 inch one-dimensional vaguely baby-shaped white blob came out attached to the placenta, I knew that was the remains of my perfect baby. Squished by his larger brother from week 16-40, fluids drawn out, compacted, and grown into the placenta which provided life for Charlie, Thomas is still my baby. I carried him for 9 months. It just so happens that for 5 of those he wasn’t living. And I could not bare to take the chance that people would think these things about Thomas. But that just caused me to feel even more lonely. How could people think about him when they didn't know about him??
So I am posting this. I have had this in my head for a long time, but have never told a single living soul. Not even Matthew.
I sing a song to Paul every night before bed. And every time I sing it I think of my Thomas.
In every tree there sits a bird,
singing a song of love
In every tree there sits a bird,
and every one I’ve ever heard,
could break your heart without a word,
Singing a song of love
The song of love is a sad song,
Hi lily hi lily hi lo
The song of love is a song of woe,
don’t ask me how I know
The song of love is a sad song,
for I have loved and it’s so
I sit at the window and watch the rain,
hi lily hi lily hi lo
Tomorrow I’ll probably love again,
hi lily hi lily hi lo
And every time I see a sparrow I think of my baby. Sitting in a tree, watching over us, singing a beautiful but ever so sad song. And all the other sparrows in the tree are other lost babies singing away. Making the world cheerier. Strong, beautiful in their simplicity, cheery, tiny little birds.
I can never touch a sparrow. If I tried it would fly away. They sit in the tree, but remain forever out of reach. You can't hold a sparrow. And you can't touch a rainbow. They're beautiful and sparkly and full of joy and love. And they shine, out of reach, never touchable. And if you tried to hold a snowflake it would just... melt away. The snowflake is perfect and unique and beautiful and intricate, and fleeting. Sparrows, rainbows, snowflakes, each perfect, each beautiful, each cruel and heartbreaking in their fleeting and unreachable ways.
So when you see a little sparrow, maybe give a little thought for my boy. Let him know you love his song. And give a little thought of me, living without my boy, and of Charlie, living his life without his beautiful and perfect twin.
Friday, 23 December 2011
grief in a box
I keep my grief about Thomas in a box. But I really do mean that in the most literal way possible. When Charlie was born my doula and very close friend (who happens to work at a crisis pregnancy centre) gave me a hand painted small blue box with little shooting stars on it. Inside was a small packet of Kleenex, a super ugly tiny teddy bear, a small beaded bracelet that says "loved" and a little candle. I have almost thrown out the teddy bear multiple times because it's THAT ugly, but the thought of throwing out anything that even remotely has anything to do with me is just so sad. I mean, I already threw him out (my biggest regret) and to add anything else to that list makes me queasy.
I have added to the box. There are the 2 ultrasound pictures with both Thomas and Charlie in it. Charlie, big and healthy and living, Thomas, a visible, fully formed perfect but dead baby. Charlie's head snuggled into Thomas'.
Beside the box is a pair of tiny knitted booties I made: dark brown with little blue buttons. And on top of the box is a small (and very cute) lamb. The box and it's contents and the 2 extras sit on a small corner shelf in Charlie's room. Every now and then I open the box. And I look at those pictures and I both feel joy for having him inside me and deep sadness for having him not be with us. I miss him right now. I should be chasing TWO 11 month old babies away from the Christmas tree. I used to have the ultrasound pictures in my bed side drawer but I found I looked at them too much, I obsessed about them. Having them in Charlie's room makes it harder to obsess and makes me happy that the small bit of Thomas left shares a room with his brother. And maybe one day when he's old enough Charlie will want them to be in there anyways.
On Thomas' day (August 26th) I lit the candle and had it burning as I was putting Charlie to bed. Then I blew it out before I left the room. And I bawled. I think that candle will be saved for every August 26th.
I don't think Matt even knows about those pictures. Or about me lighting the candle. I don't know if he knows what I keep in that box, what it signifies. Maybe he does, but it's one of those things we have never talked about. It's like it's my thing for my missing baby. I know that makes zero sense. But if there is anything I have learnt about grief in the last 16 months is that it rarely makes sense.
And so up until now I have kept my grief in a box. Hidden for people to not see, a secret for me to hold and love. For it to be mine.
And then this week a gift was sent to me in the mail. A small angel Christmas tree ornament. Sent to me in memory of my beautiful Thomas. And I held it and I cried. Alpha saw me holding it and he asked if the beautiful beautiful ornament was very delicate and special. I said it was, and he asked to see it. He held it and told me again how pretty he thought it was and that we should hang it on the tree.
So we did. And now my grief hangs on a sparkly tree covered in glitter and lights and strange child-made ornaments. Not everybody knows what it is, but it's there for all who notice it to see.
Knowing that somebody thought of Thomas at the holidays both breaks and warms my heart. It brings a bit of peace and a bit of healing. I am not the only one who thinks of him. Somebody else thought of him and me enough to lovingly buy and send this angel. And that I think is one of the best gifts I could have received.
And so my grief will hang on the tree. And when we take the tree down I am not sure that I will place the ornament in the decoration box. I think perhaps it will hang in Charlie's window. Because I put enough things in boxes and perhaps it's time Thomas isn't one of them.
I have added to the box. There are the 2 ultrasound pictures with both Thomas and Charlie in it. Charlie, big and healthy and living, Thomas, a visible, fully formed perfect but dead baby. Charlie's head snuggled into Thomas'.
Beside the box is a pair of tiny knitted booties I made: dark brown with little blue buttons. And on top of the box is a small (and very cute) lamb. The box and it's contents and the 2 extras sit on a small corner shelf in Charlie's room. Every now and then I open the box. And I look at those pictures and I both feel joy for having him inside me and deep sadness for having him not be with us. I miss him right now. I should be chasing TWO 11 month old babies away from the Christmas tree. I used to have the ultrasound pictures in my bed side drawer but I found I looked at them too much, I obsessed about them. Having them in Charlie's room makes it harder to obsess and makes me happy that the small bit of Thomas left shares a room with his brother. And maybe one day when he's old enough Charlie will want them to be in there anyways.
