Rebuilding Myself

While I never would have used the particular word, bitterness was a part of the initial ball of emotions surrounding the loss of Avery and Sophie.  It wasn’t easily separated from the hurt, anger, and disappointment … and at the time I think I would have denied its presence, but looking back, I know it was there.

Several experiences recently have highlighted for me just how present bitterness can be after a loss … but have also highlighted just how necessary it is to let it go in order to continue the healing process.

It can be hard, because bitterness (like anger) is easier to wield than hurt and pain, but eventually it needs to be released.  Because without release, it just grows until everything good about your baby/babies is completely eclipsed by it. 

And I know that is the last thing that a baby-loss mama wants – to have her child only associated with the bitterness she holds.

I wish I had a tidy wrap up to this post, some profound solution to dealing with the bitterness that is bound to at least rear its head at some point.  But I don’t …  just rambling thoughts and observations today.

Hard to believe that 3 years have passed.  Remembering through the night and into the morning, it seems hard to believe that the time has disappeared so fast.

Happy Birthday my sweet baby girls.  How I wish we could help you celebrate your 3rd birthday on earth instead of your third in heaven.

We still miss you every day.  Love Momma, Daddy, and your baby brother Kai.

There was someone fairly famous here in town today.  Not usually one for this sort of thing, I trekked out with the masses hoping to get an autograph, because honestly, he tops the list of people I would most like to meet.

As I handed him my item to sign, I found myself getting choked up a little.  Not because I shook hands with someone famous, but because I got to hand him a tiny NHL jersey and tell him I was getting it signed for my son.

Man, it felt good to be able to say that.

For some reason, when I think of Avery and Sophie, I never have pictured them as babies.  In my mind, they have always been sturdy little toddlers – brown eyes, curly hair … running around getting into mischief.  I don’t know why, but right from the start, this is the picture I have of them.

I don’t know where the time has gone, but Kai is now all of these things.  Somehow in the last months, his babyhood has slipped away … he is a full-blown toddler these days.  Sturdy, with brown eyes and curly hair, he is into mischief all the time.

It’s a bit bizarre that he brings to life the images I have in my head of them.  It is so bittersweet.  In many ways, I feel like I get to experience a little of what I lost … but it others, it brings to life exactly what all we will never have.

It just reinforces the fact that grief never disappears … it simply morphs into different forms.

On Friday, I spent a lot of time thinking about the twins.  I thought about all those I know who have lost babes.  I wished that none of us knew about the date.

But I also spent a lot of time thinking about this little man.  And squishing him, and playing with him, and listening to his little giggles … and invariable, forgetting to post what was on my mind.

And I found it strange that even a year later I still struggle to figure out how these two parts of me work together – how they weave together to make me me.  Some days I think I have it mastered pretty well.  Others, like Friday, I realize that I probably never will. 

So while nothing got posted on Friday itself (despite my best intentions), please know you were all thought of and remembered …

It’s hard for me to even look at those words.  The emotions they bring up are unbelievable.

• excitement … at the thought of adding to our family
• Shock and disbelief … at the audacity we have to believe we might get lucky again
• Fear … at the thought of putting ourselves our there, of another pregnancy, of the possibility of further loss

DH was ready to begin trying again for another little one shortly after Kai’s birth.  Me, not so much.  I would love to have another child at home (if possible) BUT that involves trying again.  And I am not feeling so ready for that.

Thankfully it hasn’t been an issue so far.  Kai is still breastfeeding and AF has yet to return.  But as we slowly cut down his feeds (down to 1 a day now) I know her return is coming.

So I am trying to sort through all the emotions … because really, trying again is just around the corner.

Within months of losing Avery and Sophie, I knew I wanted to get a tattoo in their memory.  With the very fragile state I was in however, I decided to put it off until I knew what, where … and knew both for quite a while.

And finally, this fall – just shy of their third birthday – I was able to get it done.  And it is absolutely perfect.

On my inner ankle (somehow it felt the right mix of public/private/vulnerable/and not), I wanted something that was very much “them” without being blatantly babyloss.  I wanted to allow myself to be able to avoid that conversation if needed – while not as common now, there are still times I just feel too fragile to talk about my girls without knowing what the reaction will be.

The butterflies, like for so many other baby loss mommas, remind me of my girls – they are each unique to represent the uniqueness of the girls, despite their identical genes. 

The swirl is what connects the two – showing that although two beings, they were intricately and completely connected.  If you look close, the swirls include an “S” and an “A”, each associated with one butterfly.

And I honestly can’t even express how “right” it feels to have it done.  People have asked if I am shocked to see it there – and the answer is no.  It just is right, the way it is supposed to be.  My girls aren’t here, but they left a permanent mark on my life … it only feels right that there is a physical, tangible mark that represents that. And somehow, it feels like I now get to carry a little piece of them with me, wherever I go – as long as I am on this earth.

A year ago his lusty cry as he entered the world reminded us how to smile again.  Through the long newborn nights, his warm, squirmy little body slowly healed the places I thought may never again be whole.

And as I gaze at the curious mischievous toddler that somehow took my baby’s place, I am in awe.  What an amazing gift we have been given.

Although I have millions of words I could say about Kai, today just a few will have to do.

I love you more than I could ever express, my little man.  You are growing into an easy-going, adventurous, curious child – and you continue to bring smiles to our faces every day.  You are a natural entertainer, and always have time for a laugh and a smile.  Although no child should have to shoulder the burden of healing, through you, God has brought healing to your parents’ souls. 

You are the child we dared to hope for … and every day I thank God that he chose to give you to us 1 year ago.

Happy Birthday Kai.  Mommy and Daddy love you.

Not the way I would have wanted it, but finally, all together.

Little Man, hanging out beside the tattoo for his big sisters.  Only 3 years after the fact, I finally got the tattoo I wanted in their honour.  It is still healing, but I will post a picture once it is completely healed.  It is perfect though – exactly what I wanted it to be.

I never wanted to be that woman … the one whose journey I followed daily until she abandoned her blog shortly after her rainbow baby was born.  “Don’t Go”, I wanted to yell – I need to know it will be okay.  I want to know what it is like on the other side.

But I find myself there.  Slowly my blog is dying.  I just have less to say these days.  This blog was my grief blog, my safe space to talk about the girls.  Yet somehow, as Monkey grows, I feel better incorporating them completely into my life.  I include them in conversation more, I speak their names out loud, I share my grief with others.  I think it is that I am finally strong enough to weather the blank stares, awkward pauses, and incorrect words as people stumble through what to do and say.

And so, I find this space becoming increasingly neglected.  I still follow each of your blogs … I love hearing everyones’ words and stories.  But I find mine lacking.

I have kept pushing off the inevitable, thinking maybe it was just for a short time.  But it isn’t.  And so, I am walking away from this space.  I don’t know that I will be gone forever … in fact, I anticipate there will be times where I will return.  But they will be few and far between.

Thank you so much for following me on my journey, for cheering me on, for holding onto my hope when I didn’t have the strength.  I will continue to follow you … and one day, I may return to this space.  

But for now, I am going offline for awhile.  Me and my little brown-eyed man have some serious playing to do.