I Should Be Folding Laundry

Weird. Bizarre. Long-Winded. Awesome.

Do you want to hear a really weird, bizarre, long winded story?  You do?  I'm so glad.

We moved into our last home on August 1, 2003.  The house was brand new, no yard, no landscaping, just like this one.  I waited until July of 2004 to do the landscaping because I was pregnant and very large and grouchy, with the puffiest fingers anyone has ever seen, so we waited.  During that year, my sister lost her baby, Jonathon.  She was 22 weeks along. 

My Mom and I decided to tackle the landscaping on our own.  I happen to think my Mom is a Landscape Genius, but she disagrees.  While shopping for plants I came across the most peculiar looking tree, it was small, unique and it was a perfect tree to become my Jonathon tree.  I had a brick made with his initials on it and placed the brick underneath that tree.  It was the perfect place, the perfect tree, it was all perfect.  That tree became my favorite part of the garden and I LOVED my garden, so that says a lot.  Unfortunately, when we bought the tree, we didn't even know the name of it, as it had no tags.

When we sold our house, my first point of panic came when I thought about leaving that tree and the rest of my landscaping, for that matter.  Every Mother's Day, I planted something new, one year I planted two lilac trees beneath my kitchen window (a dream of mine.)  Another year I planted a beautiful purple clematis, that just this year climbed the sides of my deck with vigor, it was gorgeous.  So, leaving my landscaping was more than just leaving my landscaping, it was leaving a little piece of my heart at that house.

I am okay with that, after meeting the new owners.  The wife is an avid landscaper, which makes me happy.  We discussed my plants and what they meant to me, specifically that tree.  I told her about James and Jake and she looked deep into my eyes and listened and understood.  We connected.  It was amazing.  She was meant for our house.

But now here I am, wanting to begin the landscape "adventure" all over again.  I worked with the landscaper, who put in our yard, and he and I created and prepared the beds, with beautiful dirt just waiting to hold and nurture some vibrant black-eyed Susans or protect the hostas from the harsh cold during the winter.

At our last house, Brian dug out all of the beds and it took many hours of back breaking labor, so he was quite pleased with the work the landscapers did.  I am quite, pleased, too.

I want to plant two trees for James and Jake, I want them to be the same trees I planted for Jonathon, the problem?  I don't know what kind of tree it was.  I knew it was some sort of crabapple and that's about it.

On Thursday, I began my search for the trees, no luck.  Then yesterday afternoon, I stopped at a landscape place, kinda out in the country.  I went there and talked with someone and they had lots of crabapples.  It didn't take us long to find THE tree.  It's called a lollipop crabapple.  It had crabapples on it, which surprised me because I didn't remember ever seeing crabapples on the ground.  I told her this and she said "that's because birds eat them in the fall and in the winter."

I thought, "of course they do, what an absolutely perfect tree to plant for James and Jake, as birds thrive off of its fruit in the colder months."  Birds which remind me so much of my precious boys. (and always have.)

Unfortunately, there was only one.  I discussed with her having personalized bricks created , this is the same place I bought one four years ago.  We walked into the building and she asked me what color brick I wanted.  I told her I didn't really pay attention to the colors and told her I would go back outside to look.  I did and on my way back to the store, I saw it, the other lollipop crabapple.

I came in and told her there was another one and she said "no, that's a lilac tree."  I told her she was wrong and she agreed.

But, both of these trees were so expensive that I couldn't even bring myself to buy one of them without searching every other landscape place in Northwest Indiana, I wish I could have just taken them and thrown them into the back of the van, but they just cost too much.

My plan was to continue looking for the trees this morning.

Well, last night, another blogger who lives in this area left a comment saying she drove past a landscape place and thought of me, the sign in front said "if your name is Beth or Brian, come in for a free rose."

My name.  My husband's name.

I e-mailed her and asked her where the place was.  She replied and would you believe it was the EXACT place I had found the two trees and ordered the stones with their names engraved on them.

Ever since losing James and Jake I have decided to try to follow what is meant to be.  To not fight anything, to just go with the flow. 

I have no doubt, these two trees are meant to be and I know that James and Jake agree.

Remember

I just received flowers from some amazing friends.  They are beautiful and sunny and I love them.  But what means the most to me isn't the flowers, is that they used their names in the card, they said "James and Jake would forever remain in their hearts."  And well, that, means something to me, that means they feel them, too.  That tells me that people won't forget these two boys, and that means more to me than anything else.

