Even When There Was Just Hope For You

September 14, 2015

I follow so many ttcers at so many different stages.  Some have happily completed their families, while others are still in the trenches begging God for "just one."  Many are in the middle-they got a baby and dare they hope or try for another?  I recently saw an Instagram post from someone who posted:

"We loved you before we knew you, even when there was just hope for you-we loved you."

Oh. My. Heart.  I loved Noah and Beckom before I even knew they existed.  They were just the random frozen embryos in the freezer at OHSU that I would say hi to when we drove by when I was pregnant with Jude and Brinly, but I loved them for the hope I had in them.  When I lost Jude and Brinly, my love for the remaining embryos increased as I desperately wanted to meet their siblings.

That March morning when we sat in OHSU with Becky (our carrier), Tom (her husband), Darren and I in the transfer room, there was just hope.

My mom had my sister and I pick out Halloween costumes for the kids as a gift and we did pre-Halloween photo shoot this weekend. 

I have a special Magnolia tree a family friend gave me in honor of Jude and Brinly.  For people who are not familiar with the story, I spread a little bit of Jude's ashes in the tree the day after we surprised our family with our surrogate's pregnancy.  The tree has a whole new meaning to me because of what it represents and because it's all I have left of Jude on this earth.

I got this idea for a photo of putting Noah and Beckom standing by the tree.  It would be our first family picture of all the brothers.  The closest thing to a sibling picture we will ever know.  How sweet would that picture look, in our new house of my three boys?  It's not heavy.  It's not sad.  Only close friends and family would realize how deep the picture is.

For the shoot, the boys were sleepy, not smiley, and honestly, probably super confused as to why they were in ridicoulsy puffy lion outfits.  But my brother took the picture, and it is so sweet.

Darren and I were looking at the pictures last night and all the sudden I had a wave of sadness mixed with terror.  I realized that little Noah or Beckom literally could have been Jude.  They could have been the ones that didn't make it and could have been the ones cremated inside that tree.  It was a matter of what random embryo the embryologist selected to implant out of the 9 embryos that had made it to the "blast" stage.  With one flinch of his hand, he could have implanted Noah or Beckom instead of little Jude and Brinly. Because Jude and Brinly went first, they saved their lives. 

Jude and Brinly, I love you so much.  Noah and Beckom do not replace you, but they have filled our hearts with hope and redemption and love and  happiness.  You will always be my first born daughter and son and their older sister and  brother.  I love your brothers with every ounce of my being.  Seeing their faces lets me imagine what your faces would have been like now.  I am sorry that you didn't get to stay and we miss you.  Because of your deaths, we were able to figure out the problem with my cervix and give Noah and Beckom a safer journey to life.  Thank you for that, my little loves.

To all the women still fighting, keep loving your babies, even if there is just hope for them in this moment. 

 

In Loving Memory of Brinly and Jude

March 16, 2015

This month I have gotten a few "reminders" of Jude and Brinly-two "Happy 1 year old Birthday" cards from their old registries included in that.  Yesterday would have been their twin due date.

When I lost them I joined this great group on facebook for women who have lost all their multiples.  In my deepest grief there was this small pool of strangers who 100% got it.  The horror and pain of losing 1.2.3.4 babies during the same pregnancy.  Many women had lost their twins+ years ago and were still so so sad.  One person asked "Will I ever be happy again?  If I go on to have more kids, will it help heal the loss?"  Many people replied.  Some said no, they were still sad daily even with their kids.  One women wrote that after she had her rainbow son that there was so much love in her heart for him that there was no room for sadness for the twins she had lost.  She explained that it was sad, and always would be, but that she was moving forward and putting all that love into her live son.  I remembered that I wanted to choose that option.  I personally don't want to go through each year saying "She would have been 2"  "She would have started Kindergarden" "He would have been playing this with his cousin" etc.  Because the reality of it is, no they would not have.  They died, there is no "would have been."

