Friday, August 23, 2013

Pregnancy, death and Xanax

How much can change in a year?

A lot! 

Like, seriously, a lot! 

Too much...

This time last year I got pregnant.  I don't know how many woman know the exact moment they got pregnant but I do. Sunday August 26 around 1015 am. I will never forget it. I'll never forget watching the Dr, holding Jason's hand, going to Mom and Dad's to lay with my feet elevated while Mom prayed over me. That God would touch my body, grow our babies and protect my pregnancy. 

I knew then I was pregnant with twins. I will never forget that day.  I'll never forget calling Nana and telling her I'd just gotten pregnant.  Dr kept telling us to stay positive and hope for the best. I didn't need hope. I knew I had the answer to so many prayers. 

This time last year I was preparing for pregnancy. Preparing for babies. Never knowing that the next year would bring the highest of highs and the absolute lowest of lows. That I would have my babies, I would become a mother to 2 beautiful boys and that we would leave the hospital without either. 

This time last year I had my Nana. I called her every single day and I had her love. I had her support. I had her prayers, her encouragement, her understanding. She had 5 miscarriages before she had my Mom.  She wasn't just my Nana. She didn't just care, she had been where I was. Becoming a mom after so much heartache. 

Going home knowing she wouldn't be waiting for me was harder than I expected. I knew when I left her weeks ago that she wouldn't be there when I came back.  

We wore red. We had Christmas decorations. There were a lot of people and there was a lot of laughter.  It was very Nana and the only thing missing was being able to look over and see her enjoying the celebration.   

There were obstacles that came up and I tried to handle with as much grace the Xanax would allow for. I know my limits. I know when I'm about to break. 

But I haven't broke.  Not completely. And all the things that keep trying to break me, aren't.  My Nana was a fighter. She stood for what she believed in, she protected her family and she didn't apologize for being a strong person.  

So I won't either. So much has changed in a year that sometimes I don't know whether I'm coming or going but what hasn't changed is who she taught me to be. 

Her stroke set her back in some ways and made her stronger in others. Losing Papaw took something out of her but she never stopped loving. She never let fear or loss rob her of her joy. She never let disappointment, hurt and frustration dim her spark.

I'm not going to let the negative actions and thoughts of others determine how I feel about myself any longer.  I love wholly.  I love unconditionally.  I give people the benefit of the doubt.  Most of the time I end up getting the crap end of the stick when it comes to giving people 2nd chances but I'm a second chance believer.

I didn't deal well in crap and drama before and this past year has narrowed the gap of how much I will allow into my life.   The answer now being, none.  No more crap.  No more crappy people.  No more worry that she doesn't like me.  That he doesn't get me.  That they don't understand why, after 8 months, I'm still grieving the death of my 2 baby boys.  I don't know why my grief makes people uncomfortable but it's really know longer my problem.  Because I don't care.  I have figured out when my grieving will end. It will end when I take my last breath and get to see my babies as they are, in all their perfect glory!  That is when the pain will end. 

The next few months are going to be facing a lot of firsts that scares me. Finding out our babies were boys, celebrating my 34th birthday knowing the next year I'd be playing with my babies, my water breaking, their birthdays.  There are too many things that I will be facing, along with Jason, that will bring up painful memories.  And to do it coming off the death of my Nana adds some emotions I wasn't prepared to take into account.

But I'll figure it out.

Nana always wanted to ride a Harley.  SO Nana's last ride was on a Harley.  Her and Papaw's remains sat on Megan's lap as Donnie drove them to the farm.  And there their ashes were spread.  Which gave me the feeling that I was ready to spread Tucker and Fletcher's ashes.   I'm ready.

I'm done apologizing for who I am.  I stand for what I believe in.  I protect my family to the end.  I make decisions and I will hold myself accountable.  I'm going to fight to get to where I need to be.  I'm not going to drag people along with me who only want to be there to get the gossip or to find a reason to judge me. I'm not going to beg anyone to like me.  To love me.  To understand me.  To give me permission to grieve my baby boys that I can't hold, can't kiss, can't feed or rock to sleep.

I have enough on my plate and I refuse to eat the crap sandwich that others have been trying to force down my throat.   

I'm going to soon turn 35.  I'm going to soon come to the anniversary of finding out we were having boys.  Then the day my water breaks.  Then Tuckers birth.  Then 11 days of more hope and prayer and bartering to just be able to bring home one of our babies.  Then Fletchers birth.  And his death. 

Christmas. Without my boys, or my Nana.

I'll get through it.  The pregnancy memories, the death of our boys and my Nana, all in a year.

Nothing that a loving husband, a case of wine and a few Xananx can't get me through.

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