From the moment we lost them I feared their lives would disappear, that people would forget them.  Just typing that line literally makes me sob, I still fear that so much.  It comforts me knowing how many people out there still feel them, and well, love them. 

I hear from people who do not take their children or their pregnancies for granted because of James and Jake.  People want to have something or do have something that is there personal reminder of James and Jake, people I have never met.  I wish I had a way to properly express what that feels like to me.  I think I feel honored above anything else.  Honored that I was chosen to be their Mom, honored that so many beautiful people out there know of them and really care.

After receiving the flowers, it got me to thinking, you know how cute newborns are, right?  Well, you know how you pick a newborn up and they're bodies are still scrunched up with their little booties sticking out?  Do you know what I'm talking about?

Well, I keep picturing that, I have no idea why, it just keeps playing over and over in my mind.   And it brings me to tears.  Usually, when I envision it, I remove it from my head with something else like watering the lawn or EATING.  But sometimes, I let myself imagine what our lives would be like right now, with two little babies and lifting them up while they are still scrunched up with their booties sticking out.  Sometimes I picture how hectic and tiring everything would be right now.  What it would be like to change that many diapers in one day?  How amazing it would be to figure out how we could tell the two apart.  Would James have a little birth mark?  Would Jake's ears be a little bigger than James'.

Right now, our house is so quiet.  And it just feels wrong.  And sad.

And sometimes I think about the fact that this weekend, we are going to try to memorialize  our sons by planting flowers and trees and whatever else I can get my grieving hands on and how it fills my heart knowing that this is all for them, but in reality, it breaks my heart that we are spending this weekend trying to memorialize our sons by planting flowers and trees.

Because it doesn't make me feel better, at least right now it doesn't.  Right now my heart hurts, I want to rip it out of chest and stomp on it.  This year I have felt the greatest joy I had ever known in my life and I have felt the heaviest sadness, pain and grief I could ever imagine.

It's just too much.

But we'll continue on, as we always do.  I'll dry my tears, all seven million of them, drink some coffee and drive somewhere to find just the right plants to plant in our garden.  The garden for James and Jake.  We don't need these things to help us remember them, but each spring, with each bloom and sign of green, it will be our reminder of how precious and sacred life really is. 

I think we could all use reminders like that.

Pictures.

As promised, I am here to post some pictures.

Except I am not posting a ton of pictures of our house tonight, nope, instead, I am posting pictures a ton of pictures I took outside.  I LOVE taking pictures of nature, it makes me feel good, it's good for my soul, I love having the shots show up on my screensaver. Between you and me?  When taking pictures, I think of James and Jake with every shot, I'm not sure why, I just do.

Like I said, it's good for my soul.  (by the way, Carrie was wondering what kind of camera I have, Carrie, I have the Nikon D40X.  It's fantastic.)

It's been awhile since I have taken any fun outdoor pictures, but today the kids and I went for a walk in a park about six minutes from my new house.  My dream is to have some of my favorite photos printed (high quality, not at Walgreens) and professionally framed and then place them on my walls.  That would make me happy.  (anyone know of any photo printing service that's inexpensive?  Anyone?  Anyone?  Beuller?)

So, here are a few of the pictures I took.  And at the end I added a picture of my kitchen that I took tonight, all unpacked and moved in.  You can also see that Servpro is still at our house, YES, you read that right, they are still treating the flood that occurred last Wednesday.  Now all that's left is a smaller fan and a big de-humidifier, which is nothing compared to the two massive industrial fans that were there up until yesterday. Hopefully what's left in there now will be gone by tomorrow.  (with any luck, which  I seem to have none.)

On to the outdoor shots.  It was roughly 187 degrees outside with 100% humidity, which does not bother me, but the kids, well, they did not appreciate the heat, so time was limited, but the subjects were not.

And this one reminds of James and Jake.  I saw this tree and it was very symbolic and beautiful to me.

Here's a shot I took last week of a storm system that was heading in our direction.  I took this on my porch.  This storm barely even produced rain.

And here's my kitchen tonight, can you spot the machinery in the kitchen?

And here is what is supposed to be a dining room that we changed into an office.  I am loving the way this room is turning out.  It's part of Ruby & Roja Headquarters!  Now if I could just stop storing everything on the desk, maybe I could get some work done. This was taken at sunset.

Are you bored to tears, yet?  or do you want more house pictures?

O.K.

I wanted to stop in for a moment to tell you all that I am okay.  I finally have DSL and plan to have a HUGE POST TODAY complete with pictures and well, anything else that may bore you to tears.