We have decided that each year, on March 15 we will do something kind in their honor and make it some kind of a special family holiday.  Maybe when the boys are older we will take them to the falls where we spread Jude's ashes.  If I am being perfectly honest, now that I have Noah and Beckom the pain is more like a distant painful memory in comparison to the overwhelming can't-breathe type of pain I was experiencing last year.  The whole thing is bittersweet-If we had Jude and Brinly we would not have transferred 2 more embryos at once meaning we would never have had Noah and Beckom.  All this to say that I find that I have fallen into the category that I had hoped to.  So full of love for Noah and Beckom that I am not daily sobbing about the loss of Jude and Brinly.  I will forever have a sad spot in my heart but I am also so grateful to get to raise their little siblings.

For those that are new to the story, here is a very sad video of our pregnancy and then loss of Jude and Brinly I made days after they died.  I won't forget them and I won't stop honoring them by doing kind things in their honor on this day.  <3

Letting Go Kind Of

July 30, 2014

School starts early September and in my heart I know it's time to let Jude go by spreading his ashes.

It still feels surreal that I type that.  My daughter and son, died, and I have to plan a service for them.  Is this my life?

Brinly is buried in a mass grave the hospital does for free for babies lost before 20 weeks.  I quickly agreed to that because at the time my whole focus was on the live baby, Jude.  When he died, they asked if I wanted them cremated together.  I said no.  For some reason, they left this world at different times, it didn't bother me they wouldn't be buried together.  I'm still ok with that.

At first I wanted nothing to do with the ashes.  The whole thing scared me and made me feel creepy and weird.  My mother in law took care of the whole ordeal and found a cemetery where you could sprinkle them in a garden.  However, I panicked at that idea to and asked her to hold on while I sorted through the insane sadness and blurry grief storm I was in.

I thought of Multnomah Falls.  It's a beautiful falls here in the Northwest in the gorge.  We hike there every now and then.  It's special.  The idea came to me to spread his ashes there, in the water.  That way, I could "visit" him when I go there.  I figured that someday I could take our PLEASE GOD future kid/s there to tell them the story of Jude and Brinly, their older brother and sister. 

There is a part of me that doesn't want to spread them.  It's weird, I don't even have/want them in my house.  Pouring out the box is kind of over, the last time in this lifetime that I hold my son, even though we all know he has been in heaven for almost a year.  Someone suggested pouring out half, but we don't do that with bodies?  I just feel sad about it all.  But then I think that this might be a big step in the healing process.  Letting go.  Saying goodbye with my family with me.  Allowing myself to go there-the deepest darkest saddest places that linger in my soul that I try to forget about.  To weep yet again for the devastating loss.  The unfairness.  The pain that I felt.  That Jude and Brinly felt.

My mom asked "how do you want the day to go?"  I'm not sure.  I guess I say goodbye and my family can say anything they want.  Then, I asked my mom that maybe our family could say a prayer for us, right there, for healing and peace.  For bravery.  For courage.  For hope again.  For redemption.

I've always tried to live my life in a way honoring to God that models His values.  But I told my mom-how on earth would anyone want to choose to follow Christ when they witness something like this?  I'm a Christian, I asked for a child, I got pregnant with triplets, they all died.  From the outside, who would want anything to do with Jesus??  I know I wouldn't.  BUT Christ loves redemption.  It's not always how we plan it, see it, but over and over and over again He does make things right.  I myself have begun to lose hope in that; but of course, I want my story to end with redemption.  I still get goose bumps (in a sad way) that days before my water broke I even wrote those lyrics on a decorative board in my house I write quotes on-"let me see redemption win, let me know the struggle ends."  It was almost like my heart knew something was up.

All this to say, hopefully end of summer Darren and I will have the courage/strength to do a memorial service for him, for them, for us.  And then, take another step towards opening up to building the family. 

Lastly, as we work to slowly rebuild our faith, our hope in His goodness, our trust despite things we cannot fathom to understand, Hillsong's Ocean (acoustic version) is my current favorite worship song.  I cry every time I hear it.  Even though I still struggle to find words to say when I pray, this song helps fill in the blanks. <3

The Movie Noah and Everything Else That Led To Public Meltdown

April 27, 2014

Yesterday was Darren's birthday.  It started off with a fun brunch downtown Portland with his family.

