5 years

It's 12:06 p.m.

  

Five years ago, at this very moment, I was at the grocery store. I was three days overdue with Mila and I knew that she might arrive at any moment. It was a hot, summer day and we needed a few things before the holiday weekend and/or before I went to the hospital and left Charlie and Sofie with my parents. Plus, we just needed to get out of the house.

I arrived home, put most of the groceries away and was texting Chris about his plans for the afternoon. As I was typing, my water broke. I was shaking with excitement . . . she’s coming! I called my parents to see if one of them could come over. Chris was on his way home and I was shoving towels in my pants as I tried to make my four year old twins some lunch before I left to have a baby. It was nuts.

My parents arrived, took over the lunch preparations, and Chris and I grabbed our bags for the hospital. My mom graciously told me not to worry about my soaked pants and the towels I had shoved in them. I threw them in the laundry and knew she would be washing them the minute I left. That's how she is.

I remember how we anxiously drove to the hospital, how hot it was, and how I couldn’t believe we would be meeting our baby girl so soon. 

I think now about how surreal the rest of Mila’s birth story is, how no woman ever imagines she will check into the hospital in labor, and wake 13 days later from a coma, deeply aware that things will never be the same again.

I can’t breathe today.

I’m making lunch for my four, beautiful children, and I can’t breathe as I stand in the same place on the same day of the week that my labor began five years ago. My PTSD after losing Mila and almost dying from sepsis after her delivery is almost always well managed. Almost. It’s days like today, the day I went into labor and the day before what would have been her fifth birthday, when my chest feels tight, when my throat and eyes well up all day because I just can’t believe our baby died.

The anniversary of Mila’s death and the memories of that devastating summer always cut right into what would normally be a time of celebrating the 4th of July, enjoying time home with my kids, Chris’s relaxed work schedule, and taking advantage of Minnesota’s beautiful summers. I can’t press pause on soccer games, camps, appointments, or neighborhood parties. Heck, I can’t even sit here long enough to finish a thought before someone in the other room is crying, fighting, or just dumped a bowl of cereal on the floor. Most of the time I feel so fortunate to have these children and these distractions, but today, and tomorrow (on her birthday), I just want to be alone with my girl, with my memories, with my trauma, and with my self.

This year is also feeling especially tough because it is a milestone year. Mila would be turning five and going to kindergarten in the fall. I’ve held by breath this year as I’ve watched friends take their kids to kindergarten round ups, sob and reminisce that their babies are growing up too fast or that it’s their last kid to go off to kindergarten. Mila would be going too, and had she not died, she would probably have been our last. 

I would be sending her to school with Charlie and Sofie and some my friends' kids, too. Sometimes I see Mila's shadow frolicking around with the other little siblings as if she's here, too. Then I blink, and she's gone. Sofie often tells me she wishes she had a little sister. I hate that I have to remind her that she does.

Every day, I see Mila's face in our home. Every day, I feel her loving, protective spirit. It's as if she's walking with us for the rest of our time here on earth. This is why we are participating this September in the Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep Remembrance Walk. Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep is an organization that provides free professional photography to families who have lost a baby. These photographers take beautiful pictures of the family and their child during the last moments of life or after the child has passed. 

The pictures our NILMDTS volunteer photographer took of Mila are my memories of her. They are the reason I know what my daughter looks like. After doctors told us they could not revive Mila, I was rushed into surgery. I held her briefly, but I have no memory of what she looked like then. These photographs have saved me from a lifetime of agony, wondering what she may have looked like. Because of these amazing pictures, I know who Mila is.

Would you like to support this very important organization and our walk this September? Click on the link below to make a pledge for our team "Walking With Mila". 

Would you like to walk with us? If so, please email me or sign up below. 

https://raceroster.com/events/2016/9103/now-i-lay-me-down-to-sleep-2016-remembrance-walk/pledge/team?id=35

Happy 5th birthday, dear Mila. 

As long as I am living, my baby you'll be.

It's complicated.

Grief is complicated. Parenting is complicated. Parenting through grief is super complicated. Yesterday was a day that I am not particularly proud of. I yelled at my kids, shamed my son for accidentally smacking me in the face, and asked the tired and hungry babies to please shut up while they were screaming at me from their high chairs. I joined Sofie's class on a field trip to the fire department, but really wished I could have just gone for a massage. I threw toys on purpose because they were in my way and I was tired of stepping on them. I finally got out of the house in the evening to attend my baby loss support group (which I hadn't been to in months), but the heaviness of my day made talking about Mila even harder. I cried all the way home, wishing things weren't so hard some days.

Life is hard.

My mom and sister and I went to see the movie This is Where I Leave You a few weeks ago. It's about four adult siblings whose father has just died. The movie is all about relationships and I sobbed through the whole thing thinking, "Life is so hard some times! Marriage is hard. Parenting is hard. Balancing work and home is hard. Friendships are hard. Losing a child is hard. Going back to school is hard. Having an aging spouse or parent is hard. Ugh. It's a really good movie, but ugh.

The thing I feel so awful about right now is that my grief has paralyzed me in times when I feel I should be more present, more responsible, more attentive, more creative, more thoughtful. Grief makes it almost impossible to process or cope with anything out of the ordinary. I want to rejoice in my children and the beautiful blessings they are, but I am stuck. I am tired, and I always feel like something or someone is missing. I want to create happy memories with my family; taking trips, playing, crafting, singing, dancing, but I am exhausted and overwhelmed by the idea of simply keeping four children safe and healthy. Earlier this fall, Sofie wanted to join Girl Scouts with all of her friends, but I convinced her that it would make our week too busy. The truth was that I was too tired and overwhelmed to commit to anything else. Now she feels left out and so do I. Grief makes me want to isolate and hide, but this time I kept something really fun from my daughter and I can't make it right. Would I be a better parent if I wasn't full of regret, grief, anger, and sorrow? I'm pretty sure.

