acceptance and love

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.

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.

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.

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 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??

too much grief

Every where I turn people are grieving. People who have lost babies, people whose husbands are leaving them, people who in secret had a baby 40 years ago and gave it up for adoption because of family shame and still regret it. People who lost jobs, a friend whose 14 month old baby died. They knew it was coming and were waiting for the day when sweet baby Rachel wouldn't be with them, and then poof. She's gone and their grief entered a whole new world. There is big grief and little grief, long term grief and "get over it fast" grief. But every where I turn people are hurting. And that makes me sad.

My good good friend's husband just left her and their 2 beautiful boys. And I can't stop thinking about her and feeling so sad for her. I've been telling Alpha and Bravo all day that Daddy and I love them and that Daddy and I love each other. All last night after we found out Matthew and I just kept touching each other's leg or arm or whatever and telling each other "I love you".

I seem to be more touched by people's grief since losing Thomas. I mean, I had empathy before. I hated to see people sad, I would (usually) try to do something to help, but I wasn't grieving, I was OK, so it just didn't affect me as much.

Since losing Thomas I weep when I hear about a baby dying or a pregnancy not ending happily, or even a child getting recoverably sick. I feel so deeply sad for people when they are hurting. Because I don't want people to hurt. I want to get big colourful emotional bandages and stick them on people and kiss them and make them feel better. But life doesn't work that way.

One phrase that has started driving me a little crazy is "you'll never get more than  you can handle". I don't believe that. Not even for a second. I know some people deeply believe that. I don't. Just because you come out the other end doesn't mean you can handle something. I think of Matt's Grandpa who was an old-time war vet. I have tried to think about what it would be like to be in that war. To have bullets zooming all around, to be spraying bullets yourself. To be covered in your own blood and your friend's blood. And I can't even begin to imagine what that does to your heart, soul, and brain. And then like so many others, when he finally came home 5 years later he was an alcoholic. Clearly, it was too much for him to handle.

people do what they can to cope. And sometimes it turns out that they can cope in good and healthy ways, and sometimes they can't. We don't have a choice but to "handle" something. It doesn't make us strong, it doesn't make us brave, there was no choice given. It just is. And these events change us. And sometimes it's hard change and it's for the better. And sometimes it's hard change and it's for the worse. If people were never given more than they could handle there would be no suicide, no alcoholism, fewer cases of true depression, fewer heart aches. Less crying and more joy.

I have had a few things in my life, 3 events actually, that have honestly been too much for me to handle. One event led to me never speaking to my brother again. The last time I spoke to him was 10 years ago, and I will never speak to him again. At least not until my parents die and then he's my "responsibility" But even then I will try to talk to the workers involved and not him. That event, or rather culmination of events, was far more than I could handle. And it changed me. It made me bitter, it made me me cynical. I changed from the happy-go-lucky sweet, laughs easily, innocent girl that I was. And I miss that person.
Another event just changed me. Not in any way that I can articulate, but it changed me.Although since then I am far more careful. With people and with things, with words and with wielding my emotions. And Thomas changed me. Both for the good and for the less-good. I am more empathetic. I am more caring. And I am far more sad. I appreciate life more, but I am overly cautious. I no longer jump into life with both feet.

I don't even know what this post is really about. I am strong. And I know I will survive whatever things life throws my way, even really awful things, because I have no choice. And most people are the same way.

I guess I just miss being a kid, miss life before my heart was so broken I could hardly see through tears to put it back together. And it breaks my heart to know that other people have pain and grief and are trying to put their souls, hearts, brains, and lives back together through a wall of tears. And though I have had grief, I know that it has never touched the level of grief that others have. And that makes me even sadder.

wah wah.......(you know the sound effect, right?)