The last few days I've had some serious PMS (and negative pregnancy test) letting me know that this
last medicated cycle was a bust, which probably adds to my meltdown.

When we got home, I started reading a book I found online called "Brining in Finn." It's about a woman named Sara who had gotten pregnant via IVF with twins but lost them at 22 weeks due to going into preterm labor.  It's an amazing story of her 7 year IF journey. Every since losing Jude and Brinly I have had to be VERY careful about what I allow myself to read.  I'm been gifted a couple different books, but most the time they end up upsetting me.

For example, Darren got me this book for Christmas of a collection of stories of other women that have suffered a loss.  But unless they lost twins, due to my current grief, it almost made me feel more alone.  I had to put the book down when I read a story SO similar to J and B, but in her story, her Baby A made it after delivering Baby B.  While it's amazing she got the miracle, I couldn't help but feel hurt and forgotten that I did not.

All this to say, I thought maybe I was ready to read a story that I knew had hope at the end.  However, yesterday I spent much of the afternoon reading and ended up bookmarking it right after her cerclage failed and water broke.  Tears streaming down my face, I could relate to the story a little too much.  A smooth pregnancy.  Passing all the "safe" milestones.  And then out of nowhere a horrifying nightmare begins and while you are in it you cannot accept its real.

I had to get ready for dinner with the family and a movie.  At dinner I ran into one of my old favorite students.  She graduated a couple years ago and her and I had gotten close.  I truly love her and her twin sister and still keep in contact.  Anyway, this student had an unplanned pregnancy and was pregnant (much further along) when I was pregnant.  We ended up delivering on the same day (she was 41 weeks, I was 18) and we kept in contact during the hospital.  I am so amazed with the selflessness of this girl-her father had told her of a family he knew of who had gone through failed IVF and wanted to adopt.  She made the decision to carry the child and give her to this family.  Although I was pregnant with twins, I had originally been pregnant with triplets.  When I first heard this, I told her that if anything fell through, I would want to adopt her child.  This is odd because overall we don't feel like adoption is the current route for us.  However, if one of my students offered me something like this, I think I would be 100% in.  I knew for a fact I could love her child with my whole heart because of knowing her.  I also knew that the family she had chosen was awesome, and it was "meant to be" since I was pregnant anyway.

I went up to her to say hi, I hadn't seen her since we were both pregnant.  She ran around, hugged me and then with the sweetest saddest look stepped back, touched her stomach, and frowned at me, acknowledging the sadness that I hide from most people.  In that moment, I felt so loved and I truly felt like she "got it."  "If you know someone who has lost a child and you're afraid to mention them because you think you might make them sad by reminding them that they died, they didn't forget that they died.  You're not reminding them.  What you're reminding them of is that you remember that they lived and that's a great, great gift." Although her child is alive and well, she too experienced a loss to some degree.  She was just pregnant so she could imagine the pain and horror of delivering a baby too soon.  It was one of the first times that someone outside my family had the guts to bring it up and it was beautiful.  She and the adopted parents do open adoption so she gets to see her little girl often. 

After dinner we went to see the movie "Noah."  I knew several Christians are in a uproar because its not biblically accurate (it makes it seem way more legend meets magic meets mythical).  I didn't care since it's Hollywood, we were just curious to see the film.  Overall I thought it was kind of lame, with low-budget looking animations (the animals were all clearly fake) and Noah being slightly evil for a bit.  If you want to watch the movie, don't read further, but this was the straw that broke the camel's back (I'm the camel).

Sham, one of his son's, has a wife who is infertile.  Before boarding the arc, Noah's wife asks their grandfather to "bless" her to make her fertile.  Next thing we know his wife is pregnant.  Noah somehow believes all man kind is evil and that God only wants animals on the earth once the arc lands.  There are no women on the arc besides his own wife and his infertile daughter in law.  When he finds out she is pregnant he informs them that if it's a boy he will spare it but if it's a girl, he will kill the baby (to stop future reproduction).  So,  the couple tries to escape, Noah's wife tries to talk some sense into him, but he is 100% set he will kill the baby.