I feel like Charlie and Sofie got the best of me. I was thrilled and grateful beyond words to be their mama. I felt like after years of infertility and an excruciating miscarriage, I had been given the world. I was alive. Their first three years were filled with laughter, silliness, creativity, and attention. Then, I wanted more and things went horribly wrong. Ellis and Julian are such blessings and I want to give them the same experiences that their older brother and sister had, but I am a different mama now. As a licensed teacher, I have all of the education and tools to create a positive, loving, early childhood for them, but grief and self pity rear their ugly heads at least once a day and I am toast. I have lost some of my tolerance, patience, and compassion for others, including my own husband and children. Now, when I see the mom ignoring or yelling at her kids in public, even though I still judge her a little, I can relate. I think, "That poor woman must really be hurting." I get it. It's not easy being responsible for other humans, and then to have to be cheerful and positive all the time while your heart is broken?

I've become a mama bear (even more than I was before). When your child (or children) die, you will do anything to prevent it from happening again. I can't stand to see my children hurt, left out, or bullied. I have started to speak up for my babies in ways I never knew I would have to. I've yelled at the neighbor kid for pushing Sofie around. I walked to the bus stop to scare the 5th grader that thinks he can force Charlie to the back of the line or push him into oncoming traffic. I stopped a car in the alley that was driving too fast and told the driver that my children are playing outside and if I ever see him driving like that again I will call the police. Booyah!

I just don't want my children to hurt like I do. I want my kids to feel normal, included, and loved. I want to be enthusiastic and fearless. I want to fight for them and for their dreams. I know, life is full of disappointment and hurt and it can make us stronger, but I'm not there quite yet. A dear friend of mine shared the idea that if we want to enjoy our time on earth, we must delight in every moment. Every moment. Pain or joy, it is all part of the soul's experience . . . the human experience. I wish I could remember that.

I guess what I want to tell every friend of mine, every parent, every teacher, every family member, is that I'm trying. I'm trying to show up. I'm trying to remember the best ways to teach and discipline my children. I'm trying to remember your birthday or anniversary. I'm trying to remember that I'm not the only one in pain. I'm trying to smile and live in the moment. I'm trying to take care of myself. I'm trying to be understanding and patient.

I'm trying.
And tomorrow I'll try again.

Three years

Tonight Chris commented about how even the weather can trigger such strong memories and feelings. Three years ago we had just celebrated my sister's 29th birthday. I was 40 weeks pregnant and ready to pop. I was hoping that Mila would arrive at any minute. I was really ready to be done. Four days later, I went into labor. My water broke at home after a trip to the grocery store with Charlie and Sofie. It was a gorgeous, sunny, summer afternoon.

I have a confession to make. Well, some people already know this, but to the general public it might be a confession. Up until a few months ago, I took doctor-prescribed anti-anxiety drugs. I started taking Sertraline in 2009 after struggling for almost a year with irritable bowel disease. I realized that anytime I was anxious or stressed my gut churned and burned. I was extremely sick for many months and was at the end of my rope, treatment wise. My doctor and I agreed that an SSRI (anti-depressant or anti-anxiety med) might help my mind from sending my body the message to go nuts every time I felt a little nervous or afraid. Thankfully, the medication, along with going gluten and dairy free, helped. I have been in remission from Ulcerative Colitis since August, 2010.

This winter I decided to go off of the anti-anxiety drugs because, thanks to more dietary changes (Paleo!) and making time for some self-care, I felt I didn't need medication to feel peaceful and at ease. Besides, the medication made me feel totally numbed out and exhausted. At times it even made me feel suicidal. Believe me, the last thing this busy, grieving mama needs to feel is suicidal. It was so scary!

So, the reason I'm sharing all of this is because for the first time in over four years, I'm feeling my feelings. For real. Since 2009, I've been numbed out on anti-anxiety meds. I haven't had a deep sense of compassion, empathy, sadness, or joy since before we conceived Mila. When I woke up from my coma, after Mila died, my doctors made absolute sure that I took my Sertraline every day. Not only was I in a state of complete physical and emotional shock, but I was taking meds to make sure my body didn't freak out after so much trauma. Today, off of my anti-anxiety meds and feeling my feelings, I wonder if I haven't finished grieving because, for the two and a half years after we lost our baby, my true emotions were somewhat inhibited. 

My mom cries at everything. My sister cries at everything. Now that I am off my meds, I cry at everything. I cried at Sofie's dance recital this spring, and she wasn't even on stage yet. I cry at commercials, while listening to Disney's Frozen songs in the car, and when I think a child might be the victim of bullying or discrimination. I've never cried in front of my kids, ever! Now, I can't control the water works!

Sometimes it's funny how sensitive I've become, how real I feel now. It's actually refreshing. But the reason I'm writing, the reason I'm going to hit 'publish' and then say, "Crap! What was I thinking?" is because I need people to understand that I'm not amazing, brave, or inspiring. 