Your comments helped me so much.  Right now at this moment, I feel stronger and that feels so very good to me.

Thank you for checking on me and caring for me and for loving me.  I don't know what I did to deserve such amazing people in my life, but I am so, so grateful to have you.  Thank YOU.

Sunday, July 13th, 2008. 3:29 p.m.

I am one week away from my due date.  I can remember way back in November, taking the pregnancy tests and not being able to fathom the fact that there was a child inside of me.  We were stunned, but happy.  I can remember sitting down and calculating the due date at babycenter.com, the date July 20th, 2008 popped up.  I took that date as a sign to call my Mom and tell her our exciting news because her birthday is July 20th.

It was a very exciting phone call.

I have always loved my Mom's birthday, I love taking pictures and watching her take in the faces singing to her, enjoying the song as if it's the most beautiful song she has ever heard, even though it doesn't sound very good at all.  On her birthdays, however, I often wonder how painful it must be to not be surrounded by all of her children, who are spread all over the country and sometimes, the world.  I wonder if she's thinking about her Mom, who is no longer with us.

For 30 years, July 20th was a day of celebration for me.   A celebration of my mother, her life, the person she is and all that she has brought into the world.

This year I fear July 20th.  FEAR.  I woke up today, feeling light and free and wide awake after a night out with friends and blogging buddies, Brian in North Carolina, the kids in their beds.

But then I broke.  My bravery, my strength, my walls came crashing down.  I am so sad, I am filled with grief, pain, despair, anger, and guilt.

Guilt, because this year, on July 20th, this day won't just be about my Mom.  This day will be about what is not in my arms, in our home, in our family.  Our hopes, our dreams, our faith - GONE.

I had planned to pretend that this year would be like every other.  But then I see the cross that holds their ashes, I see pictures of me while pregnant on my computer, a tiny baby sitting in her mother's arms, right next to me while trying to be social and strong, and I can no longer pretend.

At every moment, I am aware of this date, drawing near. 

I need your prayers and thoughts this week.  I feel so badly asking you for this, but I need to feel you surrounding me.  I want to run away from those quiet moments of grief, outside watering my flowers, during my showers, alone in my bed.  Those quiet moments that remind me of what we do not have.  OUR boys.  OUR sons.  Our beautiful James Thomas and Jake David.

Do they know how much I love them?  Do they know I would give anything to be their Mommy, here on earth?  To stay up late at night with them, to comfort them when they cry, to hold them to bring them comfort?  DO THEY KNOW THIS? 

It is more than I can bear.  I have always said, long before even losing James and Jake "I can handle whatever is given to me."  But now, I fear, I was wrong all along.

I didn't like having a nice kitchen anyway.

Today started out like a typical morning, I walked down the stairs and headed towards my coffee maker as quickly as my tired legs could go.  I heard water running and grew concerned and realized rather quickly that I was walking in water, at least an inch of water.  In my brand new kitchen, with the beautiful hardwood floors. 

I saw the water was coming from the back of the refrigerator, I called Brian who is on a business trip in North Carolina and I pulled the refrigerator out.  The water line that connects to the ice maker was no longer attached to the fridge.  In fact, when I pulled the fridge away from the wall, the hose was whipping around like a wild snake, I felt like I was reenacting the scene from Mr. Mom when he fights the hose from the washing machine, the water was spraying all over my kitchen and on my face and my glasses, I was soaking wet, my floors, the cabinets, the walls, everything, was wet.

I didn't even know where or how to begin the clean up, I eventually got out the shop vac and almost filled it up two times from the water in the kitchen alone.  While on the phone with Brian he said "you may want to check out the basement."  No, actually I do not want to check out the basement at all, I wanted to reply, I'll just pretend we don't have a basement, m'kay?

But eventually I went downstairs to find water EVERYWHERE.  The couches and carpet we had downstairs are ruined, crib mattresses and car seats and boxes of clothes are  soaking wet.  In the basement, however, our items weren't just wet, they were muddy and disgusting.

I got the kitchen pretty dry and put out three fans and washed about 80 towels but I could look down at the wood and see it starting to warp, the dark edges of each piece made me want to weep.

We decided two things.  Number one, we need to hire a company to come and dry us out completely.  Number two, call the insurance company.

