Monday, October 30, 2017

Five years closer

I cannot believe it has been 5 years.

Five years ago, my dreams of becoming a mother were forever changed.  In an instant, I went from blissfully unaware to broken.  I had never experienced such pain, never even knew such pain existed.  I remember the moment I saw Reagan's final ultrasound, the moment I realized something was actually wrong.  I will never forget seeing her perfect little profile, button nose, and relaxing for a half a second before recognizing that something much bigger was wrong.  I still see that ultrasound image at night when I close my eyes, even with our recent losses.  That image of her still - her chest empty.  With Lucas, that was much less shocking.  But with Reagan, that is the moment that haunts me to this day.

Five years ago, I realized that our family would never be complete.  No matter how many of our children I would carry, no matter how many little feet ran through our home, I would always be missing one set.  Now, I know that number will be much greater.  Mothering after loss has been incredibly difficult.  It's hard to find the right balance of joy and grief, enjoying the moment while still longing for what should have been.  That is especially true on these weekends, when we try to get away to escape it all, try to step away from the grind of daily life to do something special as a family.  Only to spend the weekend breaking up fights, diffusing temper tantrums, and trying our best not to completely lose it with our children.  I so desperately want to make these few days special, to create happy family memories, to somehow prove that God was wrong and she would be better off with us than with Him.  Mostly, it's a complete failure.

October 30 has been my "dark day" for the past 5 years.  Her birthday tomorrow gives us reason to celebrate - to rejoice as we remember those moments together, that feel of seeing her for the first time, the joy of holding our daughter for the first and only time.  But today?  Today brings only pain.  There were so many questions, so many fears in those hours after learning she was gone.  In a way, it was the end of this innocence I had.  A time when I was completely unaware that babies died outside of miscarriage and SIDS.  

Five years ago today, Andrew and I were lying in Reagan's nursery.  The last time it would be hers.  Surrounded by all these sweet girly things we never knew if we would use.  Most of which would be packed away for years, some were given away immediately.  Because, who wants to pass an unused carseat or stroller?  Hannah is wearing the last of Reagan's hand-me-downs, which only went up to size 12 month.  We're squeezing her into them because they are special to us.  But, after another month, all external traces of Reagan will be removed from our family.  

This is the first year I've faced Reagan's birthday when I've not been pregnant or nursing.  It adds a layer of pain I wasn't quite expecting this year.  I feel a bit caught off guard by it all.  Because, for the first time, I am coming to the very possible realization that our family is done.  That we will have no more living children.  Our doctors are not optimistic.  I have 6 more embryo, and there is a good chance that we won't be able to raise any of them.  Once we realized how many IVF embryo we had, we thought we would be facing the question of what to do with the others.  What would we do when we had 5 kids in our home, when I'd experience 4 c-sections and couldn't do another one.  But instead, I'm afraid we'll go through this process 3 more times only to end up emotionally and physically drained, and still unable to carry a child to term.  I've had some more tests run this week that may shed some light on things.  Or, it may all continue to come back normal as doctors continue to struggle to figure out what exactly is wrong with my body and why I keep killing our children.  There was so much guilt surrounding this day - so many unanswered questions - and that was before we experienced the loss of 3 more.  When we thought Reagan would be an anomaly and not the norm for us.  

This sucks.  There is no beautiful or poetic way to put it.  October 30 sucks. Always.  BUT...today we are 5 years closer.  Five years closer to spending our eternity with the little ones we never got to raise.  And tomorrow?  Well, tomorrow we break out the cake, send up some balloons, and celebrate our sweet Reagan, who made me a mommy 5 years ago.  Here's to you, baby girl!

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