The Hardest One Yet

Mother's Day.  It started with the world's biggest hug from Dean, as he called out Happy Mother's Day and ran toward me, jumping into my arms.  Oh my sweet, big boy.  He was quickly followed by Warren, who informed me that gluten free pancakes were coming my way.  These boys are obsessed with baking me gluten free goodies.  And so, I was sent back to my room to wait on the breakfast.  In toddles Hannah, with her hair all a mess, her soft curls bouncing every which way as she climbed up into my bed and arms.  "Happy Mudder's Nay" she says.  Sweet girl, and my heart melts a bit.  It was as promised, gluten free pancakes (of which I get about 3 bites before little hands reach in and grab the rest).  Served alongside some sweet handmade cards.  Dean's was my favorite this year, as he chose to draw our family.  Cue the tears.  There in a line are the 5 of us, plus Lucas, Reagan, and Noah.  No one ever has to remind Dean to include those 3, he does it automatically.  They are as much a part of our family to him as those siblings he gets to fight with every day.  I LOVE that, the sweet innocence of it all.  Often Jesus is in our family pictures too, since that is who is taking care of the others.  He probably would sit and draw all 11 if he knew about those babies too.  And, here's the thing, I waited so many years for these moments, for the chance to have handmade cards filled with the things the kids love.  I wouldn't change that, our morning family time.  It was exactly what I needed.

But as the day has gone on, it's all getting to me.  The physical pain of this miscarriage is worse than I expected.  And way later than the others.  And it just feels like a slap in the face to be facing it today of all days.  And it makes me angry.  And immeasurably sad.  Last Mother's Day I was pregnant with Lucas, woken by his little kicks.  I remember feeling overwhelmed with it all at brunch as I struggled to picture myself being able to manage a 4th kid when the oldests were only 3.  It seemed impossible.  And now?  Now, I will never know.  I'll never get the chance; it was taken from me.  The finality of it all seems to be pushing me over the edge today.  This deep longing for the children I never got to know.  It's like this whole last year has been a complete waste, full of nothing but pain and grief and agony.  Part of me is still stupidly hopeful for a miracle, part of me is so jaded and bitter with it all that I am overcome with hopelessness.  It's a constant back and forth until the emotional ups and downs get the best of me, and I return once again to numb.  I don't know how to get through this one, how to go forward from here.  It just all hurts too much.  Especially today

Bereaved Mother's Day

The first Sunday in May is the International Bereaved Mother's Day.  A day you just don't really even know about unless you have lived through some sort of trauma related to being a mother.  For us, that trauma just seems to keep piling up.

There have been so many Mother's Days over the years when it has been a struggle to even get out of a bed.  So many years of longing to be a mother and being barren, years of having a day where I wouldn't receive that flower at church, where I had no handmade art or breakfast in bed.  And then, my first "real" Mother's Day, our sweet Reagan was gone and I was hospital bound with the boys, still being told they would not survive.  I'd like to say it got better from there, and to some extent it did, but the scar of those early years in our marriage certainly never left.  But, between last year and now, I have lost 9 babies.  This time last year, I was pregnant with Lucas and had 8 embryo tucked away in the freezer.  Today??  Well, I have nothing.  No babies to hold, no babies growing inside of me, no babies in the freezer, and no hope of ever carrying one again.  The agony of it all is almost unbearable.  I am broken - my spirit and my body.  I have failed again.

There are few things worse than watching the positive pregnancy line fade into nothing as the days go on.  To have those moments of hope and joy come crashing to a halt.  No matter how many times I told myself "don't go there yet," no matter how many times I repeated the statistics to myself, no matter how much I tried not to get invested, well, I was lying to myself.  I jumped right into this again, like a big stupid idiot, thinking that THIS time would be different, that THIS would be our happy ending, the miracle we had been praying for.  I let myself get swept away in it all.  And I don't know where to go from here.  The idea that I wouldn't have more children never even crossed my mind until a few months ago.  After 5/5 successful transfers, I just assumed the others would work too.

So, I end my journey as a new mother.  A little ironic that it falls on this day.  No more maternity clothes, no more baby gear, no more night feedings.  The last child I will ever birth was our sweet Lucas, and I only got a few short hours with him.  I'm not sure how to do this.  How to keep moving forward when there is just so much pain.  How can any person lose so much and ever be normal again?  How could I have carried 11 babies that I will never get to parent?  So today, on Bereaved Mother's Day, I get to be sad.  I get to cry the big ugly tears on the bathroom floor and let everything fall apart around me.  Today is my day.  Today is about the 11 that are gone.  Because next Sunday, well, next Sunday is really about my living kids, about doing something special with them, about celebrating the 3 we have here.  I have to pull myself together and go on.