The girl goes into labor, has a girl and then what?  There is another.  Twins.  It's another girl.  She is sobbing freaking out hysterically because she knows Noah is going to kill them.  I don't know if it was the mirrored hysterical cries that started making me uneasy or the twin thing but I thought I was fine.

Next scene she is holding her babies on top of the arc and Noah comes up with a knife.  The babies are crying hard and she asks if she can comfort them first so they can die peacefully.  She calms them down and then Noah says "you shouldn't watch this" and she looks him in the eyes and says "no, they will die in my arms with me"  (cue second huge lump in my throat).  Noah holds the knife above them for a freakishly long time (my eyes shut trying to ask Darren to narrate) and after about 10 seconds of intense suspense, he lowers his mouth and kisses each one on the cheek.  He didn't kill them.

It all set in.  The book I was reading, my old student encounter, the cramping/spotting, and then the cruel reminder that God is my situation for whatever reason DID lower the knife on my twins, I had to walk out, run to a bathroom.  I put my head on the wall and lost control.  I hate crying in public, the type you can't control.  This rarely happens.  I was trying to be quiet but was probably freaking out the other women coming and going. 

In the car Darren's mom was sweet and said it was hard for her to watch and that she can only imagine how I felt.  I pulled it together but grief is a crazy crazy ride.  I had been strong for so many days.  I found this image on a support group I follow.  It's so true.  The bottom reminds me of grief. 

A Footprint as Small as Brinly's ♥

March 20, 2014

If you bend your pinky forward notice the length from the edge of your nail to the bend in your finger.  This is about the size of Brinly's footprint, my 18 week-stillborn daughter. 

Last weekend would have been Jude and Brinly's full twin-term due date so we asked family, friends, and followers to participate in a day of random acts of kindness.  Throughout the day my inbox and instagram were filled with awesome, caring, heartfelt acts to honor our sweet babies.  In the big
scheme of things, this little day full of small random acts of kindness is no larger than Brinly's footprint in ratio to the world-but I find a small ounce of solace knowing the my daughter and son were able to leave a tiny footprint of love/kindness because of their short existence. 

So many thoughtful things were done, to name a few:  paying for people's coffee, signing up to donate bone marrow, delivering flowers, bringing a neighbor/friend a treat, sveral different types of donations, handing out homemade burp rags to new moms, volunteering, sponsoring children, paying for people's groceries, large tips, paying for a strangers manicure, giving random gift cards to strangers, handing out free water bottles at swim park, writing appreciation cards to all the teachers at my work (Christian club at the high school I work at did this), giving money, knitting blankets for future mommies that lose their babies and donating them to the labor/delivery, serving people in need, the list goes on and on.  My parents made a point to randomly give to a few different expecting moms.  My mother and father in law made an adorable basket with J and B's name and filled it with goodies and drove it to the hospital I delivered them in and shared with the staff.  A group from the church I grew up in organized a free event for local foster children with over 70 children in attendance.

 I made a collage of images, instagram and text messages

Here is what we did: 

If you have been reading my story for awhile by this point you know the pregnant woman, infants, and twin pregnancies/babies all tug at my heart a bit harder.  I am in constant battle to remind myself "it's not her fault she is pregnant and you are not."  I am constantly fighting feelings of jealously and even anger that other people get to walk this road so easily and joyfully.  Seeing a growing belly or hearing a screaming infant instantly reminds me of what I just lost-flashbacks to how everything went horribly wrong are bound to bounce in my head with so many triggers in a fertile world. It feels so cruel. Boy girl twins are extra painful too because again that selfish inner voice asks "Why me?"  To survive I try to stay away from any trigger as every trigger is a constant bitter taste filling my throat and me having to take every ounce of trying to be a good person to swallow hard and smile.  It's not their fault this happened to me.  It's not their fault they are the lucky 90% that get pregnant within the 3-6 months of trying range and will 100% believe their positive pregnancy test.  It's not their fault they finally got pregnant on IVF and that is that, now they get to carry a healthy baby to term.  It's not their fault their cervix isn't crappy.  Its. not. their. fault. holly.