I don't know how I'm going to handle Mila's birthday this Tuesday with all of these emotions. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I don't want to celebrate and smile and take the kids to the zoo. I want to crawl under my covers, scream and cry for as long as it takes, and then sit quietly with my baby girl in my heart, listening to her tell me that she's with me, that she's always with me. I want to listen to the songs by Ingrid Michaelson and Mat Kearney that remind me of the permanent emptiness and survivor's guilt I feel. I want to punch my pillow and pull out my hair in anger and disbelief that this happened to me, that it could happen to anyone. Then, maybe later in the day, I can get a hug from my caring husband, smile at my sweet kids, and thank God for the life I have, that I have life.

To the world that sees me now, I'm the mom with two sets of twins. No one who has just met me knows about Mila, about our pain and struggles, but every time someone asks me how I ended up with two sets of twins, or marvels at the uniqueness of our family, I think of Mila. It's all because of her. I just wish everyone knew about her, about how she is the connection between the first and second sets of twins.

She is the reason we are who we are. It is her name that is always on the tip of my tongue.

Happy birthday, my sweet girl.

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in

my heart) i am never without it (anywhere

i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing, my darling)

e.e. cummings

We made it.

Today is a good day. The sun is shining, the babies are sleeping, the house is somewhat clean. Sure, it's not even 10:00 a.m., but so far so good. Right now, I feel at peace.

Yesterday was a different kind of day. It was Ellis and Julian's first birthday. We had a party with grandparents, cousins, aunts, and uncles. My friend and gestational carrier brought her family and we celebrated these wonderful miracles that she helped bring into the world.

At the end of the day I watched some TV and then went to bed. I cried myself to sleep for the third night in a row. Chris asked me last night what was wrong and, honestly, I'm not sure. It's a lot of things. It's always a lot of things. I miss Mila. I wish we had been able to give her a first birthday party like Ellis and Julian's. I feel guilty for wishing she were here when we have been blessed with these amazing baby boys. I feel sad that I didn't carry Ellis and Julian and courageously deliver them like I did Charlie, Sofie, and Mila. I feel relived that the first year with my second set of twins is finally over. I feel sad that we are never going to have a baby in the house. I feel  bad that I didn't feel as happy this last year as I was when Charlie and Sofie were babies. Losing a baby and the ability to conceive does this to you. I feel all of these things, and then I feel ok for a while, and then it happens all over again.

I'm not going to lie, it's been a very difficult year. My rainbow babies (the living babies that follow a loss much like a rainbow that follows a storm) remind me all the time of Mila, of her life and her death. When I feel challenged as a mother, I blame our struggles with infertility and loss and I feel so sorry for myself. Instead of focusing on the new life we have been given, I focus on the storm. Losing Mila and almost dying myself felt like a hurricane that leveled everything for me. Everything. Our new life is wonderful, but I am still rebuilding.

As I adjust to the life I've been given (as opposed to the life I sometimes think I should have), certain things have to go so I can make room for what really matters. Put simply, I'm trying to take care of myself and my spirit rather than spending so much time living up to other people's expectations, standards, and rules. My mantra lately has been "No judgement and no rules!" Sure, balance and boundaries are important, but so is flexibility and understanding. For a while there I wasn't making room for love and understanding. I dismissed all that I've been through. I ignored my intuition and gut-instincts. I tried to compare myself and my experiences to others and let other people guide my thoughts and decisions. The more I did this, the worse I felt. I like to blend in and follow the pack, but now I realize that I must pave my own road.

Obviously, I can't write an entire blog entry in one morning. It's afternoon now and it's still a good day. A new and lovely friend came for a visit. I shared some of these thoughts with her and I feel good that I am starting to express myself without fear. Julian took his typical 30 minute nap and will keep me company for the rest of the day, crawling around the house and then banging his head on my leg until I pick him up. Ellis will nap for a while longer and then wake up happy, ready to play. We will go for a walk and meet Charlie and Sofie at the bus stop. I am grateful for this life.

I love the idea of living in today. Today I am free and I am loved. I am nourished physically and spiritually, not because I am following rules or doing what others say I should do, but because I choose to take care of my body and my soul.

Thanks for reading.

bouncing back

It's been over seven and a half months since our twin boys, Ellis and Julian, were born using a gestational carrier. Just now, almost eight months later, I feel like I am finally adjusting. I've been wanting to write so much, but couldn't find the time, energy, or enthusiasm to get started. Then there were some technical and logistical difficulties as well: a crappy internet connection due to an old router, not having a quiet space to sit down with my laptop, and with the ease of all other forms of social media, who needs to blog? I think I need to blog. I forgot how cathartic and relaxing writing can be. Right now, it's less than ten days until Christmas, 4 days until our first family Christmas celebration. I should be baking, wrapping, cleaning, or sleeping. But no, let's get caught up on the blog instead.

Julian Christopher and Ellis Nolan were born on the afternoon of May 4th, 2013. Ellis, also known as baby B, was starting to lag behind his brother due to umbilical cord issues. Blood wasn't flowing back and forth to Ellis, therefore he wasn't getting all of the nourishment he needed. Our OB decided at 34 weeks it was time for them to be born. Both babies were breech as well so our amazing gestational carrier had to have a c-section. Neither of us had experienced this before so we were both really anxious. While we waited for our turn in the OR, we took pictures, prayed, took a quick tour of the hospital, and prayed some more. Another wonderful friend was also there for moral support since our GC's husband was on a flight home from a business trip in Europe. The prep and surgery was smooth and we couldn't wait to meet our boys. I was sandwiched between my beautiful friend on the operating table and Chris, all of us hugging and squeezing hands. Julian was born first and let out the most incredible cry I had ever heard. It was the most awesome sound and I wept with joy that he was born, and that he was alive. Ellis came out next with a cry as well. I scream-cried tears of joy, relief, and a gratitude words will never explain. Chris and I were rushed over to the warmers where our 3 and 4 lb. boys were being assessed. Ellis weighed in at 3 lbs. 12 oz. and was such a little fighter. He never needed oxygen and was breathing on his own right away. Julian weighed 4 lbs. 11 oz. and needed oxygen for over a week as he not only screamed when he was born, but breathed in a lot of fluid.