On Thomas' day (August 26th) I lit the candle and had it burning as I was putting Charlie to bed. Then I blew it out before I left the room. And I bawled. I think that candle will be saved for every August 26th.
I don't think Matt even knows about those pictures. Or about me lighting the candle. I don't know if he knows what I keep in that box, what it signifies. Maybe he does, but it's one of those things we have never talked about. It's like it's my thing for my missing baby. I know that makes zero sense. But if there is anything I have learnt about grief in the last 16 months is that it rarely makes sense.
And so up until now I have kept my grief in a box. Hidden for people to not see, a secret for me to hold and love. For it to be mine.
And then this week a gift was sent to me in the mail. A small angel Christmas tree ornament. Sent to me in memory of my beautiful Thomas. And I held it and I cried. Alpha saw me holding it and he asked if the beautiful beautiful ornament was very delicate and special. I said it was, and he asked to see it. He held it and told me again how pretty he thought it was and that we should hang it on the tree.
So we did. And now my grief hangs on a sparkly tree covered in glitter and lights and strange child-made ornaments. Not everybody knows what it is, but it's there for all who notice it to see.
Knowing that somebody thought of Thomas at the holidays both breaks and warms my heart. It brings a bit of peace and a bit of healing. I am not the only one who thinks of him. Somebody else thought of him and me enough to lovingly buy and send this angel. And that I think is one of the best gifts I could have received.
And so my grief will hang on the tree. And when we take the tree down I am not sure that I will place the ornament in the decoration box. I think perhaps it will hang in Charlie's window. Because I put enough things in boxes and perhaps it's time Thomas isn't one of them.
Thursday, 10 November 2011
I was not expecting this.
The grief is subsiding. And I feel so guilty about that.
I have still thought about Thomas every single day, but it's lessening. And the grief is easing. After nearly 15 months the grief is lessening. And I feel so so so guilty about it. It feels like I'm forgetting him. Or that this new baby is replacing him. And because of this new baby the grief has eased in frequency and intensity. I know grief ebbs and flows. I've had so many times of it flowing that I'm well over due for an "ebb".
I feel like if I'm not sad about him then I've forgotten him. Or that I'm passing on the message that I don't miss him. I feel like if I'm not in the thick of grief with him then maybe he didn't mean that much after all. I KNOW all this is ridiculous. And I can only hope it's normal. I've never really lost anybody THIS close to me before. I've lost grandparents I was very close to, I've had friendships fall apart suddenly and that felt like a friend died, but I've never lost a child. And I don't know how the journey is "supposed" to go.
I miss Thomas, but it isn't the raw emotional loss and grief that I felt so intensely even a month ago. There's a lot on my brain and heart lately, and there's a lot of getting used to the idea of Delta and it makes me sad that the first thing to go in my brain was the Thomas spot. That his spot has been taken up by thoughts over the new baby.
I was not prepared for the guilt to kick in when the grief finally starts to ease even a little.
This is a long journey. And I'm tired. I'm tired of traveling it, and I'm tired of looking backwards to see where I was, and I'm tired of trying to figure out what comes next and I'm tired of trying to be OK and I'm tired of the guilt and I wish...... I don't even know. I wish I could sleep for 2 months and give my poor brain and heart and body a break. I wish this had happened to not me. Not that I wish it had happened to somebody else, and not that I wish him away, but I wish Thomas was here and I didn't have to grief for him. I wish he didn't need to be grieved at all. And I wish I could give myself permission to be OK with everything, and be OK with "replacing" him. Geeze- maybe that's why I'm having a hard time still with Delta is maybe I feel like I am trying to replace Thomas.
Bah! I need out of my brain.
Now, how's that for a completely non-flowing, everywhere, no-real-point post??
I have still thought about Thomas every single day, but it's lessening. And the grief is easing. After nearly 15 months the grief is lessening. And I feel so so so guilty about it. It feels like I'm forgetting him. Or that this new baby is replacing him. And because of this new baby the grief has eased in frequency and intensity. I know grief ebbs and flows. I've had so many times of it flowing that I'm well over due for an "ebb".
I feel like if I'm not sad about him then I've forgotten him. Or that I'm passing on the message that I don't miss him. I feel like if I'm not in the thick of grief with him then maybe he didn't mean that much after all. I KNOW all this is ridiculous. And I can only hope it's normal. I've never really lost anybody THIS close to me before. I've lost grandparents I was very close to, I've had friendships fall apart suddenly and that felt like a friend died, but I've never lost a child. And I don't know how the journey is "supposed" to go.
I miss Thomas, but it isn't the raw emotional loss and grief that I felt so intensely even a month ago. There's a lot on my brain and heart lately, and there's a lot of getting used to the idea of Delta and it makes me sad that the first thing to go in my brain was the Thomas spot. That his spot has been taken up by thoughts over the new baby.
I was not prepared for the guilt to kick in when the grief finally starts to ease even a little.
This is a long journey. And I'm tired. I'm tired of traveling it, and I'm tired of looking backwards to see where I was, and I'm tired of trying to figure out what comes next and I'm tired of trying to be OK and I'm tired of the guilt and I wish...... I don't even know. I wish I could sleep for 2 months and give my poor brain and heart and body a break. I wish this had happened to not me. Not that I wish it had happened to somebody else, and not that I wish him away, but I wish Thomas was here and I didn't have to grief for him. I wish he didn't need to be grieved at all. And I wish I could give myself permission to be OK with everything, and be OK with "replacing" him. Geeze- maybe that's why I'm having a hard time still with Delta is maybe I feel like I am trying to replace Thomas.
Bah! I need out of my brain.
Now, how's that for a completely non-flowing, everywhere, no-real-point post??
Tuesday, 1 November 2011
Thomas- part 4 -the name for the child who didn't quite make it.
