Frozen embryos, sucky people and happy times

I have been trying to live life differently lately.  My life is pretty much groundhog day so with my circumstances being as they are, I decided that if change was gonna happen, it had to be in me.  And some of it's pretty, some, not so much.

Things I appreciate:

1.  Kind people.  It's so nice being around kind, genuine people.  Those who care about you.  And your well being and your heart.  I'm thankful for the caring people in my life.  The caveat to this is I have also been surrounded by more crazy people but I've chosen to look for the kind ones.  I keep the crazies around because it keeps life more interesting but the kind ones are the ones who make your life better.

2.  Seeing the silver lining.  I don't really know what this is in reference to and right now I'm more of a gold than silver kind of girl but I look for the good in people.  In things.  In lessons.  In circumstances.  I have stopped tolerating mean, ugly, negative linings and love accessorizing with the beautiful gold that life throws at you.

3.  Taking a leap of faith.  I've been doing that more and more lately.  I've had a few pipe dreams and I've taken steps to see if I can realize them.  I've put myself out there in life, with people, with dreams and with hopes.  I've hit "send" on countless things that I was too scared to do before.  And even if it caused some panic and tears and "did I really just do that," the answer is a resounding, Yes!  I just did that!

4.  I've started giving myself some credit.  Wow, does that feel good.  I don't suck, I am awesome and I have finally digested the crap sandwich I've been eating for a long time and I'm learning how to process the crap that comes from a year of sad, emotional, tiring times.  Out of crap, beauty can come!

5.  It's none of my business what someone else thinks of me.  I'm good enough, I'm strong enough and dog gone it, people like me.  Some do.  Other's don't.  Some keep me around for entertainment value and because they are too nosy to not but it's ok.  The ones who are genuine are the ones who get the good Melissa.  The ones who are fake are the ones who get the rest.  No one likes the leftovers anyway.

Things I don't like:

1.  People who are fake, who judge, who manipulate, who deceive, who cheat, who lie, who hurt.  I read that you become like those you spend the most time with so I have chosen to spend more time with people who are none of these things and I am no longer worried about being guilty by association.  And that feels good!

2.  Hard lessons, emotional rollercoasters, life lessons, and sadness.  But I have survived, I've got the tshirt and the blog to prove it.  I've gotten here.  9 months after losing our boys.  1 month after losing my Nana.  A year of ups and downs and tears of hope and pain and joy and devastation.  I am surviving.  I have had my heart broken, my life shattered and my dreams crushed by loss but it hasn't defined me in any way other than I am still fighting!

Baby loss sucks.  It's awful.  I really can't imagine anything worse than losing a child.  I have 3 babies in heaven.  Sometimes it seems absolutely unreal that I am a mother but I don't have any of my babies to hold.  I try not to let the why's and what if's take up too much space in my heart but to think you wouldn't have any of those questions isn't realistic.

We have frozen embryos, just waiting on us.  For me to be healthy in mind, body, soul.  That sometimes seems like an impossible goal but I have to just keep going forward.  Step by step.  I want to hold our babies.  I want to sing to them.  I want to parent them.  I'm so thankful for the 3 beautiful step kids I have in my life and I pray, expectantly, for the kids that will add to our family one day.

Good days and bad.  Fall down, get back up.  Scary moments but push through anyways.  Sad times but smiling through the tears.

I'm not where I expected to be a year ago when Jason was reading to the boys in my belly.  I'm not where I hoped to be on this grief journey.  I'm not the Melissa I was before my life changed forever but I can promise this.  I have my heels all lined up, they are ready for me and I'm ready to see what's on the other side of this journey!

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.

My Nana, My Boys, and a to do list for God

My mind has been in a thousand different places over the past several weeks. My Nana has been going downhill since she left us while I was in the hospital in Dec. then over the past month she's decided that she is ready to get to her eternal home. Good for her, hard for us. We came in expecting to be here a few days before she passed. 

3 weeks ago.  Hospice Drs and Nurses are saying they've never really seen anything like it. She's been off all her meds for 3 weeks and she's not been having any of the bad side effects we were preparing for.  Instead, we have 1 lady, ready to get to heaven to see her husband, to hold Tucker and Fletcher who has been going nowhere, fast.  She has always taught me to be patient and trusting in God's timing, this has been her final lesson in that.  Surrounded by her family, watching her in grace and beauty, praise God thru the longest wait of her life. 

I didn't know if I was healed enough emotionally to face this. This has been a roller coaster of emotions that I wasn't prepared to face twice in the same year. But watching her, praying with her, singing with her, laughing and crying with her has healed part of my heart and has certainly given me the closure I was never able to find with my boys. 