The babies and I camped out at the NICU for 17 days. I never thought I would be able to handle having my babies in the NICU (This was a task for stronger, more faithful mamas), but I did it. The nurses finally made me go home after living at the hospital for a week. I returned every day to feed and care for our boys and then most evenings Chris would go see them while I tucked Charlie and Sofie into bed. The NICU days passed and finally we brought our tiny gifts home with us on May 21, 2013.

Once we were home, it just felt like deja vu. We had done the tiny twin thing, only this time I had not just given birth. I was exhausted, but I felt so much stronger and more capable than I did when Charlie and Sofie were newborns. This was just one more blessing our friend and gestational carrier gave us. She took on the burden of pregnancy, childbirth, and recovery so we could have these babies. She bounced back so beautifully I couldn't believe it! I was reminded again why she was the perfect person to help us on our journey. It truly believe she was picked by God to do this incredible task.

So, to summarize the last 7 months with Ellis and Julian, I would say it's been difficult, challenging, amazing, fun, and beautiful. I've cried because I didn't think I could handle four children. I've screamed at Charlie and Sofie to just give me a minute of silence. I've gazed in amazement at these babies that look so much like Charlie, Sofie, and Mila. I've thanked God and our GC over and over for the chance to parent these boys even when I didn't know if I would be cut out for it.

Today I feel like I have come out from under. It may sound weird, but I'm getting used to Ellis and Julian being here. The truth is, I wasn't sure they would ever get here. This all just seemed too good to be true. Let's just say that if ever there was a reason to believe in miracles, in a higher power's plan for us, this would be it. I have to be honest. There have been days when the babies were screaming at me to be fed and I just wanted to sleep, or eat my lunch, or pee. In these moments I thought, "If Mila were here I wouldn't have to deal with any of this crap." Sometimes these babies make me miss our little girl more than ever. Most of the time these babies remind me that Mila is right here with us, orchestrating this miracle of life and love.

Here I am . . .

First off, let me apologize for not writing more often. I didn't realize that my blog meant that much until people started asking me for an update! I'm flattered and now feel a little more pressure to keep it up! So, here I am, finally!

I've been trying to figure out what has kept me away from the blog for so many weeks, but I can't put my finger on it. My mind feels so full of thoughts, hopes, dreams, and fears as we wait for our baby boys to arrive. I don't think I could land on one thing to talk about so I just didn't write anything. Even now, I'm not sure what to say, so please forgive the rambling. :)

be willing to believe in miracles!

I know most of you just want to know how the pregnancy is going, and we could't be more grateful for what has been an uneventful, twin pregnancy. This week we are 30 weeks along! Our boys have been flipping around inside Cathy's belly for weeks, so we hope they settle head-down before delivery. If they don't, we could be looking at a c-section. Lots of people ask me if our carrier has children of her own. Yes, she has three. An eleven year old and seven year old twins. So, she and I both have done the twin thing before and neither of us has had to have a cesarean. We really hope that doesn't change! We have also worried about pre-term labor as this is very common with twins, and our carrier in particular, but there have been no indicators of any labor happening any time soon! (This, I believe, is a gift from God! Please keep the prayers coming, we REALLY want to take these boys home with little to no NICU time.)

happy easter!

While we wait for these little miracles to arrive, we have been super busy nesting and trying to enjoy our last days with just Charlie and Sofie. We had a really nice Easter. I've been singing with the band at church and I just love it! It's seriously a bucket list kind of thing for me. (Although my dream was to sing backup for James Taylor, I'll take this instead!) I'm also busy decorating the baby's room. It's been a challenge to get started with this. Decorating means it's really happening. Decorating means that if things don't work out, I will have to undo what I did. This was one of the worst things about Mila's death. I had planned, organized, and decorated for this little girl, and she never came home. So, this time we have bought very little. We got car seats this weekend and I bought a changing table from Craigslist that I painted a sunny yellow color. That's about it. We had a lot of baby stuff from Charlie, Sofie, and Mila, so there isn't a lot we need yet, besides two cribs. (Charlie and Sofie's cribs were recalled several years ago and we had to get Mila's crib out of the house right away as it was one of the most painful sights when I came home from the hospital.) I have a few pictures of my progress in the boy's room, but the cell phone I'm using right now is a dinosaur and takes awful pictures. What you can't really see in the photos below is that the walls used to be a rich orange color and are now a light, airy turquoise. The pocket door between the nursery and the kitchen has been painted with chalkboard paint for baby doodles. The bottom picture also shows the changing table (which still needs a charcoal gray cover to match my decor). It's all coming together and it makes me pretty psyched to welcome our boys home.

orange walls (i loved this color!) 

light and fresh, but still a work in progress.

So, I think that's all I have for now. Waiting to see if everything works out okay is so hard, but I'm trying to imagine it all working out just fine. Our sweet Charlie said to me recently, "Mommy, I KNOW that these babies are not going to die like Mila did." Ughh. I felt like I had been punched in the gut. How did he know exactly what I was thinking? It's what I'm always thinking! What if these babies die? What if just one of them dies? My therapist explained it so well to me the other day. It's like the world is asking Chris and I to get back on the scariest, most horrifying roller coaster we have ever been on. Only this time, we are blind-folded and we don't quite know how the ride ends. We are preparing for the ride of our lives. We are excited and terrified. We believe, however, that we will get off. The ride will come to an end. And there, our babies will be waiting for us.