When Charlie was born without his twin we gave him the middle name "Thomas" which means twin. Well, that's one of his middle names. Alpha and Bravo have 1 middle name, but Charlie got 2. I wanted to honour Charlies twin that he started his life with, so we gave him the name Thomas. Had the twin been born then he would have been called Thomas. Or Amelia had the baby been a girl. Here's the thing: we never actually got to find out what the gender of the twin was. And for a long long time that really really really bothered me. Matt called the twin Thomas but I just couldn't. What if the baby had been a girl? I couldn't give the baby a name and I was saddened by that. I don't care for any of the boy/girl names, so it just didn't feel right to give the child a name I wouldn't give a living child. When the twin was first seen at my 20 week u/s the baby was in a position that they couldn't see gender parts. And it had already started deteriorating, so even had it been in a better position there is no guarantee that they could have told me one way or the other. The twin likely died between 14 and 16 weeks, so that's a little early to tell in the best of circumstances.
After Charlie was born I prayed every night to see my baby in a dream, to know if it was a boy or a girl, Thomas or Amelia. And every morning I awoke heartbroken. Matthew stopped out-loud referring to him as Thomas because it really upset me.
Then the end of August started creeping up on me. The one year anniversary of that horrible day. And it was deeply deeply affecting me. One day I just woke up and had the clearest feeling that the baby had been a boy. I had been so back and forth and back and forth on if I thought it had been a girl or a boy, but I just felt like he was a he. And it started to mean more to me that the twin had a name and not "dead baby" That started getting to be a really bad name in my head. That's how I thought of my sweet twin was "dead baby". So One morning I just woke up and started calling him Thomas. The first time I did so in front of Matthew he just looked at me surprised and didn't make mention of it. I think Matthew is sometimes a little afraid to really talk about everything with me. And now Thomas is just Thomas. He has a name that his big brother's can call him, a name that i can call him, a way to refer to him in a healthy way.
Thomas. My sweet baby not here with me, Charlie's missing twin, Delta's angel. Still, as it is, if Delta is a girl I no longer can use the name Amelia as we had been planning (it was Matthew's Grandma's name) just because on the off chance it had been a girl she would have been Amelia.
I still wait and look forward to the day when I see my Thomas in my dreams. I long to see his sweet face, even if only for a moment in a fleeting dream.
After Charlie was born I prayed every night to see my baby in a dream, to know if it was a boy or a girl, Thomas or Amelia. And every morning I awoke heartbroken. Matthew stopped out-loud referring to him as Thomas because it really upset me.
Then the end of August started creeping up on me. The one year anniversary of that horrible day. And it was deeply deeply affecting me. One day I just woke up and had the clearest feeling that the baby had been a boy. I had been so back and forth and back and forth on if I thought it had been a girl or a boy, but I just felt like he was a he. And it started to mean more to me that the twin had a name and not "dead baby" That started getting to be a really bad name in my head. That's how I thought of my sweet twin was "dead baby". So One morning I just woke up and started calling him Thomas. The first time I did so in front of Matthew he just looked at me surprised and didn't make mention of it. I think Matthew is sometimes a little afraid to really talk about everything with me. And now Thomas is just Thomas. He has a name that his big brother's can call him, a name that i can call him, a way to refer to him in a healthy way.
Thomas. My sweet baby not here with me, Charlie's missing twin, Delta's angel. Still, as it is, if Delta is a girl I no longer can use the name Amelia as we had been planning (it was Matthew's Grandma's name) just because on the off chance it had been a girl she would have been Amelia.
I still wait and look forward to the day when I see my Thomas in my dreams. I long to see his sweet face, even if only for a moment in a fleeting dream.
Monday, 31 October 2011
Monday- back from my brain leave
I am so done with the last few weeks. I miss my brain. I miss the emotional stability that I worked so hard for in my life- it's been snatched away by the evil first trimester gods. I shake my fist at them!
So since we told Alpha about Delta on the way, he's been so excited but also really struggling with Thomas. We have always said we didn't want the boys to remember the first time they ever heard about Thomas, we didn't want it to be a shock or a big secret or a huge discussion that they would remember. We just wanted the to always know about it. Alpha every now and then brings up Thomas with statements like "I wish Thomas was here. I wish I could hold him and play with him." I just answer "me, too, buddy" and give him a huge hug.
This last week I was playing with Alpha in his room and he had a snack of snap peas, carrots, crackers, a cheese stick, some water and a pizza pop (well, OK- it was more lunch than snack) and Alpha kept asking me if I wanted a bite of whatever food he had in his hand. If I said "no" then he would say "well, the baby really wants some, so you open your mouth and eat it and it will go into your belly and then the baby will open his mouth and eat it!" which led to a long discussion about what eventually came to be called "stomach food hoses" (the umbilical cord- duh!).
Then Alpha picked up his pizza pop. And stared at it. And looked at me. And stared at it some more. Then he said "pizza pops would make Bravo really sick, right?" I said yes. Then he said "I don't think you should eat a pizza pop because it will make the baby really really sick and then he might not come out." After some discussion he started talking about Thomas. And how he couldn't come out because he got sick and couldn't be with us. And maybe he was allergic to foods that I ate and that's what made him sick. And he didn't want this baby to get sick because he misses Thomas so much and he wants this baby to grow big and pop out.
Wow. Clearly this kid has a lot going on in that little 4 year old brain of his. When I said that it wasn't anything I did or didn't do, or did or didn't eat that made Thomas sick he sat in my lap and hugged me and said "sometimes sickness just happens and he made his own sickness and then couldn't come out, mommy?" I think all I could choke out without crying was a weak little "yup. Sometimes sickness just happens and it's nobody's fault."
Which I think is also the first time I've said (out loud OR in my head) that it isn't my fault that Thomas died.
Since then Alpha just keeps kissing my belly and saying hi to the baby and giving my belly his bear and feeding me things he thinks the baby would like from the food hose.
