Archive for June, 2008

What I Wish I Could Tell You …

When I rush out of the room, I am not trying to be rude, I just can’t take the conversation or your baby anymore.

I don’t mean to be snarky or mean, but sometimes it has taken every piece of energy I have just to get out of bed and make it to work, being nice to well-intentioned but ill-informed people is just beyond me right now.

I need to talk about my babies, it doesn’t make me sadder or more upset.  In fact, I actually find it theraputic to speak of the joy they brought to my life, even if it was such a short time.

I am not a transmittable disease and I promise I won’t bite.  It hurts when I see you avoid me in the halls because you don’t know what to say.

When I do laugh, have a good time, or even venture to holding a newborn, please don’t look at me like I am some strange form of alien … I am working to find a new “normal” where all these things are necessary.  I would prefer not to be analyzed while I figure them out.

I don’t see life quite like you do anymore, I don’t take pregnancy and babies for granted.  This doesn’t mean that we can’t still be friends, just that our opinions won’t always be the same.

“Me” still exists and needs you … I just also need your understanding and care as I work through the difference this has made.

My world has fallen apart, and it will take time to put it together again.  Please be patient with me.


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Taking the Leap

There has been lots of talk recently in the deadbaby blogosphere (where I silently frequent) about pregnancy – both those that are, and those that are dreamed about – Glow in the Woods, Busted BabyMaker, and So Dear and Yet So Far just to name a few.

Among these women I feel as though I have found a home, a place where pregnancy is not all fun and games, where we don’t talk about “when the baby is born” as fact, a place where fear is as real as the intense joy.

As my husband and I have started down the road towards another child, I have realized just how much I have changed.  I desperately want the end product – a baby in my arms – but I am now terrified of the journey.  I no longer get excited about maternity clothes or baby shopping, I can’t image someone asking “when are you due?” again.  I used to think a baby bump meant you were safe, I now know that is never the case.

Sometimes it is nearly enough to stop trying, the thought of being back in a place like November is too horrifying to dwell on.  I can’t imagine having to hold another child in my arms that will not be coming home.

And yet, we continue forward, propelled by our desire, fueled by love, terrified to death.  We have taken the leap, and as much as I sometimes want to, we will not turn back.  And so I turn to this place for comfort, just to hear that I am not alone … there are others on this same strange and frightening journey I am travelling on.

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Recontructing Me

After losing our girls, my world fell apart.  Everything I thought was me lay shattered  in pieces … I didn’t know how I would ever put myself back together again.

As the months have passed, and I have slowly begun the process of healing, I have recognized something critically important.  Those pieces will never go back the same way they were before.  Some of them I no longer want or need, some have lost their value, and strangely enough, there are new odd shaped pieces that have appeared, demanding to be a part of the final product.

As obvious as it should have been, it is only in the last month that I have realized grief will never go away, loss will always be a part of me.  I can’t just wait for it to disappear so I can go back to being the old me – it won’t work.  Pardon the awkwardness of the sentence, but “me” is now different.

And so, I am on a journey of rebuilding myself, picking up the pieces – some of my choosing, some not – and discovering who I now am, who I now will be.


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Smooth Hair

As I was running out the door this morning, I took one last look at myself and noticed that my hair was completely smooth – even in my part.  You would think this would make me happy but it didn’t.  Instead, I cried.

As I stared in the mirror it hit me – Avery and Sophie have been gone for over 7 months.  Shortly after losing them I lost a ton of hair.  As it grew back in, I acquired a fuzzy halo of hair that refused to lie down all over my head.  

I took to wearing it curly to hide the short hairs.  I hated them, and the fact that they were a constant reminder of what I lost.

Today I realized that as much as I hated them, I needed them.  They reminded me that the girls were real, for 20 weeks I was their home, they lived and they died.  My hair is now long enough to lay back down, one of my last physical reminders has been taken away.

I still miss you babies.

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Finding a Place

November 12, 2007 … the date my world came crashing down.  After waiting 4 years to get pregnant, my husband and I were devastated when we lost our identical twin girls – Avery and Sophie – at 20 weeks due to twin to twin transfusion.

Ever since, I have been trying to pick “me” up from the broken pieces, trying to rediscover who I am, trying to find a way to move on.

Although I have another blog, I have finally realized it is not the safe place I need it to be.  My friends and family simply don’t understand.  I have come looking for a safe place, a place to chronicle my journey, a place of anonymity but also of community, I have come to find a place for me.

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