After awhile, a restoration company came by and worked on the clean up, they took pictures and prepared the paperwork to be sent to our insurance company, the kids and I left the house for the evening because their massive fans and de-humidifiers were just deafening.  I'm pretty annoyed that this happened because it FINANCIALLY sucks.  This move has been so incredibly expensive and we really wanted to get a new, much larger dining room table, along with about 40,000 other things.

But instead, we are paying for people to dry our house out.  Talked about an unplanned expense.

The funny thing is, though, I don't really care that this happened., I mean, it sucks, for sure, but it's tolerable.  We may not be buying a new table anytime soon, but we do have a table, and a roof over our heads and a family to share dinners with.  And although it sucks that we are having to spend thousands of dollars, that we really do not have, on this ridiculous thing that happened, we still have a beautiful home and we are so grateful.

I talked to my friend Christy this afternoon and she said "you know, (with her beautiful Texas accent) I hate to be cliche, but when it rains it pours."  and she's right, I am aware.  I would be lying to you if I said I never once thought "WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO US?  CAN'T WE CATCH A BREAK?"  Because I did think those thoughts but followed by those thoughts, in all honesty, were thoughts of gratitude and being fully aware of the good that is in my life.

My husband is out of town for two weeks, but he's not in Iraq.  (my brother left today for Iraq and won't be back until March - please keep him and his family in your prayers)
My house flooded, but it's okay, the floors have to be resurfaced and soon this will all be a memory.
My boys, my sons, died inside my belly, but somehow they are so deeply engraved in my heart that I feel them with me.  It's almost like I can feel their hands on my shoulders during these stressful times, hands of support and grace and love, speaking to me telling me everything is going to be okay.

Although silver linings typically drive me crazy, I was pretty proud of myself for allowing myself to listen to those words of encouragement deep inside my heart and my brain.

This experience today, is something that will be added to our catalog of memories that happened in our new house.  Last night, after the kids went to bed, my girlfriends came over and we sat in the living room and laughed and ate nachos and chocolate mousse cake, and yesterday morning I sat and watched my children sleep.

I realize that tomorrow morning I may wake up with a really bad attitude about what happened today, or maybe we'll find out that the floor will have to be totally replaced, but for right now, I'm pretty grateful that all we experienced today was a flood in our kitchen and basement.  Not that big of a deal at all, really.

Our Home

If all goes as planned, then tonight will be the last night in our home.

Our home.  It is truly our home.  It's warm, inviting, cozy and filled with love.  This weekend I have walked within these walls thinking about all that we have seen and felt and experienced here.  The love, the kisses, both of our children learning to talk and walk and play.  The memories are so sweet.  The memories are so vivid.  After tomorrow, memories will be all we have.

Except sometimes, those memories don't feel like such a small thing.  They are so sweet, they are sometimes bitter, they are sometimes heartbreaking, but through it all we have experienced it all as a family. 

This home was my protector after James and Jake died.  It was the only place where I felt secure and certain.  Every time I walked outside this home after losing them, I felt so alone in this big world, so unsafe, unsure of what will happen, but upon returning through the front door, the not so certain became certain again, I was comfortable in my grief, if that's even a possibility.  I feel gratitude towards this home, I want to hug and thank it for being there for us, through it all, I want to sit and share memories with it over coffee, we'd swap stories remembering the time Brian threw up on the bedroom wall or the time I burned my arm on the oven.  And the good, the moment Racecar came home from the hospital, Ariel's first day of school, or on Christmas day when we told Ariel and Racecar that we were going to be adding to our family by two this summer.

If I could, I'd thank our home for being gentle with me on the days I would wake up and realize my babies had died, I would wake up hopeful it was just a bad dream, but no, it was painfully real when I realized my belly and my heart were empty.

This house is so beautiful.  And so are the memories.

I'll miss our neighbors, who are quiet, friendly and they respect our privacy and our space but would do anything for us.  I'll miss the many varieties of flowers that we planted that came back every year without fail, and yet every year I was in awe of their beauty.

I'll miss the trees in our backyard that are the home to the birds singing their beautiful songs.  I will miss it all.

I say good bye to this house, with sadness, but no regrets.  It is time to move on, to create new memories in a new home, a new adventure.  We are parting with such sweet sorrow, but we are definitely looking forward to tomorrow.

faith for the faithless

I am not referencing God or religion or church or holiness when I write the word faith.

When I write faith, I'm referring to trust.  Trust in life.  Trust in good.  Trust that everything will go along as planned because that is what is supposed to happen.

I have always been faithful in my life.  I had never been given a reason not to be faithful.  I am a good person, I never lie, I always try to do what's right because it's right, and not for personal gain.