To fight these negative feelings that have taken a home in my soul, Darren let me take the lead on our random acts of kindness, and I chose to, for the weekend at least, NOT to run in the complete opposite direction when "triggers" popped in my path.

Act #1   We gave 2 different moms of twins a date gift card.  For Jude and Brinly

Act #2  I was at Target and I saw a girl around my age walk in with her mom and her little boy (probably 3 months).  I bought them a "baby" gift card and then walked back through the store trying to find them.  I stopped them and before I knew it I was crying. 

Crying in public?  This really through me for a loop.  I went back to work 2 weeks after holding Jude in my arms and haven't shed a single tear on the job-and I've talked to several co-workers in detail about what went down in the hospital those horrid days and walked away ok.  I have mastered the "I'm-okay-in-public" routine so well I must have even deceived myself because starring at the mom with her baby and the desire to tell them why I was stopping them hit a pocket of sadness I didn't realize would surface.

I quickly told them what happened, today would have been the due date, that I wanted to honor them by giving a gift to a mom.  They were perfect recipients.  They teared up themselves and gave me a hug-it had taken her 2.5 years to have her little son.  I had to get out quick-the tears wouldn't stop and I didn't want to lose it all together.  I cried the whole way home-tears of sadness I'm not holding J and B today.  Tears of injustice.  Tears of love-every ounce of my being filled with love that I wanted to give to my babies.  On the car ride home I was able to spit out one of the few prayers I have had the strength/courage to ask, "God, Make this right"- Even as I prayed I myself couldn't tell if the tone was an angry command or a heartbroken plea.  The gift card-given in love for Jude and Brinly.

Act #3  Latley I've been extra "grr" towards pregnant women.  I saw an "update" on facebook, I saw 349093824 at the store.  "I HATE them" I said to Darren (both of us knowing that I really don't) and he gave me that knock-it-off-snap-out-of-it-look. 

Tonight our young waitress was rocking an adorable baby bump.  After she left the table I scowled at Darren, a legit, true, not happy face right at him.  It stung.  Again.  But, just like the cycle I mentioned above, I force myself to tell myself"it's not her fault that you lost your twins, Holly".  I knew that I had to fight my ache for my own children mixed with jealously, with love for her and the precious life inside her.  We left her a large tip with a note-in honor of Jude and Brinly.

Thank you SO MUCH for every text, every email, every picture, every phone call, every post below.  The love and kindness totally helped us get through a very rough day and myself and my family are deeply touched. 

Here are a couple more images from March 15th.  These ones are extra special to me because they include Jude and Brinly's names.  I love that. Stay tuned for the winner of our first "giveaway!"  We are working on mixing up names of all the participates and for our last act of kindness will randomly draw and name and give a $50 gift card to your restaurant/store of choice ♥

Loss of Innocence with Hope

February 25, 2014

* just a reminder that March 15 we are asking that to honor Jude and Brinly, our recently stillborn twins, that you do a random act of kindness in their honor and post it here or email me (more info in the post before this).  I'm posting some images my sister made.

Obviously as the world goes on, my has yet to move forward.  I've been having some thoughts with my current HATE I super dislike you right now feelings toward "Hope" and wrote a poem:

 

Hope. 

How you have deceived me.

Why do you haunt me?

Why won’t you leave me alone?

Over the years  Hope has grown into a Villainess

That taunts me

And makes me think my dreams will come true

And makes me somehow believe that this isn’t the end

and that my wish will come true

That my prayers will be answered

She makes me think that somehow, someday, someway

Then Hope, that sneaky thing, hands me the very thing I was waiting for

On a platter

Wrapped in beautiful shining paper, with the most beautiful bows you have ever seen.