Thanks again for reading, and for your love and prayers.

Talk to you soon,
Laura

a new year

I feel so guilty for not updating the blog sooner. I don't have any particular excuse, other than I was just living life . . . my humble, surprising, and blessed life. Let's get right to the good stuff!

Our babies are now at 20 weeks gestation and they are both doing great! Our gestational carrier, Cathy, is doing such an awesome job. I know she doesn't want a lot of recognition for what she is doing, but she is amazing! I couldn't have asked for a more humble, considerate person to carry our babies. She guards our babies with her life and then gives all of the glory to God. What a blessing she is!

We had our 2nd trimester screen today and our little guys are perfect! Yes, we found out back at around 14 weeks that we are having two boys! Take a peek at our newest miracles:

Our future gymnast . . .

This little guy was so photogenic!

Words can't describe how we feel now that we are almost half way through the pregnancy. There's a pretty good chance that things are going to be fine, despite the fact that we are still in total awe that this worked. Honestly, I'm terrified. I've been hurt so deeply by Mila's death that I can't imagine things being this easy, but I look to God and He gives me rest and He gives me peace.

I get anxious and afraid when we have to do really grown up things like write out our will so that these babies, as well as Charlie and Sofie, are cared for if something happened to Chris and I. Or when we have to hand over thousands of dollars at a time, hoping it's not all for nothing. I haven't really wanted to buy any baby clothes, toys, furniture, or gear. But then I felt so great after today's appointment that I picked up a set of little, coordinating sleepers to bring our boys home in. Like I said, we've been burned and traumatized so badly in the past that it's hard to know when to let go and when to hold my breath. I'm kind of just trusting my gut in any given moment. Today my gut told me to get ready.

We are very aware that the next four months or are going to fly by as we enjoy the 2nd half of Charlie and Sofie's kindergarten year, start making room for two more people in our three bedroom, one bathroom rambler, and try to be present in our home, work, and church life. I've been trying to remind myself that the world can't stop for me just because my baby died, I almost died, and now another woman is carrying our new babies. My goal each day is to make sure I breathe, listen to God, see his mercy all around me, and hold my head up towards Him and my baby girl, Mila. It is her life, her presence, that makes this all possible.

While we enjoy our extraordinary situation, some real life things have taken place as well. We spent many months trying to place our dogs, Molly and Wesley, in new homes. After they were placed in foster homes and then adopted, we realized how miserable Charlie had been living with two dogs. His allergy symptoms and asthma have improved by leaps and bounds! My heart aches for our doggies and I still forget some times that they aren't here anymore, but I know that life with four children and two aging dogs would have been more than we could handle. I think we made the right choice for our family.

Most recently, my grandma, Marian Klaseus passed away after being hospitalized with pneumonia and heart failure. She lived a full, ninety three years. I felt a lot of peace at her passing, surprisingly. I think it's because I truly believe that she is now in a better place. She was a loyal, faithful woman. It was time for her to go, and I asked Mila to meet her when she arrived in Heaven. I'm sure she wasn't alone. My sweet Grandma, Charlie and Sofie's Great Grandma Marian, will be missed. Mila's life and death have taught me to believe that we all have a purpose here on earth. For some, it takes only nine months. For others, it takes ninety years. 

Grandma Marian and Charlie at about 2 months old.

I can only promise that the coming weeks are going to be busier than ever. I will try to keep up, but no worries if I don't, ok?

Lastly, many thanks to EVERYONE who has been following our story and sending positive energy, prayers, and support. We are so blessed by all of you!

Love,

Laura

Patience . . .

My dear friends and family,

Thank you so much for your respectful patience. Chris and I have needed time to rest with the idea that we might just have another baby, or two, in the house. Yes, you read that right. I said two. Our gestational carrier is pregnant with twins! God willing, we will have two babies arriving late spring, 2013.

"I will sing the Lord's praise for He has been good to me."
Psalm 13:6

The day the nurse called to tell me that we were pregnant, she gave me the HcG (pregnancy hormone) numbers that indicated just how pregnant we were. The numbers were in the thousands, and having had twins before, I knew there had to be more than one little baby in there. Wow. Another miracle . . . two miracles! I have to say, there was something about that day, a feeling that our little Mila was there. I never forget that this is all because of her. Like I hoped she would, she touches every moment of my life, especially now.

We are almost thirteen weeks pregnant now and things look wonderful. Our babies look great (see below), and our dear GC is feeling good too. I am so proud and grateful as she takes good care of herself, her lovely family, and our babies. She is truly a gift from God.

It's hard to keep up with everything that's going on. I want my focus to be on my family, on Charlie and Sofie, and the holiday season. I want to relate, praise, and understand the miracles God has given us; to our family, the chance to have more babies, and to the world with the gift of His son. I am in total awe.

I will try to keep in touch more often as we enter the new year, but I am also trying to respect Chris's request for privacy. He needs to reflect and enjoy these blessings before sharing them with the world. I do too.

Here's wishing you all a very magical, joyous, holiday season. Thank you for so much love, kindness, and thoughtful prayer. We feel the support around us and we are so thankful.

With Love,
Laura

It worked!

The title of today's post says it all . . . it worked! Our gestational carrier (GC) is pregnant! I went from being crazy anxious all weekend to numb and surrendered by the time Monday morning rolled around. I found out Monday around lunch time but waited until today to share as we wanted to receive the results from a follow up HcG test this morning. The second test ensures that the numbers are still climbing and our GC is still pregnant. I know I've been 'lying in the weeds' (as my mom would say) for the last couple of days, but we had to be sure.

