But I looked back over my post about my story and realized that I did what everyone does...
I told the details of the story, but not how it affected me or my loved ones. So I had to go back and think about that time and remember how everything felt....all I can say is I went through a range of emotions including
Anger, Betrayal, Heartbreak, Sadness and Frustration...just to name a few
I am not even sure if anger is the right word to use. I was angry with myself and with everyone who had children. Why were they able to have kids, no problem (or so it appeared) while I couldn't. I was in my early 20's, didn't smoke, didn't do any drugs other than what my doctor prescribed (which at the time wasn't really anything), I didn't drink (not even on my 21st birthday since I was trying to get pregnant), and why wasn't I able to STAY pregnant. Obviously, I could get pregnant, but going the long hall was the problem. I was also angry at all the woman that had kids with seemed like no problem. It just didn't seem fair.
I felt betrayed...by my own body. Here the one thing a woman is suppose to do and has done since the dawn of time and my body just didn't cooperate. It hurt, bone deep. Hurt more than I can ever explain to anyone. The frustration went along with this feeling of betrayal because I was frustrated again that my body wouldn't cooperate.
I was heartbroken. These were my babies, my little girls, that I would never see grow up. That would never learn to talk or walk. That would never start school, or find a boyfriend (or girlfriend), or getting married, or even have kids of their own that I would one day watch grow up again. This was my (then) husband's little girl, who would never have to worry how daddy would react to her first kiss or her first date. My family was heartbroken. This was the first grandbaby (and great grandbaby for some) that they were watching buried in a small white coffin instead of hearing about them getting ready for their first dance recital or first father/daughter dance. Sadness goes along with this just because of the things that I knew both babies were never going to get to do.
The worst part of it all was that I hid these feelings, bottled them up, and allowed them to ferment badly inside because I didn't know how to express them or thought others didn't want to hear about it because they were trying to move on. This just seemed to trigger my anger more. How could they move on when I was stuck in limbo? How could they pretend the day was normal and fine when I didn't want to even get out of bed in the morning? Don't get me wrong...I was good at pretending and many people didn't even realize how dark of a deep whole I had fallen into.
My (then) husband knew, to an extent, even though he didn't understand it, but then again I can't tell you how many bags of Doritos he watched me devour like they were going to be my saving grace. He watched as I steadily gained at least 30 pounds. I got up every morning and went to work, but beyond that, it took a fight to get me to get off the couch or to step away from my Doritos bag. I was miserable, unhappy, and depressed and turned to the one thing I could control...food. Not a good idea that is for sure, but it was a comfort at the time. It finally took him threatening to leave me for me to talk to my doctor about the depression. Unfortunately, in the end our problems, and my depression, was too much of a strain on the marriage and a few months after the second daughter died he did file for divorce.
Now, before you shake your head at his selfish, uncompassionate, and insensitive behavior, just stop. Losing the babies affected him too. Neither of us were equipped to handle the situation and we were both daily reminders of the loss...to each other. We didn't know how to talk to each other or be there for each other because we were both focused on our own world of pain (I know I was). He has since remarried, has a lovely wife and 2 beautiful daughters. All three of us are friends on Facebook and I wish him well and all the happiness he deserves. I will never know how losing the babies hurt him because I was too focused on my own pain to ask. I do know that we couldn't go back to who we were before the babies and that hurt both of us.
It's been 11 1/2 years since Kara was born, and 11 years since the second baby was born, but it still hurts today. Even now, as I write this, I find myself in tears remembering that time. I have tried to find ways to honor their memories of the years. I have a tattoo on my lower back (called it a tramp stamp if you want, but that isn't want it is for me) in memory of my girls.
Sorry about the picture, this is an old picture, and you don't realize how difficult it is to take a picture of your own lower back until you actually try.
I also wanted a tattoo to honor my surviving daughter...this one is for her
For the last three years, I have also found another way to honor all three of my daughters. I participate in the March for Babies held in Chicago. I am part of a friend's team, they also lost a daughter who was born too early, and we walk together to help raise money to prevent premature births like we have experienced. The next walk is this coming May and I am already signed up to participate in the walk. If you have lost a baby, or know someone that has, I encourage you to participate in the walk as well, or at least donate toward such a good cause. If you want to donate, you can do so here at my link: http://www.marchforbabies.org/daniandskye.
Thanks for reading, please feel free to comment below and to share this story and any of my other posts with your friends and loved ones.
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