One bow is blue.

The other pink.

And they are alive.

I begin to embrace Hope as my best friend

She has finally allowed the horse to reach the carrot

She has finally allowed Leprechaun to reach the pot of gold.

She curls up by the fire with me and we relax for once together.

 

 

 For the first time in my life, I believe Hope.  I 100% trust her

instead of half trust her that this is real.

Before I know it the lights flash and my world has been shattered.

 

I search around blindly in the dark screaming for Her

Tears rush down my face faster than the fastest river and I call to Her

Despite the diagnosis I believe this can be turned around.

I try to grasp to Her as tightly as I can

But at the doctor looks into my eyes and says in the saddest tone I have ever heard

“Can I break your sac of water?”

Hope for the first time leaves me completely alone. 

As the waters pour out of my body, leading to the imminent death of my

Ever-so-longed-for-ever-so-prayed-for-ever-so-deeply-insanely-loved son,

His water’s puff out the last tiny glimmer Hope had left in that god-forsaken room.

In those horrific hours I was relieved that I had lost Her.  Finally I could move on.

 

 In the morning, the nurses brought my dead child, still warm from the strong heartbeat that had

Been beating through his veins but stopped to short by the impact of labor.

I stared at him speechless. 

My husband beside me.

The entire earth quiet as we looked down at what we had been allowed to create together.

And there She was. 

We did NOT invite Her in.

She came back without permission.

My tearstained husband said to me:

“He is so cute.  He would have been so cute.”

I always imagined Hope to be soft and gentle and sweet and subtle.

But that’s only when She is playing Nice.

In times like these She is violent.  She is loud.  She is aggressive and She grips with a strength that takes away your breath. 

Without warning, She grabbed my husband.  She dug Her fingernails deep into his skin. She sprang into his soul and possessed his mouth.  He said

“This makes me want it more.  We are so close.”

8 failied IUIS.  3 IVFs.  4 Dead babies and we are holding one that is just 21 days away from a place he could survive.  But we are holding him.

Before I could get in the defensive position and  block my own logical senses, before I could stop Her, Hope possessed my own soul as well.

Without warning that small flicker of a candle reappeared. 

In what cruel world does Hope enter the room as we hold our dead child?

In what cruel planet does something keep teasing you, and following you, and attacking you to keep on going when so many things have gone wrong?

She is heartless and stops at nothing.

They say Hope does not disappoint us but I have never experienced disappoint at the level I did that day.

That cold day that I was in the labor and delivery suite laboring and delivering my stillborn son just 3 weeks after doing the same with my daughter.

I am so bitter towards HOPE because she has brought me so high and without warning dropped me on cement.  She stood back and let the birds eat at me as I lost my heart. Twice.

I am so scared of Hope because when you finally become friends with Her there are still no promises.

I am so frustrated with Hope because I can’t shake her.  Even after these insane losses with insane fertility treatment I’ve taken 2 pregnancy tests (negatives)because I myself have slowing become insane and Hope tricks me into thinking maybe.

Although I’m speechlessly angry at Her, she is winning this battle because we haven’t fully chosen to give up on Her.

If Hope is alcohol, We are an alcoholics.

If She is a drug, we are addicts.

If She is song, we are signing.

If She is a poem, we are reading. 

But the innocence of a heart that has never been broken is long gone.

We don’t look at her with naïve,  longing eyes anymore.

We stare at her with a cold expression.  A guarded, cold, sterile look.

But we are strong.

We remain eye contact with Her.

We look Her in the face even after what She has done to us.

And though we may be fools, as we move forward with this fight,

We whisper “maybe. We hope.”

 

What I Mean When I Say "Stillborn" (applies to miscarriages too)

January 24, 2014

This article/essay was written by a mom who experienced a stillborn; it is by Beth Morey and you can read it here http://stillstandingmag.com/2013/04/what-i-mean-when-i-say-my-daughter-was-stillborn/. (I also copied/pasted it below) It is the most clear and powerful thing I have read that explains this type of death physically involves the mommy.  I've mentioned this before but Jude's death (his perfect little feet on left) was especially hard because he was alive inside while I was in labor but I knew that the impact of labor would kill him on the way out-a true true death trap.  This essay  is hauntingly beautiful, crystal clear, and 100% truth.