I am so grateful for those of you who prayed, sent positive energy, thoughts, and love. We wouldn't be where we are today if it weren't for all of you. I've said it a million times, but God is so good! I put my faith in Him and he has brought us to this amazing, magical place. I also believe, with all of my heart, that our little Mila had a hand in all of this as well.

But, as we know all too well, the journey has just begun. More than ever, we need your prayers. While I trust God and the Universe more than I ever have, I have a feeling that Chris and I will spend the next eight months feeling terrified, worried, anxious, pushy, and neurotic at times. Please pray for our peace, acceptance, and trust. Please pray that our GC remains strong, healthy, and faithful.

We have been given the most amazing gift. Thank you for helping us get to this place, and for sharing this journey with us.

waiting

We are waiting.

Last Thursday we had our embryo transfer. Out of eight viable eggs, we had seven embryos. Then, the eighth egg fertilized and started to divide. But then, the strangest thing, only two embryos made it to the transfer stage. We transferred those two embryos into our gestational carrier's uterus, and that is it. There were no embryos to freeze. This is our one and only chance to conceive our own baby. We find out if we are pregnant on October 8.

I can't believe I'm sharing all of this. I am fairly modest and private most of the time, but I have chosen to share some very intimate details of our life all of a sudden. In the past, we would never have shared publicly that we are trying to have a baby. When we did get pregnant, we didn't share until we were well into the second trimester. So, why share all of this now?

Our lives have become extraordinary. Our journey is too big to keep to ourselves. We need help, we need support, we need prayers. How else do we stay afloat without reaching out to others? What I realize is that everyone is going to want to know whether we are pregnant or not. Right away, over and over, I will have to share that, yes, the transfer worked and we are gratefully pregnant. Or, I will have to face the heart breaking reality as I share many times over that no, we did not get pregnant, and no, there will be no baby. I want to say, "Please don't ask me.", but I still need you. We will need help with this no matter what the outcome.

How about this?  I will post here, as soon as I am able, whether there is a baby or not. I may or may not go into details. I may or may not want to talk about it in person. Please let me be. Please know that my gratitude for the love and support we have been given is indescribable. Thank you, thank you.

"Very truly I tell you, my Father will give you whatever you ask in my name." John 16:23

lucky number seven

Chris and I were both born in 1977.

Chris and I were married in the seventh month of the year on July 22, 2000.

Charlie and Sofie were born seven years later in 2007.

Our baby girl, Mila Louise, was born on the first day of the seventh month. July 1, 2011.

I have a total of seven babies. Two here on earth, five in heaven.

Today we have seven healthy embryos.

I have spent the last weekend in pain, bloated, nervous, afraid, pessimistic. We now know that even in the greatest of situations, the worst can happen in the blink of an eye. Today I want to share this bit of hope, of promise, and a whole lot of gratitude. God is good, so good! Please keep the prayers coming. Our embryo transfer will be on Thursday, September 27.

like riding a bike

Today my belly looks and feels like a pin cushion. We have begun our IVF cycle where I am stimulating my ovaries to produce as many eggs as possible, which will then be fertilized with Chris's sperm and, five days later, transferred into my friend's uterus. Three injections into my stomach each day are helping develop the eggs in my ovaries (which my OB so graciously saved after my emergency hysterectomy last summer). Meanwhile, our beautiful gestational carrier is preparing her uterus to carry our baby for nine months. It is very similar to the injections I took when trying to conceive before. Our first and second pregnancies were a result of fertility drugs and doing it all again, well, it's just like riding a bike. It all came back to me. Alcohol swabs, mixing solutions, Q-Caps, needles, syringes, injection pens, Sharps container, etc. Never before have I been so grateful for what I went through to conceive our first babies.

Wow. This all just sounds so crazy, so incredible, and so awesome if it were to actually result in a live baby!

I can't decide how I feel about it all. Today I feel excited for it all to be over, to find out if we get to have another baby. I also feel afraid. What if it doesn't work? What if we just spent over $30,000 on nothing.  No, Chris and I did not have an extra $30,000 lying around. We've had to deplete most of our savings, ask family for help, and live more frugally. This lifestyle will continue as we will have to pay for fertility medication, medical insurance for our carrier, and many incidentals along the way. I'm trying not to complain. We are very blessed and even more grateful. This is stressful and scary. Not only do I think of the money that will have been wasted if this doesn't work, but the time. Time I could have been spending with Charlie and Sofie before they went off to kindergarten, time with my family, time getting back to my marriage, and time focusing on my new life without Mila.

It's been difficult moving on like this. I am not trying to replace Mila, but we are trying to have the baby we wanted, the sibling(s) that Charlie and Sofie wanted. Where is Mila in all of this? She's right here. Right next to me. You may think I'm crazy, but she talks to me. We talk to each other. Since her birth, I have felt her presence, her care, and her wisdom. I even went to an intuitive reading with a friend who works with spiritual guides. She confirmed my feelings and has helped me trust what my heart and mind feel. When I ask my sweet baby what will come of this journey, she tells me not to worry. She tells me that everything is going to work out, that we will have the baby we desire. Mila gives me strength, comfort, and joy as I know she is always near. A wonderful friend said she also believes that Mila is with me, and that maybe she has always been with me. My pregnancy and her birth was just her way of introducing herself to me. Now I know her, now I can feel her.

