Relationships

Grief is like a windshield wiper for your relationships.  Any gunk that was there just wipes away.  You see the other person for who they really are.  After my daughter's death I knew more certainly than ever in my life that my husband is the man meant for me.  His love is so pure and strong.  Whenever I am mad at him or start to think- will things ever get better?  I remember the moment we found out Samantha wasn't going to make it.  We clung to each other.  As long as he was there I felt I could make it another day.  Also, I remember that our lives are short.  I want to spend my time with him enjoying life, not arguing or complaining.
My situation was unique because I moved right because my babies were born.  I moved back to my hometown so I had that advantage, but it was difficult.  Most of the people who had been there when I announced my pregnancy and found out we were having twins were in a different city.  All the people around us were parent's friends and people from our parish where we were sort of new.  Many of my new friends didn't seem to really "get" my loss.  I was pregnant and I eventually came home with a baby.  I think to them my arms seemed full even when they were aching to hold the two babies that I gave birth to.
I had the same problem I read about in some of the other blogs responding to the hop about relationships.  There was an outpouring of support.  Until after the funeral.  Then it was just us.  I still look through my book where all the people signed in at the funeral and go through the cards I received.  I actually have one or two family members or friends who have sent cards since then.  I don't know if anyone realizes how much it still effects my everyday life.  How could they?  That's part of why I started this blog.
As far as family goes I have been abundantly blessed.  Both sides of our families have never said "get over it" or insinuated as much.  I am so very grateful that my sister talks to me about it and allows me to cry with her.  I know it's a heavy burden to hear a grown woman sob and moan.  It takes a lot of trust to share that and a lot of compassion to be willing to share that weight.
The other really difficult relationships to me are the new ones.  I just met a group of new friends and none of them know about Samantha.  I wanted so much to talk about her today during a conversation about naming babies, but I want to wait until I know them a little better.
My only advice is to be forgiving and communicate what you need.  People are not mind readers but generally they would like to give you what you need.  They just have no idea what that is.  A note, a call, an email, or having a friend talk to someone can be all it takes to get people to start or stop talking about your loss.
This can be very difficult, especially with people you aren't close to.  I like to take any opportunity that arises.  A conversation about naming children, about being pregnant, about finding out the sex of the baby, about birth.  Any chance I can share about Samantha and show how much I enjoy talking about her helps others to feel better about it.
We went to visit my mother's aunt whom we rarely see and my mom brought pictures of all her grand-kids.  So I brought my brag-book with pictures of Samantha.  I think they saw how much I needed to talk about her and it helped that they seemed to really care and wanted to know what happened.  I don't sugar coat it if I can help it.  I just try to say how much I love her and how much I miss her.

Wishing for More Pictures

Me and my twins.
Just beginning to write about Samantha's life has made her so much more real to me again.  Sometimes I feel as if I imagined the whole thing.  Yesterday we went to the cemetery to visit Samantha's "spot" as we call it for my daughter.  There was a funeral at the time which brought back all kinds of memories. At Samantha's funeral I felt as if I had to be carried from the car.  I couldnt get out of the car.  She had been dead for days and yet, here I was struggling to say good bye.  Sometimes I wish I had screamed at the funeral.  I feel like maybe it wasnt clear to all who were there just how I felt.  But I assume they knew.  I wish I had some pictures from the funeral. I just scrapped the ones from the rosary and it is so nice to see them looking beautiful and acknowleding my experiences.  I am thinking about emailing everyone I know just to see if anyone might have pics but didnt want to or forgot to tell me about them.  At the rosary I was sort of in a wierd mood.  Even though it was obviously sad- I hadnt gotten to share my daughters with anyone!  They were in the NICU and Hannah even when she came home couldn't have visitors because of the risk of getting sick.  So here I was with an opportunity to tell everyone how special Samantha was.  I told them everything about her.  Some people shared with me stories of loss- some kind of inappropriately but I tried to be compassionate.
One of the best things someone did for me was to just show up.  A very dear friend of mine came and camped out in a hotel and said- call if you need me, or come over if you want, otherwise just forget Im here.  It was a lifesaver.  And then there was the food- oh there was food everywhere.  Not only was it a comfort to know we were not alone, but it was a comfort to eat without thinking.  If I had needed to think, I probably would have starved.
Being at the cemetery is always sad and somehow wonderful.  I feel like I am with her in a special way.  "I believe in the resurrection of the body"  This is something I have said every Sunday as a part of the apostles creed and never really gave another thought to.  We are human- we are body-spirits.  So I do feel that having her body there is special to me.  I imagine her on the day of the Resurrection.  Fully glorified body revealing her true self.  I can't wait to hug her.
It's nice to see her name, even if it is on a headstone.  And nice when people want to "see" her.  No matter how hot it is, it's hard to leave.  I like having our family sort of together.  I want to say more about her life and stop talking about her death but I guess that's where I am right now.  A lady at mass recognized me and asked which was the twin and how did she die.  In a way I thought it was a little nosy- but mostly I was happy to talk about her and that someone cared enough to ask. She said- that was horrible.  I said- it is horrible.  I always want to say "but" after that.  There really is no "but" although there are "and"s.  AND I am grateful for Hannah and Alexandra.  AND I am grateful for each moment I spent with Samantha.  The lady thought she had died before birth- not that it matter so much- but it does to me.  I spend 40 days expecting to bring her home.  It's nice to have her acknowledged.  Even by someone I really don't know.