Missing them hit me out of left field today. Knocked me to my knees and took it out of me for the better part of my day. I have lost grandparents and as painful as it is, I have so many beautiful,  wonderful memories to get me thru the hard times.  

I have nothing to help me through this pain. Except to feel it. Except to cry through it. Except to trust that God is still somehow working thru this empty pain, this deep longing for my sons, this time of grief we are in. 

My heart is breaking. The parts that were healing are breaking in different ways now for this impending loss off beautiful Nana. My Nana who taught me to love. Taught me to forgive. Taught me the value of hard work and the value of being honest. That its ok to stand up for what is right and to fight for what you deserve. That even when your heart breaks over so many miscarriages and baby losses, you can heal enough to have a beautiful family. That after a debilitating stroke, you can become strong in other ways. 

I can't imagine my days without Nana in them. Our daily phone calls. Her encouragement in everything I do. Her quiet assurance that God will never bring me to something if He's not going to bring me thru it. 

I know when God calls her home that she will be greeted by her husband of so many years and my boys. The best of me

will be together. 

Life is hard. Sometimes harder than I think I can handle. But then I look at my Nana, who is fighting this battle with grace and peace and I will do what I've always done. I'll take what she has shown me thru her life and I'll do with it the best I can.

She has specific instructions to talk to God soon as she gets up there to talk to him about my babies that will make there way to me when the time is right.  She said something about a blonde, curly headed little girl. We'll see how much pull Nana has with the big man upstairs. 

I'll be losing my best friend but my boys wil be getting their Nana, who tonight, when I told her I couldn't wait for her to see them, got the biggest smile on her face as tears streamed down mine. 

She's ready to go. I pray God keeps her in His care until she makes it home. 

Love you Nana, you are the best I know! 

Not waving but drowning

I heard this, or maybe I read this somewhere and it struck my heart. I think if I could choose 4 words to describe where I'm at right now, this journey I'm on, it would be those. 

Not waving but drowning. 

I saw some news features and articles about this a few months ago. They wanted to get awareness out that drowning doesn't always look like drowning. It can look like playing or splashing around.

That's pretty accurate with grief and healing too. She's laughing, she must be ok.  She's out of the house, she must be over it. She's posting pictures of happy times, she must have moved on 

Not waving, but drowning. 

She's laughing, but goes to the bathroom to cry. She's out of the house, but its the first time in over a week.  She's posting pictures of happy times, she would never post pictures of the bad.  

Not waving, but drowning. 

I've been upset because I don't have any signs that remind me of the boys. I don't have a specific thing that when I see "it" I know they are ok.  That bothers me. Especially last night. So I prayed thru my tears that I would know, without a doubt, that my boys were ok. I wanted proof. Not a butterfly. Not something that could mean 1000 different things, I wanted my boys, speaking to me. Saying "Hi, Mom. We're here, Tucker and Fletcher!"

Then I got this. At midnight. Thru a friend  I've never met but who is standing in the same grief stricken spot as I am, missing her son, she sent me this without possibly knowing what I needed most. 

She sent me a message from my boys. More clear than any message I've gotten or could hope to receive. 

Not waving but drowning.  Not entirely true. My head is above water even if my legs are kicking like crazy to keep me afloat. I'm empty but only some. I'm broken but not completely. I'm healing, a little at a time. 

Not drowning, just waiting.  For healing, for answers and for strength. 

Not drowning. Just grieving. Not drowning. Just sad. Not drowning. Not drowning. 

Faking it, Nervous Breakdowns and God Conversations

I had a Publix sub sandwich when I was in the hospital.  I don't remember what day it was but it was in the 2nd of the 3 rooms I was in.  It tasted so good.  The spice of the jalepenos, the crunch of the bread, the saltiness of the pickles and ham.

Pregnant woman aren't supposed to have lunch meat.  It can give the baby listeria or something.  Tucker had already died at that point, Fletcher was delivered a few days later.  It wasn't the ham that caused it but I guess my subconscious is dwelling on that and gave me a moment of panic, 6 months later. 

I got so frustrated one day, in the midst of some family issues, that I was crying and slammed a pot on the island.  I was pregnant.  The pot slamming came at the end of a very stressful week that was a culmination of some very stressful months.  Stress isn't good for pregnant woman.

After months of bed rest and day after day of throwing up, I had a dr appt.  The nurse convinced me that I was suffering from depression and told the Dr in her notes that I needed meds.  I didn't think I was depressed.  I was worried.  I didn't know what all the throwing up was doing to the babies, I didn't know if they were getting enough nutrients.  I was tired of laying around and I was unsure of when I would be able to go back to work but I wasn't depressed.  But I took the script for Zoloft and went home.  I googled side effects on pregnancy and there were as many pros as there were cons.   I talked to Jason about it and made the decision I would try it.  I took one pill and immediately regretted it and never took another.  I wasn't depressed.  I was a pregnant mom of twins who was having a really hard pregnancy.  The depression would come later.

