It’s easy to get lost in the never ending to-do list, the constant activities, the hurts, the hang-ups, the small things that before you lost so much you could have easily gotten through without having a full on meltdown. Those things that now result in a full on meltdown…
Life before the loss of my twins was full. Just so full. I think it’s easy to fall into the trap of remembering how great things were before you entered the darkness of a journey filled with loss, hurt, fear and frustration. Even though life before wasn’t perfect, it fit. It made sense and I knew how to navigate through that life so much better than I know how to navigate through this one.
There are many things I wish I could have done differently the year after losing Tucker and Fletcher. I didn’t handle everything with as much grace, dignity and strength I would have imagined I could have. When worst-case hit bulls eye into the heart of what mattered most to me, I crumbled.
I have guilt; I have remorse; I have heartache that while I was healing myself, I alienated others. While I was trying to keep my head above water, I wasn’t always able to throw a life preserver to those around me who needed my help keeping them afloat as well.
I turned to writing because I needed a safe place to get my thoughts out. I don’t do it to sensationalize anything, I don’t do it out of self pity or to gain attention. I do it because, for me, it was my life preserver. You have to find healing however you can. And doing that does not make you selfish.
My husband and I spent years trying to get pregnant. We went through hell to get there and rejoiced with thanksgiving when we found out I was pregnant with twins. We spent time registering for baby things, time figuring out how we’d manage two babies with an already full life. I read books; I watched You tube to become knowledgeable on tandem breastfeeding. I shopped for maternity clothes and we went to doctors’ visits to make sure the boys and I were healthy. We put everything we had into the hope of our future because we finally had a future that included our babies. 
We spent so long preparing for the pregnancy and their arrival that when we lost them, I didn’t know where to go. My focus for so long had been on getting pregnant and that kept our minds busy, kept the focus on what we wanted. When I was laying in bed everyday talking to the boys, singing to them, praying for them, my focus was on what we were about to have.
When we left the hospital with 2 memory boxes and no babies, I didn’t know what to do. Even though the outcome had changed, my heart, my desire, my love and my hopes hadn’t. I was scared to even go for a walk because a big part of me wanted to keep walking far away from this new life that I wanted no part of.
I find it unfair that people judge grieving parents so callously. I find it unfair that it’s ok, accepted and understood that new mothers, after 9+ months of preparing for her baby, can stay home for 3-4 months after the birth, to get settled into a her new life before returning to work. It’s an unfair expectation that a mother, who just lost her heart, should be expected to return to a life of normalcy before she is settled into her new life. It’s not a fair expectation when her life has become anything but normal.
We had an outpouring of love, kindness, and prayers from so many people. From people we knew and those we’d never met. I continue to have that. I get notes from people I’ve never met face to face. I’ve gotten flowers sent out of nowhere from someone who heard our story and wanted to encourage me. Many days, those prayers and the kindness of others got me through, and I so appreciate them.
With that being said, I’ve heard that it takes 10 positive things said to someone to negate one negative thing. So as many people who applaud that I was still fighting to stand, the person criticizing me for still hurting speaks louder to my already sensitive heart than I wish did. It holds more power than they realize. I had thick skin before; I don’t have that now. I’m more sensitive to my own hurts but I’m also more sensitive to the hurting people around me.
Losing a child isn’t natural. There is nothing normal about not bringing home a baby that you felt growing inside you. There is no easy way to move forward. As their Mom I felt like I had failed them. As a wife, I felt guilt that my husband wouldn’t have his boys because something in me, that we never will have answers to, failed to protect our boys and keep them safe long enough to live outside of their home inside of me. I felt like I was the reason for everyone’s hurt. Any problem that came up in the past year was quickly put on me, because I was the one who had made life so unrecognizably hard. I know that seems illogical but that I was carrying twin boys gave joy to so many people it only stood to reason, to my sensitive heart, that because they hadn’t survived, the hurt was now because of me.
I find it completely unfair that society doesn’t give enough weight to the loss of a baby. For something so small, the hole they leave behind is huge. I couldn’t move on any faster than I did. Taking it day by day was impossible. To go to sleep at night, knowing that when I woke up the next day in a fog, the moment of remembering what wasn’t waiting for me, it was crushing.
I hope that at some point, the judgment will stop. If you don’t understand because you’ve never been where I am, count yourself lucky. Too many parents know what this loss feels like and to have others comment that I should be over “it” by now is infuriating. Because the “it” to them is something that came and went. The “it” to me are Tucker and Fletcher, our boys that were loved long before I had them and they are our boys that I will forever miss.
I’m not in the same lost place I was a year ago. I’m further along than I was even months ago. Because I gave myself permission to heal. When I couldn’t take it day by day, I took it minute by minute. When it was too much to stand, I sat. When I need to remember, I remember. When I need to talk about them, I find someone who will support and listen without judgment. And when I need to cry, I cry. The tears that continue to fall are healing because it’s grief, it’s guilt, it’s fear, its’s the release of what is still hurting, leaving my heart.
If I could say anything to people outside of the group of those who understand, even to some within this group who don’t really understand or aren’t tolerant of letting us move forward in our time, my message–where my heart is right now–is this: Stop judging us. Stop assuming that because you have gotten over “it” we should have as well. If you can’ t offer support, please, at least don’t be hurtful. We carry too much hurt and guilt as it is, we don’t need outside influence giving us more reason to doubt ourselves.
What would your message be to other hurting hearts? What would be the thing you wish you could tell others about your journey? I encourage you to share it here, it may be the thing that someone else needs to hear today, to help them continue to keep going, to not give up, to not feel so alone.
{Your Thoughts}