I'm so glad that Alpha is who he is. He's compassionate and empathetic and really deeply caring. Even if he is sometimes destructive and crazy. I hope that I can take care of the sweet gentle little heart that he has.
I really hope this baby makes it. For me, yes, for the baby, yes, but especially for Alpha. He is so excited about his new baby in mommy's belly and tells it every day to "grow, grow, grow, and then pop out in the summer!"
So Delta, if you're listening, grow grow grow and then pop out healthy in the summer, OK?
So since we told Alpha about Delta on the way, he's been so excited but also really struggling with Thomas. We have always said we didn't want the boys to remember the first time they ever heard about Thomas, we didn't want it to be a shock or a big secret or a huge discussion that they would remember. We just wanted the to always know about it. Alpha every now and then brings up Thomas with statements like "I wish Thomas was here. I wish I could hold him and play with him." I just answer "me, too, buddy" and give him a huge hug.
This last week I was playing with Alpha in his room and he had a snack of snap peas, carrots, crackers, a cheese stick, some water and a pizza pop (well, OK- it was more lunch than snack) and Alpha kept asking me if I wanted a bite of whatever food he had in his hand. If I said "no" then he would say "well, the baby really wants some, so you open your mouth and eat it and it will go into your belly and then the baby will open his mouth and eat it!" which led to a long discussion about what eventually came to be called "stomach food hoses" (the umbilical cord- duh!).
Then Alpha picked up his pizza pop. And stared at it. And looked at me. And stared at it some more. Then he said "pizza pops would make Bravo really sick, right?" I said yes. Then he said "I don't think you should eat a pizza pop because it will make the baby really really sick and then he might not come out." After some discussion he started talking about Thomas. And how he couldn't come out because he got sick and couldn't be with us. And maybe he was allergic to foods that I ate and that's what made him sick. And he didn't want this baby to get sick because he misses Thomas so much and he wants this baby to grow big and pop out.
Wow. Clearly this kid has a lot going on in that little 4 year old brain of his. When I said that it wasn't anything I did or didn't do, or did or didn't eat that made Thomas sick he sat in my lap and hugged me and said "sometimes sickness just happens and he made his own sickness and then couldn't come out, mommy?" I think all I could choke out without crying was a weak little "yup. Sometimes sickness just happens and it's nobody's fault."
Which I think is also the first time I've said (out loud OR in my head) that it isn't my fault that Thomas died.
Since then Alpha just keeps kissing my belly and saying hi to the baby and giving my belly his bear and feeding me things he thinks the baby would like from the food hose.
I'm so glad that Alpha is who he is. He's compassionate and empathetic and really deeply caring. Even if he is sometimes destructive and crazy. I hope that I can take care of the sweet gentle little heart that he has.
I really hope this baby makes it. For me, yes, for the baby, yes, but especially for Alpha. He is so excited about his new baby in mommy's belly and tells it every day to "grow, grow, grow, and then pop out in the summer!"
So Delta, if you're listening, grow grow grow and then pop out healthy in the summer, OK?
Monday, 3 October 2011
Thomas- part 3- my missing peice
There's the facts about my pregnancy with Thomas and there's the facts about the birth.Those are the easy parts to tell. Well, "easy" I guess would be more accurate. But they just are what they are. Facts. It doesn't change. August 26, 2010 will never change. January 13, 2011 will always be Charlie's birthday- the day he was born without his twin. The facts of what happened just are, they're not fluid, they don't change depending on who's telling them, they don't change day-by-day, they just are.
But then there's everything else. Things I don't talk about. There's life after Part 1 and Part 2. And that's the hard part. Facts are easy. The rest changes and every time it changes the pain and grief and longing find a new place of my heart and soul to move in to.
I was talking with Matt last night about Thomas. We don't talk about it very often, only when I can't hold in my grief and it bubbles out. We grieve differently. And because he never really talks about it I often feel like I am the only one who remembers Thomas, the only one that misses him this much, the only one who notices that he's missing. I know I'm not, I know Matt feels that way too, but it's often just very lonely. There is a Walk To Remember here on October 15th. That I so very much want to take part in, take Thomas' brothers to say goodbye and let balloons go for him. But I will be in Edmonton saying goodbye to my grandma who will not be here much longer. When I told Matt that I wished I had known about the walk sooner so I could have booked flights on a different day, he said that though I couldn't go to the walk to remember and say goodbye to Thomas, I was going to say goodbye to Grandma. And my first thought was "I wish that she were the one that was dead and not him". And I know that's a terrible thing to think. But the more I thought about it there are only 4 people in this life that i would not trade- Matt, Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie. Anybody else in my life, even people I am very close to, I would trade in a heartbeat if it meant Thomas could live.
There are some days I wonder if I had known earlier if something could have been changed and all this would have ended differently. What if I had pushed the midwife to send me for an ultrasound when I had a bright pink gush of liquid at 13w5d? Would they have been able to do anything? I know probably not, but I still wonder. There is one thing that I deeply regret. And that's not bringing home the placenta to bury in the summer. I wish I had thought that through further, had the foresight to know I would regret that. Instead of Having Thomas' remains respected and lovingly placed in the ground I chose to have the hospital dispose of them. To throw my sweet little Thomas out with the other garbage. And I hate that I let them do that. And I wish that I had thought about that.
I keep waiting for the grief to lessen. And some days it does. But it's always there. And a year later I think I'm coming to the realization that this grief will always be here. That it will always be a part of me and will never fade into the background like I thought it would. And some days it's hard to accept that. And some days I'm glad for that because even if I'm the only one who remembers, Thomas will never ever be forgotten.
Dear Thomas,
Not a day has gone by that I don't think of you. Long for you. Wish that you were here. Some days it's fine, you're in my thoughts and life carries on. Some days it's with every breath in and every breath out that I think of you. And some days, like this weekend, you not being here hits me so hard that I am knocked to my knees and I can't breath and all that can come out are body-shaking sobs. Those days are less than they were before, but they still happen. I wasn't prepared for this. I thought that by now I would "be over it". Not that I would have forgotten you, but that the grief would be in memory and wouldn't be so raw, wouldn't some days feel so new and fresh.
