May is weighing on me. May 3rd is the 2nd anniversary of Preston and Julian’s birth and death. It doesn’t seem possible that was two years ago and I’m sitting here with another baby gone. My greatest fear happened – again.
May 5th will be Kaden’s 9 month birthday.
May is filled with birthdays and Mother’s Day for our family. It’s also supposed to the the month Sam is gone for. Although we have no idea if that will happen.
I want to do something special on the 3rd for the boys – and I want to skip it completely. I started to pull up memories of them last night, laying in bed and thinking about how it felt to see them, hold them, marvel at how tiny they were and how human they were.
For a few minutes I just let it be about them. The grief that is often whirled into Kaden’s life now had a separate moment in my night. I cried just for them, for the little lives they never had. I didn’t even get to know them. It hurts to remember Kaden because I knew him. It hurts in a totally different way to remember Preston and Julian because I didn’t.
The grief I feel for them is mostly because I lost a life that was going to be so, so different. A mom of an almost 3 year old and identical twin boys. A mom to multiples. I’d know that journey and struggle, I’d watch them fight and bond. Even pregnant with Kaden I still missed that – I thought often about how different it was to be only pregnant with one baby. Preparing for his arrival was a lot easier to comprehend. I don’t regret letting myself feel overwhelmed and at times burdened with the thought of caring for two babies. It was part of the process of accepting and falling in love with that role. I’m just sad that was cut short.
So I think about them a lot right now. This month two years ago was incredible for me. I started working at Babble, was in my second trimester with twins, settled into El Paso, Bella was becoming a helper – and then in one swift moment it was gone. That girl laying on the bathroom floor with a towel stuffed between her legs willing herself to wake up, wake up, on the phone with 911, shaking with fear of the unknown as the ambulance took her – that girl is gone. Forever.
I miss being that person and I don’t. I wish this all had never happened, and yet I simply can’t imagine going back to that time before.
It’s so unfair that death had to change me. I wish it had been the exhaustion and need of twins that did. The struggle of raising 3 under 2 or 2 under 3.
At night when I take Charlie out, I look up at the stars from our backyard. I look at the heavens that stretch into an endless unknown and I think, “Why?” and “Are you all ok?”
I hope their little souls have the wonderful lives up there that I didn’t get to share with them here. Gosh I miss them all so much.