I think about all I did for my babies, all I would have continued to do, but my mind keeps going back to the things that might have altered the course of my pregnancy.  It's really hard to come to a place of understanding that my boys served the purpose they were meant to serve.  That I will be with them one day, just not now.  Guilt is a cruel thing, robbing you of what you know to be true.

Watched a special on 20/20 and it got me thinking.  Everyone puts their best on social media.  The profile picture that gets 40 likes was take number 17.  The rest got deleted because of bags under my eyes, a double chin, my hair wasn't perfect.  I think I've opened myself up to a certain transparency with my blog of showing the pain and truth of what grieving looks like but it's still not an honest picture.

If it were I'd put pictures of the ceiling at 4am that I'm staring at most nights I can't sleep.  It would be more posts about anxiety or fear and less of how much I love my husband or how great the massage felt.  I think social media has a big element of faking it til you make it.  Which for me, has been a good thing.  Because if I only get out of the house 1 day out of 7 and post about the fun I had at the beach with my family on the day i finally was able to leave, then the feedback I get is how great it is to see me happy.  How beautiful my family is. If I put up pictures of the kids being active in different things it shows me living for that moment.  Not capturing the other moments of despair, of heartache.

You can't judge someone based on instagram, Facebook, twitter or even blogs.  A picture is worth 1000 words but to the person in the picture, or behind the picture, their 1000 words may be a world apart from yours.

 I was sitting with my family last weekend at a water park and it was a good day.  I was feeling very much connected and present with them.  We were eating lunch and somehow the conversation came around to God.  On the ride down L had asked us about animals going to heaven.  I don't know if that was weighing on A's mind or something else but she asked me about God and how you get to heaven.  In the midst of people running around us, kids screaming and laughing in the background, I talked to her about salvation.  I talked to her about asking Christ into your heart and turning from sin.  She listened, she processed, she asked some questions and then moved on to another subject.  But I could tell that she was weighing what I said "got you into heaven" with what she sees in me.

That's heavy.

People are always watching.  You have to be careful and mindful of what you show them.  If it's a picture that took 20 mins to get right, filtered and edited to look so carefree and beautiful or a status of what you are thinking, people pay attention.  And they see what you are showing them.

I don't think I'll ever share more pain than I've shown.  Part of grieving and healing is private.  The moments and days that hurt the most are often not documented.  They are between me, Jason, God and my boys.  But I put my life out there for people to see.  That means people will judge but that also means people will love, encourage and comment kindness.

I googled nervous breakdown and I have all the symptoms.  Serious.  All of them.  Anxiety, check.  Rapid heartbeat, check.  Pulling away from people you love, check.  Scared of everything, check  Hypochondriac, check.  Fear that your family will die, check.

I know I'm not having a nervous breakdown, I'd have been locked up by now if that were going to happen I think.  But I can't get over how hard this is.  How it weaves it's way through every fiber of your being, every piece of your life.  This is real.  It's suffocating and it's all consuming.  I'm trying to let is consume less and less of me.

I read somewhere recently that coming to the end of a road, be it grieving or something else, is often scarier than it should be because we know that when something ends, something else begins.  I'm praying that through my transparency, though my pictures, through my words, that my healing will come and lead me to a smooth beginning that won't be as scary as it feels.

Blessed because through these struggles and dark days, God is continuing to show me truth, give me hope and mend my broken heart.

Shame on me, I had another good day

If perception is reality (which I hate btw) let me clear up a few things. 

I'm grieving. Somedays I'm able to grieve quietly and outside of my house, others times I grieve out loud stuck in my bed. If you understand this, you get it. If you've never been thru a loss like this, you probably don't, count yourself blessed.  Many days I've gone to the store, the dr, or anywhere else wearing sunglasses because I didn't sleep the night before and my eyes are swollen shut from crying.  That doesn't suck at all.  

You will be judged regardless so grieve the way that helps you to heal. For some, they won't understand if you can get out of bed and have a good day, why you are still incapable of functioning at a level you could before, but that goes back to the whole, they have no idea what you're going thru. 

I had days where I couldn't get out of bed, for days at a time. I still have those days but thank God I'm further than I was. I am still sometimes paralyzed by grief, and more often than not, anxiety, but thru grace and mercy and prayers, I'm able to stand.  

Anyone who knows someone who has faced a baby loss says its the hardest thing anyone can face. Times that by 2 and then talk to me about how YOU think I should be acting. I'd love to hear your opinion.  Because I'm sure you know more than my psychiatrist who I see monthly and my grief counselor who I see weekly. 