I watch your brothers and I think about how they are also missing you from their lives. I watch Charlie without you and I miss you even more. I know what you would be doing and what stage you would be in, because Charlie is doing it, too. And I just wish (wish seems like such a weak word compared to what I do- but I don't know what word to use) that you were beside him, sucking on his fingers and him sucking on yours. Pulling at each others faces and laying beside each other. Starting to try to crawl, doing all these things with your brother instead of watching over him. Charlie misses you. He doesn't sleep well and I think he's lonely. I think he knows that somebody is missing. And you are, you're missing from every part of our lives and you are missed.
What I wish for you my sweet boy is that you're happy. And loved and warm and taken care of and held when you need it. Please look out for us. And when I come to meet you I will give you that never-ending hug that I wish I could give you now. You have touched my life and touched my heart and not even for a second do I wish that you had never happened. I want for you to be here with us instead, but since you can't be, I need you to know I wouldn't change you out of existence.
I love you forever and ever and ever,
Mommy.
But then there's everything else. Things I don't talk about. There's life after Part 1 and Part 2. And that's the hard part. Facts are easy. The rest changes and every time it changes the pain and grief and longing find a new place of my heart and soul to move in to.
I was talking with Matt last night about Thomas. We don't talk about it very often, only when I can't hold in my grief and it bubbles out. We grieve differently. And because he never really talks about it I often feel like I am the only one who remembers Thomas, the only one that misses him this much, the only one who notices that he's missing. I know I'm not, I know Matt feels that way too, but it's often just very lonely. There is a Walk To Remember here on October 15th. That I so very much want to take part in, take Thomas' brothers to say goodbye and let balloons go for him. But I will be in Edmonton saying goodbye to my grandma who will not be here much longer. When I told Matt that I wished I had known about the walk sooner so I could have booked flights on a different day, he said that though I couldn't go to the walk to remember and say goodbye to Thomas, I was going to say goodbye to Grandma. And my first thought was "I wish that she were the one that was dead and not him". And I know that's a terrible thing to think. But the more I thought about it there are only 4 people in this life that i would not trade- Matt, Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie. Anybody else in my life, even people I am very close to, I would trade in a heartbeat if it meant Thomas could live.
There are some days I wonder if I had known earlier if something could have been changed and all this would have ended differently. What if I had pushed the midwife to send me for an ultrasound when I had a bright pink gush of liquid at 13w5d? Would they have been able to do anything? I know probably not, but I still wonder. There is one thing that I deeply regret. And that's not bringing home the placenta to bury in the summer. I wish I had thought that through further, had the foresight to know I would regret that. Instead of Having Thomas' remains respected and lovingly placed in the ground I chose to have the hospital dispose of them. To throw my sweet little Thomas out with the other garbage. And I hate that I let them do that. And I wish that I had thought about that.
I keep waiting for the grief to lessen. And some days it does. But it's always there. And a year later I think I'm coming to the realization that this grief will always be here. That it will always be a part of me and will never fade into the background like I thought it would. And some days it's hard to accept that. And some days I'm glad for that because even if I'm the only one who remembers, Thomas will never ever be forgotten.
Dear Thomas,
Not a day has gone by that I don't think of you. Long for you. Wish that you were here. Some days it's fine, you're in my thoughts and life carries on. Some days it's with every breath in and every breath out that I think of you. And some days, like this weekend, you not being here hits me so hard that I am knocked to my knees and I can't breath and all that can come out are body-shaking sobs. Those days are less than they were before, but they still happen. I wasn't prepared for this. I thought that by now I would "be over it". Not that I would have forgotten you, but that the grief would be in memory and wouldn't be so raw, wouldn't some days feel so new and fresh.
I watch your brothers and I think about how they are also missing you from their lives. I watch Charlie without you and I miss you even more. I know what you would be doing and what stage you would be in, because Charlie is doing it, too. And I just wish (wish seems like such a weak word compared to what I do- but I don't know what word to use) that you were beside him, sucking on his fingers and him sucking on yours. Pulling at each others faces and laying beside each other. Starting to try to crawl, doing all these things with your brother instead of watching over him. Charlie misses you. He doesn't sleep well and I think he's lonely. I think he knows that somebody is missing. And you are, you're missing from every part of our lives and you are missed.
What I wish for you my sweet boy is that you're happy. And loved and warm and taken care of and held when you need it. Please look out for us. And when I come to meet you I will give you that never-ending hug that I wish I could give you now. You have touched my life and touched my heart and not even for a second do I wish that you had never happened. I want for you to be here with us instead, but since you can't be, I need you to know I wouldn't change you out of existence.
I love you forever and ever and ever,
Mommy.
Tuesday, 20 September 2011
Thomas part 2
After that day the pregnacy became really difficult emotionally. Matthew distanced himself from the baby which was hard on me. I just tried to stay functional for the older boys. I went off work pretty early so I could focus on taking care of myself and the boys.
After several fetal assessments everything with Charile was cleared and we were told we had a healthy baby boy in there. It was really hard to accept that he was healthy when his brother was dead and we had been told that he may not make it either. The rest of the pregnancy was spent on pins and needles. The midwife and OB I was seeing were fantastic and did their best to reassure me.
For a few ultrasounds the twin was still very visible and each time Charlie could be seen nuzzling his little head into the tiny face of Thomas. We have a few pictures of this and I cherish them. They are the only photos I will ever ever have of my sweet Thomas. As the pregnancy progressed and I had regular fetal assessment, the twin becasme smaller and smaller. He was growing into the placenta. I like to believe that he helped Charile to grow and stay healthy. The last fetal assessment I had at 38 weeks the nurse could not find any evidence of the twin. I was both happy and devestated.
I think the hardest part of the pregnancy once we got the news that Charlie would be OK was knowing I had a dead baby inside of me. I had a perfect living bay as well, but I had a dead child who I would never get to hold or burp or feed or change or love or get grumpy at or see play with the older kids. That aspect really did a number on my head.