What I mean When I Say "My Daughter Was a Stillborn"

by Beth Morey

"I don’t think that most people understand me when I say that my daughter was stillborn.
That phrasing makes it sound passive, like it was something that just happened to me, externally.

But that’s not what a stillbirth is, and I imagine that’s not what a miscarriage is either.
A stillbirth isn’t something that happened to me, or my daughter, or my family.

It’s something that happened inside me. That I was forced to participate in.

I keep trying to think of an analogy to explain how devastatingly non-passive enduring a stillbirth or miscarriage is, but nothing seems adequate. Perhaps it comes close to say that it’s like having cancer or another horrible, soul-draining, body-emaciating disease . . . only that the cancer that is within you is slowly killing someone else. Someone precious to you. And you are forced to come along for the ride, to participate in the killing.

But then, I’ve never had cancer or watched a loved one go through cancer, so maybe that’s way off, too.

The simple fact is – there is nothing like stillbirth. There is nothing like going to the hospital to check on your baby, only to have the incredibly sweet joy of pregnancy replaced in an instant with the dull, moaning emptiness of knowing that you are still going to have to endure labor and birth and filling breasts and the weeks of bleeding.

Only your baby will be dead. Your labor pains will produce nothing but a shell of this most precious person. Your arms will be empty, and there will be no way to soothe your aching breasts.

And that doesn’t even factor in the grief, or the guilt, or the wondering of who or what in this wide world you are now that death has crept into your life, into your body, in such an insidious way.
I think it’s the not-understanding that enables people to tell me, not even a year and a half after my daughter’s stillbirth as I write this, to get over it. To move on.

But my question to those people is – how long did it take you to “get over” the death of a loved one, if you’ve ever had to endure such a thing? How long did it take you to “move on” (whatever that means)?

Now ask yourself: what if you had to participate in the death of your loved one, to help bring their ending of breath into being? Then how long would it take you to heal?
Stillbirth didn’t just happen to me. It doesn’t just happen to anyone. Your baby dies, and then you give birth . . . to your dead child.

It’s not passive. You participate, even though you don’t want to. Even though it makes you want to scream and scream and scream in horror.

You participate, and it keeps you up at night for weeks and months and years.

It’s been one year and four months since I birthed my daughter’s dead body, and that is still what blooms large in my mind every night as I wait for sleep to descend. I don’t ask for the memories to come – they are just there. I can’t escape. I birth her again and again in my mind, hold her again and again for the first and last time, feel the lingering ache of afterbirth that prevents me forgetting even for a moment the nauseating reality of what just took place.

Stillbirth does not just happen. It’s not clean and surgical. Instead, it is messy and active, and it opens a wound whose pain throbs on long past you wish it would. And it changes you.

So when I say, “My daughter was stillborn,” please know that I am not describing something that happened to me. I am describing a traumatic and pivotal event in which I was an active, unwilling participant, an event that I participate in the echoes of still."

-Beth Morey

How Do You Pray?

November 7, 2013  19 weeks, 4 days

Last night we had a scary extra bleeding episode at the hospital.  The blood looked the same but it wouldn't stop for the first time.  By the time I laid down, my legs were shaking.  I know medically speaking we are in the best place we can be for our position.  Losing Brinly gives Jude a better chance at life, and praise God we did not have to make the decision of ending Brinly's life-He did it shortly after we declined.  I hate that we lost her but the doctors think that since the sac had burst, it was Jude's best bet.

The confusing thing for most of my friends/family/followers is Jude.  People are constantly asking "How is Jude?"