When Family Comes to Visit *warning * casket photo

These pictures are from March 14 and 15, 2010 (Samantha passed away March 12, 2010).  I can't help being reminded of this time when David's grandparents come to visit.  It seems like it never even happened.  The photos make me feel a little less crazy.  17 months ago when they were here, this is where my daughters were.  I know that may seem a little morbid but it's not meant to be.  I only want to acknowledge that my heart went to this moment today. 
I think every time family comes to visit or we go to visit family, there is a part of me that wonders- where would Samantha have sat?  Who would have held her while I held Hannah- or now chased is more like it.  It's especially hard when we see David's Grandparents, not only because it reminds me of when they came for the funeral, but also because my father in law is a twin.  I can't help imagining all the things we would have been talking about.  How to get their schedules to match, how much work it is having two toddlers.  How to make sure they both get attention and individual identities.  I would have asked her how she did it with hers and we would have that common twin mom bond that we did have for 8 months.  Now I try not to think about it.  When they come I try to think of some way to share Samantha with them.  Show them my scrapbook or some new frame I bought for one of her pictures.  I plan to invite them to go with us to the cemetery. 

It was so frustrating that so many people in our family never got to meet her.  We just never thought we would run out of time like that.  I miss her so much.  I am trying to make her a part of my life in new ways but it isn't the same and it sometimes just feels like a lie.  She doesn't feel like a part of our lives at all- it's as if I am pretending something that isn't true. It certainly doesnt seem to be true for everyone else. But I do believe in heaven and the communion of saints, so I try to remember that even if I don't like the way things are- she is still there. This picture was taken February 25, 2010.  I still don't want to believe she is gone. But it would be even worse to feel she never was. 
You were so beautiful even in death.  I remember you my sweet angel.  I miss you.  Please say a prayer for your mommy's heart to be healed.  I love you.