I went into labour on January 12th at 10:30 pm. After 7 hours and the most amazing positive birth experience (which I will likey write out on here soon) my beautiful Charlie was born. For the first time in three births I got to hold my baby right away. And hold him I did! For three straight hours before anybody moved him off of me to weigh or clean or anything. That was the very best 3 hours of my life. Once Charlie was born my midwife started getting a bit antsy. My placenta was NOT coming out. this was especially a concern because in Bravos birth the membranes had grown into my c/s scar and the placenta didn't release that time, either. And the membranes in Bravo's birth required a lot of intervention to get them out.
Anyway. my midwife started saying to the nurse that if the placenta didn't come out soon then we would be consulting with the OB on call. And I really didn't want that. I wanted to keep holding Charlie and not have to go to the OR like last time. All of a sudden in my head flashed something from one of Ina May Gaskin's books. She has some good things to say, but mostly I think she's crazy. They are contractions, NOT rushes. And birth hurts even if you're not afraid of it. But whatever. I rememberd a story in one of her books where the placenta wasn't coming out. The mom was a single mom and wanted to stay pregnant. She was having a difficult trasition to motherhood. And Ina May asked her if there was anything she needed to let go of, anything that would be causing her body to retain the placenta. And I realized that I was holding on emotionally to the pregnancy. Becasue as soon as I was no longer pregnant, as soon as that placenta came out, Thomas was gone forever. Right then he was still safe inside, but when he came out that was it. So in my head I said good bye. I told my sweet baby that I loved him endlessly and that he would never be forgotten and I let go. Geeze. 8 months later I'm crying as I type this. As soon as I said goodbye the placenta came out perfectly intact. I know this makes me sound crazy, but there it is.
Before the birth I had spoken with my doula and my midwife and told them I wanted the placenta to stay in the room with me and when I was ready I wanted them to show me. I think it was about 2 hours after Charlie was born Matt sat by my head and I held sweet baby Charlie in my arms and the midwife brought the placenta over.
It was mostly just grown into the membranes. There was about a 2-ish inch curved baby-ish shape in a section of the otherwise thin normal membranes. It didn't look like much, and the MW said it quite possibly would have been overlooked if we didn't know what it was. It was wierd, knowing that it was almost a person and was instead a white 2 inch blob that grew into the membranes, But that inside of it there would have been the start of brains and a heart and lungs and all other people making stuff. I am really glad I looked at it. Seeing what was left of sweet Thomas did bring a bit of peace. I think I would be regretting it had I NOT looked.
So there's Thomas's birth and death. There's more to that birth and there's still more to Thomas' story. But I really didn't count on the emotional impact of writing this out. So that's enough today.
Tomorrow will be a happier post!
After several fetal assessments everything with Charile was cleared and we were told we had a healthy baby boy in there. It was really hard to accept that he was healthy when his brother was dead and we had been told that he may not make it either. The rest of the pregnancy was spent on pins and needles. The midwife and OB I was seeing were fantastic and did their best to reassure me.
For a few ultrasounds the twin was still very visible and each time Charlie could be seen nuzzling his little head into the tiny face of Thomas. We have a few pictures of this and I cherish them. They are the only photos I will ever ever have of my sweet Thomas. As the pregnancy progressed and I had regular fetal assessment, the twin becasme smaller and smaller. He was growing into the placenta. I like to believe that he helped Charile to grow and stay healthy. The last fetal assessment I had at 38 weeks the nurse could not find any evidence of the twin. I was both happy and devestated.
I think the hardest part of the pregnancy once we got the news that Charlie would be OK was knowing I had a dead baby inside of me. I had a perfect living bay as well, but I had a dead child who I would never get to hold or burp or feed or change or love or get grumpy at or see play with the older kids. That aspect really did a number on my head.
I went into labour on January 12th at 10:30 pm. After 7 hours and the most amazing positive birth experience (which I will likey write out on here soon) my beautiful Charlie was born. For the first time in three births I got to hold my baby right away. And hold him I did! For three straight hours before anybody moved him off of me to weigh or clean or anything. That was the very best 3 hours of my life. Once Charlie was born my midwife started getting a bit antsy. My placenta was NOT coming out. this was especially a concern because in Bravos birth the membranes had grown into my c/s scar and the placenta didn't release that time, either. And the membranes in Bravo's birth required a lot of intervention to get them out.
Anyway. my midwife started saying to the nurse that if the placenta didn't come out soon then we would be consulting with the OB on call. And I really didn't want that. I wanted to keep holding Charlie and not have to go to the OR like last time. All of a sudden in my head flashed something from one of Ina May Gaskin's books. She has some good things to say, but mostly I think she's crazy. They are contractions, NOT rushes. And birth hurts even if you're not afraid of it. But whatever. I rememberd a story in one of her books where the placenta wasn't coming out. The mom was a single mom and wanted to stay pregnant. She was having a difficult trasition to motherhood. And Ina May asked her if there was anything she needed to let go of, anything that would be causing her body to retain the placenta. And I realized that I was holding on emotionally to the pregnancy. Becasue as soon as I was no longer pregnant, as soon as that placenta came out, Thomas was gone forever. Right then he was still safe inside, but when he came out that was it. So in my head I said good bye. I told my sweet baby that I loved him endlessly and that he would never be forgotten and I let go. Geeze. 8 months later I'm crying as I type this. As soon as I said goodbye the placenta came out perfectly intact. I know this makes me sound crazy, but there it is.
Before the birth I had spoken with my doula and my midwife and told them I wanted the placenta to stay in the room with me and when I was ready I wanted them to show me. I think it was about 2 hours after Charlie was born Matt sat by my head and I held sweet baby Charlie in my arms and the midwife brought the placenta over.