Only God knows how things will turn out, but I pray that it is good. I pray that, just this once, we be given an easy journey from start to finish. We've had to share what's going on with Charlie and Sofie because there's no way to hide appointments to the fertility doctor every other day, needles and fertility drugs in the bathroom. Such sweeties, they are very excited about the whole process. They love to watch their brave mommy give herself a shot morning and night. They love our carrier and her family and can't wait for another chance at having a baby brother or sister. They are so innocently optimistic right now. I pray that we don't have to give them any more bad news.

I hope you will pray, too. Please pray for our patience, comfort, and acceptance. Please pray that God guide our doctors as they try to perform a miracle. Please pray that God give us the grace to endure whatever lies ahead.

some thoughts

It's been a tough week. Maybe it's because in less than two weeks, Charlie and Sofie will be going to kindergarten and I will be home, alone and by myself. No baby. No one-year-old. Just a desperate hope that we will blessed again soon.

On Sunday we were at my sister's home for my nephew's 4th birthday party. It was a lot of fun and I was so thrilled to see my six-month-old niece. I love her so much and treasure the moments I get to hold her and snuggle with her. When other people held her or rocked her to sleep, however, I felt jealous. I wish my baby girl was here. Then, after baby Addy spit up in her crib and all over her darling, white cardigan, I scrubbed her crib sheet and took her sweater to the kitchen sink to rinse it out. I felt a sad, sinking feeling in my chest. I want to be knee-deep in spit-up, diapers, and drool. I've missed out on the gross baby chores. Oh, how I would love to be cleaning up Mila's messes.

I've been really worried about Charlie. He's very anxious about kindergarten. He has no idea what to expect and I can't seem to calm his fears. He's been misbehaving, regressing back to some toddler-like behaviors, and refuses to talk about what's going on. I wonder, what has the last two years done to my sweet babies?

It's been a long time since I had the energy and enthusiasm to play with Charlie and Sofie. I'm ashamed and embarrassed to say that the television has been on a lot at our house. When I got pregnant in the fall of 2010, I was good and pregnant. I was sick and utterly exhausted for at least the first14 weeks. I had a little reprieve in the dead of winter, but then came the last trimester and I got tired again. I took lots of naps on the couch while Charlie and Sofie watched a lot of Disney and Pixar movies. I still haven't seen the middle sections of Tangled and The Princess and the Frog. Then, I gave birth to Mila. She died, I almost lost my life, and everything changed. Forever. I tried really hard at first to be normal, to jump in and be the mother of four-year-old twins. Then grief hit me like a ton of bricks and I couldn't cope. I turned on the t.v. to quiet the chatter. With the t.v. as the babysitter, I could read, rest, and cry. Charlie and Sofie have started calling me lazy. It breaks my heart. I don't want to be lazy, I want my life back.

We discovered "big kid shows" or what Charlie likes to call "laughing shows" on Disney Channel. The shows meant for kids 7 years and up. I'll admit, they're funny and kinda cute, but the kids on those shows say "dumb", "stupid", "shut up", and they use a lot of sarcasm. Some of the characters are down right brats and I'm starting to see the same characteristics in my little pre-kindergarteners. Charlie got into Star Wars and has decided that everyone is either a good guy or a villain to be battled. I took a good look at my children today and wondered what happened. What has our tragedy and my horrible state done to them? While I'm sleeping on our couch and crying on my therapists', Charlie and Sofie are being swallowed up by television and denied an innocent, nurturing early childhood. I'm still so angry this happened, that I wasn't able to protect and save our babies, and that their lives are forever affected by trauma, grief, and sorrow. God help us.

This week I am wearing a cute, baby doll style night gown that I bought before getting pregnant with Charlie and Sofie. It has a few small breast milk stains from when I nursed Charlie and Sofie.
I wish I had a baby to feed.

Not only am I supposedly lazy, but I feel so out of shape. I am still short of breath when I exert myself due to respiratory distress after Mila was born. I'm a recovering food addict and compulsive exerciser. I look in the mirror and 135 pounds looks like 300. I feel like a sluggish slob. So, I've started exercising, in a healthy way. Some days it's P90X, other days it's a few yoga poses. I feel more energetic and encouraged to keep it up. Yay me!

Lastly, I want to share a bit about our journey to conceive using a gestational carrier. My dear friend and uterus donor :) started taking her fertility medications this week. We will both be injecting ourselves with powerful fertility drugs both morning and night. We've both been there before and it's not fun. The amazing gift I have today is faith and trust. I have faith and trust in my dear friend to do her part honestly and humbly. I don't have to worry that she's forgetting her meds or not doing it right. If it were some stranger carrying a baby for us I would probably be freaking out. I'm not freaking out. I am full of faith in God's plan for our family and I am so incredibly grateful that He brought this amazing woman into my life seven years ago.

Thanks for reading.

shelter

We need a new roof. Badly. All of our neighbors have gotten new roofs in the last year or two and all of them were paid for by their insurance companies because of hail damage. Our roof looks horrible. It was installed one year before we bought our house eleven years ago and now the shingles are deteriorating due to a manufacturing defect. Apparently we do not have hail damage like all of our neighbors so we do not qualify for a free roof. Three contractors have been to our home to confirm this.

 

We need a new roof, but we want a baby more.

Yes, that's right. We want to have another baby.

Sofie asked me the other day, "Do all babies cost a lot of money, Mommy?" I said, "No, not usually. We didn't have to pay any money for Mila to grow in my tummy. She was a gift from God. But now, if we want to have another baby we need to pay doctors and lots of other people to help us." Sofie and Charlie both agreed that they'd rather have a new baby than a roof. I agreed.