The Inevitable Question

We made some new friends today.  Sometimes I actually avoid meeting new people just because I know they will ask.  "How many children do you have?"  And it feels so terrible to answer two.  I know I'm not really betraying Samantha, but tell that to my stomach.  We talk about where we are from and I talk about how I was pregnant when we moved... pregnant with Hannah.  Since I'm not sure I want to get into it.  But I do want to acknowledge her.  So I just think about her and wish she was here.
I was working on a page in my scrapbook and I noticed once more my missing 16 days.  The last pictures we took of Samantha were from February 24.  I think actually we have one from March 5 but you can't see her face very well.  There were 2 weeks where she was gaining weight, nursing, taking all her food by mouth, and failing sleep tests.  Her little cheeks were filing out and her personality was emerging.  She was so alert that the nurses put a little black and white design in her crib so that she would have something to entertain her.  They moved her out of the room where she and Hannah had been by themselves, out to the spot where she had been when they first were born.  Or it may have been the spot Hannah was in right next to her.  I remember sitting with her resting on my forearms on on my lap. Her sparkling eyes were looking up at me.  We were just making faces at each other.  Just "talking".  A nurse came by and asked if we were playing googly eyes.  We were.  All this time we got to know each other, we were expecting her home any day.  I never brought a camera to the hospital except on my phone and used it very rarely.  It didnt seem like a time I would want to remember.  If I could just get her home then life could begin.  Hannah came home 2-28-10.  I really thought she would be home by March 6 the next friday.  They kept telling me that her lips turned blue when she ate and she was having trouble breathing when she ate.  I never had that problem so it was hard to be concerned or even understand why that would keep her from coming home.  When Hannah came home it was as if one day they said she was ready and the next day they were discharging her.  Naturally I was expecting a similar experience with Samantha.  Well, that's one twin lesson I did learn.  They are completely separate individuals.  So Samantha's homecoming was delayed three times.  After she passed away someone told me- thank God they didnt send her home with me. Many times I wished they had, so at least she could have come home, and Alexandra could have met her.  We could have all been together even if just for a short time.  But in my heart I don't believe she would have died.  I would never have given her rice cereal in her bottle.  I never needed to. And anyway, she would have been with her mama.  It's so hard not to believe that if her mommy had been holding her she wouldnt have gotten sick.

But I realize this is a futile and negative line of thinking.  This is the last picture I have of her.  March 5she was 4 weeks and 5 days old.  She was still only 36 weeks adjusted and it's one week before she died.  All I really mean to say is that I wish I had pictures of those 16 days.  So I try to take as many pictures as I can of my Hannah Banana.  And whenever someone asks me the inevitable question, I answer as honestly as my heart can and tell Samantha I will never forget her.

The Invisible Current

As I cope with my day to day struggles I often wonder how my grief effects my emotional state.  If I am feeling depressed or anxious I don't know if it's really caused by what is happening or if it's just the undercurrent of grief coming to the surface.  Last night I couldnt sleep. My mind was filled with thoughts of the moment the doctors came and told us Samantha wouldn't make it.  Why didnt I ask more questions?  I should have demanded that they at least try to heal her!  All the surgeon could say was "I'm sorry".  Actually she knelt beside me and had to repeat herself.  That moment is frozen in my mind.  It never ends.  I am living that moment right now- still reeling from the reality that Samantha is never coming home.
I want so much to remember the beautiful moments.  Holding her, nursing her, changing her diapers.  Bringing the car seat to her- boy that was a great day.  But each amazing moment is so bittersweet. I try to rewrite the moments that should have been beautiful.  The day she was born for starters. 
The first time I saw her I was on a hospital bed being wheeled past her incubator.  I was groggy but seeing her beautiful face made it all worth it.  I was so relieved to see her chest rise and fall.  Then to be wheeled by another beautiful face- also mine!!!  I gently caressed each precious head.  The nurses instructed me not to stroke them because it was too stimulating and would bother them, so I held my hand still on one tiny body and then the other.  Thank goodness David, my husband, had the presence of mind to snap a few pictures.


However the way I really remember it- not being able to touch them and seeing them so frail and naked, sprawled among the wires and tubes was horrifying.  I was grateful they were alive, but they did not look well.  The moments when we should have all been snuggling together on my chest, they were alone, separated from each other and me, comforted only by beeps and an occasional diaper change and temperature check.

I suppose it might make more sense to write this blog more like a story and go from beginning to end.  Since it is for me to share, I think I will just tell the parts that come to me.

The First Entry

There have been so many days I had things to say and nowhere to say them.  I thought about opening a word document but it felt too lonely.  I wanted to start a blog but it needed a title and I would have to start from the beginning which is always hard.  I want to share where I am.  I need a place to remind the world that Samantha was here.  I need a place to hear Samantha's name and say it and see it and tell stories about her and remember the time I spent with her and share pictures of her.  I need her to be a part of my life so that I can stop thinking about how she would have been a part of my life and start acknowledging how she is a part of my life.

An important way I got through that first year was with my Scrapbook.   It was something I could touch and hold and do with my memories of Samantha.  This is one of my favorite pages.




This is where she is buried at Our Lady of the Rosary Cemetery in Georgetown.  I wish I could visit her everyday.  But I hope that by starting this blog I will be able to keep her closer. 
To read our story start here.