It was mostly just grown into the membranes. There was about a 2-ish inch curved baby-ish shape in a section of the otherwise thin normal membranes. It didn't look like much, and the MW said it quite possibly would have been overlooked if we didn't know what it was. It was wierd, knowing that it was almost a person and was instead a white 2 inch blob that grew into the membranes, But that inside of it there would have been the start of brains and a heart and lungs and all other people making stuff. I am really glad I looked at it. Seeing what was left of sweet Thomas did bring a bit of peace. I think I would be regretting it had I NOT looked.
So there's Thomas's birth and death. There's more to that birth and there's still more to Thomas' story. But I really didn't count on the emotional impact of writing this out. So that's enough today.
Tomorrow will be a happier post!
Monday, 19 September 2011
Thomas. Part 1.
Thomas.
The one name that I can't make up or fake away. The one member of our family that I can't bear to call anything but Thomas. He's weighing heavily on my heart these days. And I would like to tell his story. I've never written out the whole thing or even told anybody the whole story, especially not at one time.Well, really I don't think it will all fit in one post.
So here goes. It's going to be long. But I think I need to do this.there is a lot of guilt around my sweet Thomas, and some days I think I'm silly for still being so sad about him.
This is not a very light-hearted post. So be warned.
So here's Thomas' story from the beginning.
Matt and I had been trying for our third baby for a little while. In early May 2010 I was convinced that it would not be "the month" and I was working my brain around that. Then Alpha (2.5 at the time) came up to me and lifted my shirt and kissed my belly and said "there's a baby in there, hello baby". I was pretty shocked as he had no idea we were trying and didn't know any pregnant people. 4 days later.... PREGNANT! We were elated. a few weeks after that Alpha told me it was a boy. And then he named him "Baby Charlie". Funny that the name he picked out of a long rambled list (full of some I didn't even like) was the one that was near the top. So Charlie's name kind of stuck. A week or two after that Alpha kissed my belly again and told me there were two babies in there. Oh. At this point I had been suspecting twins. I was HUGE, and more than would be expected for 8 weeks with my third child. At 13 weeks I looked as big as I had been at 5 or 6 months. I was measuring "on dates" with my midwife, but that also made me suspect something as with the previous two I ALWAYS measured 3 or 4 weeks behind. Then when Alpha told me that I was pretty sure. I joked about it with Matt a bit but kind of kept it to myself. I knew a guy at work who had twins and my plan was as soon as I got out of my 20 ultrasound to go see him and ask about twins. To ask what it was like to double your children in one pregnancy. I was sure. Matt mostly just joked around and said things like "you'll have to pick which one you want to keep!" Joking yes, but those words haunt him still. I remember thinking that I didn't really want twins. And the guilt of that eats me.
August 26th, 2010. That day is locked in my memory. I had my 20 week u/s. I wasn't nervous. I had been with Alpha and Bravo. I had been worried that something would be wrong etc etc etc. But not this time. I was calm and confident in the pregnancy. Matt was able to come because school wasn't in yet. Thankfully.
For some reason I didn't ask how many were in there. I did with the first two but not with this one. I lay on the table and I was watching the tech's face. It looked....odd. I made a comment to her and she said she was just concentrating and I should stop watching her. OK. Then she left the room and said I could get Matt. Matt came in, then the tech came in, then a doctor came in. I asked if we should be worried. She said "yes." My heart dropped. I had seen the heart beat, but what was wrong with my sweet baby? The doctor started looking around and was describing a cyst of unknown origin on the baby's kidneys. It looked like there might be more problems with them as well. She said it may mean any number of things, but it may mean nothing. I can't figure out to this day why she said the following and didn't wait until I had a fetal assessment. She said "it could be that the baby is fine. It could be something that disappears. It could be something that the baby can live with. It could mean immediate surgery upon the birth of the baby, or it could mean still birth or even neonatal death". Wow. That was a big range of "it could be"s.
Then the other shoe dropped. There were two babies in there. Charlie and his twin. But his sweet baby twin had died in early second trimester. I remember a big gush of bright pink fluid at 13w5d, but because my midwife found a heartbeat a day later I wasn't sent for an ultrasound. The air felt like it left the room. I was right. I had twins! I would get to hold two babies at once! I would have to learn how to juggle the needs of a 1.5 yr old, a 3 yr old AND two new babies. That's what I should have been planning. Instead I was kicked out of the club of "twin mommy" the very same moment I was brought into it.
We were in shock. We sat in the room and held each other and cried for a few minutes then made a sorry attempt to regain our composure and left. I think I sobbed all the way to the car. We sat in the car and cried. We drove home. I went straight into the basement so the older two boys wouldn't see me because I was a mess. My Dad was there looking after them so Matt sent him down. I got out a mumble about one of the babies might be OK and one was not. That's how I got to share the twin news. By telling my dad I had a dead baby inside of me. Dad agreed to watch the boys for the rest of the day so we could do what we need to do and not worry about Alpha and Bravo. We went and had breakfast at a nearby restaurant. The girl seating us could tell we were not OK so she tucked us into the closed section of the restaurant so we could have a bit of privacy. Or to not scare the other people. Whatever. It was nice.
When we were at home earlier I had called my midwife to tell her about the ultrasound and she said she already knew and asked if I would like to come in that afternoon for an extra appointment. So after breakfast (lunch, whatever it was) Matthew drove to a fancy maternity store to buy me a new pair of jeans. Retail therapy. The lady there probably thought I was crazy as I kept bursting into tears. Or maybe she was used to hormonal women and didn't think too much of it. After that we went to the appointment and cried some more. We listened to the baby again for quite awhile and were told we would get an appointment with a OB/GYN and one with fetal assessment and we'd go from there.
That night after the boys were in bed we cried some more. Then we happened to glance out the window and saw a couple standing on our lawn beside the big "SOLD" sign. We had closed on our house 3 days earlier and this was the couple that bought it. So we went outside and offered to take their picture together instead of one at a time. Then we sat and chatted with them for quite a while. It was a nice distraction and thankfully it was dark out so they couldn't see my red swollen face.