The funny thing is, Jude is perfect.  He has his own nice full water sac.  His heart rate is dead on.  In the hospital they did a couple ultrasounds where we saw him stretch, yawn, and put his hands in his mouth.  I felt him kick for sure for the first time and Darren was able to feel his son kick for the first time.  I cried.  Every time I hear his heartbeat (every day for the last 12 days) or see him twist and twirl on the ultrasound the risk of loving him increases.  There is no concern that something will go wrong....with him.  Allow me to explain.

The reason why there is such a risk to him is because my body is completely whacked out.  I had water break and went into labor.  I had an umbilical cord and a foot hanging out of my cervix which puts me and him at high risk for infection (which is why today was the 13th day of antibiotics).  There is a ton of debrie sewn up in my uterus: Brinly's placenta and left over sac, part of her cord, the first triplet we lost.  There is an uncontrollable chance that I could go into preterm labor again.  That's what people should be asking.  Signs of infection?  Are you in labor? (Okay, I guess those are awkward questions) but my concern and deepest fears are not in "is Jude okay?" Because he is and chances at this stage in the game of him having issues are very low and honestly not on my mind.  Brinly was good too until the water broke. 

I struggle falling asleep at night because my mind runs.  Flashbacks of the cord hanging out.  Flashbacks of hearing "I don't see a heartbeat."  Last night I had a vision of freshly caught fish that was on the shore, flipping around gasping for air.  I felt like that fish.

All my life I have served God.  I have been 100% faithful in following the Bible, loving others more than myself, following the rules and trying to treat people the way He would.  I fully believe in miracles.  There are several examples in the Bible where God simply had to speak the miracle and it was.  The blind were healed, the deaf could hear.  Jesus rose from the dead.

And here I am, a desperate fish gasping for a breath, struggling, suffereing, in a world of pain.  "God! Lord? WHERE ARE YOU?"  With one simple word He can throw me back in the water and save me.  But He is not, at least at this point.  I am not angry, but feel so forsaken, so abandoned.  I know He never leaves me and I accept that His ways are higher, but here I am, hour by hour flopping around desperate for Him to save me.  I told Darren that I no longer have the strength to pray.  Not out of anger, but out of speechlessness.  Over the last 3 years in our battle I have BEGGED God:

1.  to help me get pregnant
2.  to let IUI #1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7,8 to work
3. to let IVF #1 to work
4. to do a miracle in our first pregnancy and help my baby beat the odds
5. to let the frozen transfer to work
6. to give me healthy Triplets (yes, once I put in the 3 on IVF #3, I WANTED them all)
7. to protect to my twins
8. to save Brinly and fill her water sac
9. to not let me go into labor with Brinly (after her heart stopped) but that she would remain in my body till the end of term

Every answer: No.

I told Darren I just don't have the words.  The "let" and "help" have echoed into an empty cave. 

This is not to say He hasn't given me strength to face things I never could imagine.  This is not to say He hasn't given me an incredible passion for women who struggle with infertility.  This is not to say that I love my husband more than I ever imagined.  This is not say that I will have a crazy fierce love for the baby I hold someday (unlike those women I HATE dislike envy-to-death who practically just look at a pregnancy test and poof). 

Caroline, a sweet blog follower sent me a book today called "I Will Carry You."  I've only read the beginning.  The woman had three girls before she had to go  through the loss of her 4th (to be honest, it's hard for me not to judge "but she already has kids, it's easier", I know that's not fair).  BUT, I have already learned something.

The author points out that in several miracles in the Bible people did not say "Raise him from the dead" (Lazarus), or when Jesus turned the water to wine at the wedding, Mary did not say "Can you make some more wine" or "Can you LET there be more wine."  She simply stated the problem to Jesus "There is no more wine." And stepped back to see what He would do about the problem. 

I like this.  Although it's so easy (and not wrong by any means, bringing our requests to Him), but for me, where I am now, rock bottom, speechless before my king, I'm simply going to state the problem:

Lord Jesus, I love Jude so much.  He is at great risk.  We could get an infection.  My body is haywire.  I could go into preterm labor.  I'm bleeding a lot.  I am really really scared.

And release it to Him.  I'm going to step back and see what He does.