I used to be very independent. I wasn't scared of anything. This has changed that.  I can't do much of anything alone and I hate it.  With Jason, my parents and kids I am able to live my life. They understand my breakdowns and they don't require any conversation about why I'm having an anxiety attack.  It feels very good to be able to go to dinner with them, go to the beach or just be together. When I have Jason beside me, for the most part, I'm able to push myself to do things. Sometimes it works, other times it blows up in my face and I have a total meltdown.  I think of scenarios or times I would have to do something or go somewhere without him, or face strangers and I have a total breakdown. 

Glimpse into why my attachment to my parents and Jason is so strong and the fear of losing them so real. They are my lifelines. I can do things when I'm with them. I can be ok or I can be a wreck, with them, they understand. 

I can't control my temper. I can't control my emotions. I've lost pretty much all coping skills. I have tried to take the advice of my therapist and do more outside of my circle. After talking about if for a month with her, I was finally able to go to the gym. Kicking and screaming and crying and only because Jason was beside me the whole time but I did it. 

I'm not going to apologize or try to hide my good days. I wear them like a badge of honor. Because God knows, I've earned them through blood, sweat and tears.  I may not be able to take an art class or go to the gym by myself yet, as my therapist wants me to do, but I'm able to enjoy my family, blog out my feelings and cry out my emotions and all of that is leading me further down this crappy road of loss. 

I'm running away

Back to reality. 

I really wanted to run away but it's a lot more complicated than you'd think. 

Vacation, like everything else in my life for the past year, was an emotional roller coaster. Highs were fun, laughing, riding bikes, snorkeling, integrating 2 families for the peace and ease it brings. Enjoying being away. Lows were miserable and lonely. My emotions started the night before Father's Day. I woke up watching the movie in my head that I can't ever turn off. Jason driving me to the hospital as my water was breaking, seeing the looks of knowledge on the dr's faces, the looks of sadness on the faces of the nurses, the blind hope on my families faces. The labor, the births, holding our babies, having to give them to the nurses to be taken away forever. Leaving with nothing. Having 2 boxes of our babies ashes that we have no idea what to do with.  It literally was crushing my spirit. I couldn't pull it together. But I didn't want to ruin Father's Day for Jason so I went to a water park. Did you know they have floats for very little babies so they can be in the lazy river with you?  I didn't, until I saw a dozes mothers with their babies, floating. Not a care in the world. I couldn't stop the tears. Then a baby cried and my breast leaked milk. For a baby that wasn't mine.  Everyone else was off having fun and I was the crazy lady crying, leaking milk. While families all around me enjoyed Father's Day. 

I couldn't go to dinner last night with everyone. I couldn't stop the tears. I wanted to run away, never felt so lonely. There's no where to run when you are in a place you have never been and don't know how to get anywhere.  Luckily I couldn't find my wallet so it kept me there in the camper, alone, with nothing to do but think. 

It's hard for me to do normal things. I'm fine one minute then a wreck the next. I don't have much to talk to anyone about because no one wants to hear what's upsetting me, this time.  Again. 

I'm back home and I'm lost. That's the thing about vacation, you have to come back. Now I'm home and I'm lost. I'm sad and I'm frustrated. 

Life passes by. Life keeps going.  Good days and bad.  I feel like its time to make  some decisions but every option scares me. 

Have been toying with the idea of thinking about trying another pregnancy at some point. And then I have a dream that I'm pregnant. And all is good. Until I throw up and realize I have thrown up my baby and there is nothing I can do but try to shove it back in. And I wake up in a panic and I'm crying and hysterical. 

I don't expect this to be easy. But I didn't expect to feel so alone. So much like a freak whose emotions are literally all over the place. 

I'm tired of the good job for getting out of bed, out of the house, that my dr gives me. In tired of missing something I can't have back. 2 very special something. I'm tired of being alone bc I don't know how to be with people anymore.

This has changed me. I'm trying so hard to make it into a positive change but the pain is still so raw, the fear is so constantly in my face, I'm always waiting for the next disaster to happen. 

It's a sucky way to live. I have to figure out how these small steps are going to get me to a better place. Where the desire to run away isn't there. Where the guilt and shame and pain doesn't suffocate me.  

I'm trying, the best I can, to make my days ok. I'm a mother. And I don't have my babies.  That makes having good days hard. 

But I'm doing the best I can.  God hasn't left me and I know wherever I run to, even if its far away only in my mind, He is still there. 

This isn't how my life was supposed to be. I should be up checking on my babies. Feeding them with the breast milk I still have. Singing them the songs my parents and grandparents sang me to sleep. 

Today was bad. Yesterday was worse. Tomorrow, I pray that somehow, it will get better.  I need some rest. I need some peace and I need that blind hope that got me thru 3 weeks of hell in Dec.