This is a day that is etched in my memory. The day my baby died. The day I learned that my other baby might not make it. I wanted to take comfort in the fact that one baby was still living, but I had been told that could be taken away from me in a heartbeat as well. There was very little that day to find comfort in.
The rest of this story is also long and the birth had a lot to do with Thomas as well, and then there's the story of his name. But that's enough for now.
The one name that I can't make up or fake away. The one member of our family that I can't bear to call anything but Thomas. He's weighing heavily on my heart these days. And I would like to tell his story. I've never written out the whole thing or even told anybody the whole story, especially not at one time.Well, really I don't think it will all fit in one post.
So here goes. It's going to be long. But I think I need to do this.there is a lot of guilt around my sweet Thomas, and some days I think I'm silly for still being so sad about him.
This is not a very light-hearted post. So be warned.
So here's Thomas' story from the beginning.
Matt and I had been trying for our third baby for a little while. In early May 2010 I was convinced that it would not be "the month" and I was working my brain around that. Then Alpha (2.5 at the time) came up to me and lifted my shirt and kissed my belly and said "there's a baby in there, hello baby". I was pretty shocked as he had no idea we were trying and didn't know any pregnant people. 4 days later.... PREGNANT! We were elated. a few weeks after that Alpha told me it was a boy. And then he named him "Baby Charlie". Funny that the name he picked out of a long rambled list (full of some I didn't even like) was the one that was near the top. So Charlie's name kind of stuck. A week or two after that Alpha kissed my belly again and told me there were two babies in there. Oh. At this point I had been suspecting twins. I was HUGE, and more than would be expected for 8 weeks with my third child. At 13 weeks I looked as big as I had been at 5 or 6 months. I was measuring "on dates" with my midwife, but that also made me suspect something as with the previous two I ALWAYS measured 3 or 4 weeks behind. Then when Alpha told me that I was pretty sure. I joked about it with Matt a bit but kind of kept it to myself. I knew a guy at work who had twins and my plan was as soon as I got out of my 20 ultrasound to go see him and ask about twins. To ask what it was like to double your children in one pregnancy. I was sure. Matt mostly just joked around and said things like "you'll have to pick which one you want to keep!" Joking yes, but those words haunt him still. I remember thinking that I didn't really want twins. And the guilt of that eats me.
August 26th, 2010. That day is locked in my memory. I had my 20 week u/s. I wasn't nervous. I had been with Alpha and Bravo. I had been worried that something would be wrong etc etc etc. But not this time. I was calm and confident in the pregnancy. Matt was able to come because school wasn't in yet. Thankfully.
For some reason I didn't ask how many were in there. I did with the first two but not with this one. I lay on the table and I was watching the tech's face. It looked....odd. I made a comment to her and she said she was just concentrating and I should stop watching her. OK. Then she left the room and said I could get Matt. Matt came in, then the tech came in, then a doctor came in. I asked if we should be worried. She said "yes." My heart dropped. I had seen the heart beat, but what was wrong with my sweet baby? The doctor started looking around and was describing a cyst of unknown origin on the baby's kidneys. It looked like there might be more problems with them as well. She said it may mean any number of things, but it may mean nothing. I can't figure out to this day why she said the following and didn't wait until I had a fetal assessment. She said "it could be that the baby is fine. It could be something that disappears. It could be something that the baby can live with. It could mean immediate surgery upon the birth of the baby, or it could mean still birth or even neonatal death". Wow. That was a big range of "it could be"s.
Then the other shoe dropped. There were two babies in there. Charlie and his twin. But his sweet baby twin had died in early second trimester. I remember a big gush of bright pink fluid at 13w5d, but because my midwife found a heartbeat a day later I wasn't sent for an ultrasound. The air felt like it left the room. I was right. I had twins! I would get to hold two babies at once! I would have to learn how to juggle the needs of a 1.5 yr old, a 3 yr old AND two new babies. That's what I should have been planning. Instead I was kicked out of the club of "twin mommy" the very same moment I was brought into it.
We were in shock. We sat in the room and held each other and cried for a few minutes then made a sorry attempt to regain our composure and left. I think I sobbed all the way to the car. We sat in the car and cried. We drove home. I went straight into the basement so the older two boys wouldn't see me because I was a mess. My Dad was there looking after them so Matt sent him down. I got out a mumble about one of the babies might be OK and one was not. That's how I got to share the twin news. By telling my dad I had a dead baby inside of me. Dad agreed to watch the boys for the rest of the day so we could do what we need to do and not worry about Alpha and Bravo. We went and had breakfast at a nearby restaurant. The girl seating us could tell we were not OK so she tucked us into the closed section of the restaurant so we could have a bit of privacy. Or to not scare the other people. Whatever. It was nice.
When we were at home earlier I had called my midwife to tell her about the ultrasound and she said she already knew and asked if I would like to come in that afternoon for an extra appointment. So after breakfast (lunch, whatever it was) Matthew drove to a fancy maternity store to buy me a new pair of jeans. Retail therapy. The lady there probably thought I was crazy as I kept bursting into tears. Or maybe she was used to hormonal women and didn't think too much of it. After that we went to the appointment and cried some more. We listened to the baby again for quite awhile and were told we would get an appointment with a OB/GYN and one with fetal assessment and we'd go from there.
That night after the boys were in bed we cried some more. Then we happened to glance out the window and saw a couple standing on our lawn beside the big "SOLD" sign. We had closed on our house 3 days earlier and this was the couple that bought it. So we went outside and offered to take their picture together instead of one at a time. Then we sat and chatted with them for quite a while. It was a nice distraction and thankfully it was dark out so they couldn't see my red swollen face.
This is a day that is etched in my memory. The day my baby died. The day I learned that my other baby might not make it. I wanted to take comfort in the fact that one baby was still living, but I had been told that could be taken away from me in a heartbeat as well. There was very little that day to find comfort in.
The rest of this story is also long and the birth had a lot to do with Thomas as well, and then there's the story of his name. But that's enough for now.
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