The other day I was sent a picture of myself walking hand in hand with Bella. We were back east – almost a year ago. We were visiting Kim and she’d taken us to the park with her kids, and behind us snapped a photo.
And as I stared at it, I wished with all my heart I could tell the girl smiling down at her daughter just what was coming in the next 7 months to her life. How she’d go from a mom of one to three but then still just one. How her heart would be broken into a million pieces. How she’d never view life in the same casual way again.
My heart ached for her. It was strange, because rationally I knew that was me and I’m still here.
But then I’m not.
It’s an odd feeling to be that wistful over something you couldn’t have possibly controlled or changed. I often wonder if I had to do it all again, knowing what would have happened, if I would have anyway.
If I was still so sick, and my water still broke, and I still lost them in my arms – would I do it all again? Or would I choose to stay that girl in the picture?
It may sound cliché, but I know what I would choose – because I’ve already lived it once. I’d do it all again. I’d step blindly and ecstatically into that life and relive every moment just to have it all end the way it did. Not that I would want it to. Not that if, given the choice, I’d choose for it to end with them gone. But because it happened the way it did, I can only look back now and know that I wouldn’t have changed a thing – since I couldn’t anyway.
They were worth it. Every moment. I would never, ever have chosen to not have known them, to have those weeks of being pregnant with twins. Just to hold them in my arms for a few hours and feel Preston and Julian against me and to marvel at their perfection was worth it. It still is.
So yes. I’d do it all again. I hope I never have to with being that sick or losing another child, but I know the journey is worth it. To be the mother of the ones who stay here on earth and the ones who wait for me in heaven.