I was faithful.

and then, oh my god, my babies died.  These beautiful, amazing gifts that were given to us were taken away.

Faith was with me throughout my pregnancy with James and Jake.  I had gone in for the ultrasound at eight weeks because I was experiencing painful cramping and discharge, after my ultrasound I went home and my doctor's office called and said "the doctor wants you to come in tomorrow morning because we want to find out why you were having cramps and the discharge."  So, the next morning I hopped into the shower and I touched my belly and I cried.  I cried so hard because I felt so blessed.  I could not believe the gift we had been given.

An hour later I was sitting in the doctor's office, I could not wait to talk to her about the two babies growing inside of me.  Instead she came in and said "according to the ultrasound, your babies share a sac (also known as monochorionic) and there is a 50% chance that they will not survive because their cords will become entangled, killing one and then the other.  My hope is that the tech just did not get good enough images and that you do, in fact, have diamnionic twins (two separate sacs).  We will do an ultrasound in our office in two weeks."

I left feeling crushed.  My emotions went from elation to sadness, faster than I ever dreamed possible.  I had planned to buy a twin pregnancy book after my doctor's appointment but I felt so silly doing that now after having that appointment. 

But I did buy that book because I was faithful.

And so, two very long and emotional weeks later, on December 26th, we nervously entered the ultrasound room, the technician put the wand on my ten week belly and said "it's diamnionic."  We cried, we were so happy and relieved.  Except the words happy and relieved do not really even touch what we felt that day.  We just knew we were so in love with these babies who were to join our family come this summer.

But then on December 31st, I started to bleed and my world came crashing down on me.  Blood.  The thing I feared the most every time I went to the bathroom.  And there it was - that sign that something has gone wrong.  I immediately paged my doctor who told me to go to the emergency room.  I remember on the way there thinking "there is no way I am going to lose these babies."  I was so scared, and it was so beyond me.

But I had faith and thirty minutes later I could see two little heartbeats.

So, on February 25th, 2008, when the nurse could not find their heart beats, I was fearful and faithful, I had faith as I took the elevator down to ultrasound, faith that these babies would soon be kicking me in my ribs.  I had faith.

But then I watched the words "no cardiac movement" being typed slowly with one hand onto the screen.  A piece of me died at the moment.  And sometimes?  I think that piece of me was my faith.

Because now I tread through life cautiously, I fear cars running into our's and injuring my children, I don't get my hopes up for our new house because I'm certain the deal will fall through, even with the closing being less than a week away. I fear another pregnancy, I fear I'll never see Brian again when he leaves for a business trip, I fear for Be Design, I have lost faith in myself and people and my surroundings.

I fear the rug being pulled out from beneath me in every situation. 

I tread softly, cautiously, painfully through my days.  I try to be brave, I try to trust.  But sometimes, unfortunately, when I begin to regain that faith again, something else seems to happen and I lose the little bit of trust that I was able to build up in my life once again. 

Losing my sons was hard enough, losing my faith makes it even harder to accept and move on.

Variety

First of all, thank you to everyone who left me your kind, warm, amazing, beautiful, heartfelt comments.  It made such a difference in my day, I hope you believe me, I needed something and you gave it to me and I am so, so, so grateful.  Thank you.

I have a review up over here and I'm doing a (GREEN!) giveaway with TEN WINNERS - go, go, go.

I have a post up over here.

And, we are planning NWI Blogger Meetup on July 12th.  I know I'm going to do my best to be there, if you live in Northwest Indiana and you blog, go here for more details.  We'd love to have you.

So many links, so little time. 

Have a great weekend.  You deserve it.

Pretend

Sometimes, I get tired of pretending.  At the store, with family, with my friends, with my kids, with my husband.

With me.

I look into the mirror each morning and I can almost convince myself that my heart isn't broken, I look at my eyes and they look the same at the surface and that will carry me through the rest of the day, pretending there is no pain.

But sometimes, I can't pretend anymore, sometimes, like last night and RIGHT NOW, the wound is so deep and raw, that I wonder how I was ever able to get out of bed just today.  Now, when I look into the mirror, I see empty, wet, puffy eyes.

It still hurts so bad.  I still can't believe this is where we are in our lives.  I can't believe they are gone.  I can't believe that today, almost four months later, I still feel like I won't make through this day.  I can't believe I'm not stronger than this.

Sometimes, I need your words so badly.  Right now is one of those times.