When I first woke from my coma, my OB visited me in my hospital room and described in detail the two surgeries I had after I delivered Mila. The first was to remove my uterus and hopefully stop my body from hemorrhaging. It didn't work, so they could not close me up. My abdomen was stuffed with surgical sponges and towels as well as a drain. This was to remain in place until the doctors could get my infection and bleeding under control. It wasn't until five days later that my OB and a general surgeon could go back in and stitch me up. I was in rough shape. My OB was so kind as to fuse some of my abdominal muscles back together (a lasting side effect from my twin pregnancy), and she made sure my ovaries were intact, healthy and ready to be used when I wanted to harvest my eggs down the road. I remember laughing in my hospital room that day. Yeah right, I don't think I'll ever try to have another baby again. Enough is enough, or so I thought.

My friends didn't know who they were talking to when I said that we were done, that this tragedy had taken it's toll and there was now way we were going to have any more children. They said it wasn't like me to give up. They were right. It wasn't long before my arms ached, not only for Mila, but for a baby. I thought holding my friends' babies would help, but it hasn't. We want more. We want a sibling, or two, for Charlie and Sofie. Adoption didn't seem like the right choice when we knew that there was still a way to have a child that is biologically ours. As crazy as it seemed at the time, we decided to look into the idea of using a gestational carrier.

A lot of wonderful and complicated things have taken place since we decided to begin this new journey. I will save this amazing story for another day. What needs to be said is that we wouldn't be where we are without our sweet Mila, without God's grace, and the support of some very special friends and family members. As of today, we have signed contracts with a surrogacy agency and an incredible woman who has agreed to be our gestational carrier. She is a friend of mine whom I love dearly and is an incredible example of God's amazing love and grace. We are scheduled to begin our first IVF schedule in September and will need nothing short of a miracle. Yes, another miracle!

What we really need is your prayers. 

We pray that God guide our doctors and help us patiently wait for His will to be done. We pray for strength and courage when things don't go according to our plans, and we pray for security when feel stretched both financially and emotionally.

My biggest fear for the coming months is that in all of our anticipation and excitement for new life, our darling Mila will be forgotten or that the tragedy that brought us here in the first place will be minimized. I am constantly trying to fill our lives with reminders of our precious baby girl. Recently, we planted a hydrangea plant and created a Mila Garden in our backyard. It's a place I hope to go to for connection with my baby and and to remember that her life and her love lives on every single day. Mila came and left us for a reason too huge for me to comprehend. I may not ever understand why things happened the way they did, but once again, we are seeing pain turn into joy. We are finally able to hope for better days. Again, we realize that without the heartache of our past, we would not be able to enjoy the blessings of today.

 Each of us wrote letters to Mila and placed them in the ground with the hydrangea plant. My Gramma gave me gardening lime with the plant to hopefully turn the flowers pink.

Mila's garden isn't finished yet. I hope to get a special statue or stepping stone. In the spring, the plan is to plant some pink annuals in honor of our baby girl. 

Here, and everywhere else we share our story, her beauty lives on forever.

19 days of living: day nineteen

One year ago today, on Tuesday, July 19, 2011. I sat up in my hospital bed (I never really slept through the night in the hospital. I was terribly uncomfortable, homesick, and haunted by nightmares.), hoping that it would finally be the day I get to go home. I begged and waited for all of my doctors to sign off on my ability to be discharged: the surgeon, the infectious disease doctor, the general physician, and my kidney doctor. The kidneys were the most fragile of my organs and I couldn't go home unless doctors were sure I wouldn't need dialysis again and that my kidney function was improving.

I waited and waited all morning until I was finally released. Everything happened quickly after that. The stitches in my abdomen were removed, my PICC line (a long, slender, tube that was inserted into a peripheral vein in my upper arm, connected to and inserted into a large vein in my chest near the heart to obtain intravenous access) was removed, and my highly potent antibiotics were ordered. We live about two minutes from the hospital, which seemed so odd during those last few days stuck in my hospital room. Like my dad said, we live so close you could spit on our roof, yet I felt so far away. 

When Chris pulled into the driveway I started crying. Not because of everything I had been through, but because I missed my home and my family so much. I had never been away from Charlie and Sofie for more than three days and they hadn't seen me at home in over 19 days! I knew things would be weird and different, and they were. I can't even begin to explain the sadness and anger I felt when I first walked into my home and for the next several days. The house didn't smell good. It smelled like a boy. I didn't smell like my perfume and lotion, like it usually does. It didn't smell like the essential oils I clean with, or the gluten free waffles and muffins I often bake for the kids. It was gross. My dogs were ecstatic to see me and jumped all over me, (That was nice.) but Charlie and Sofie were distant. They seemed awkward and clung to my mother in law. I am so grateful for the way she cared for them when I was gone, but I hated that they found safety in her and not me. I started to wonder if I should be home or not. I was in pain and I could barely walk. I wouldn't be able to use the stairs or lift anything for several more days and I was frustrated. I decided to take a nap in the bed I missed and cried for for days. I walked into our bedroom and was greeted by the bassinet. It had been set up and ready to go before we left for the hospital. It was filled with a full container of baby wipes, the Boppy Pillows (with a new, pink cover for Mila), and piles of laundry that our mothers had folded. My heart sank as I crawled into bed. I felt numb. The kids were being loud and I cried. I felt angry that I couldn't stand their voices, but missed them terribly. They had been through so much and, even though I was home, I still couldn't be the mother they were used to. It just sucked.

Today, a dear friend and neighbor walked over with a card, congratulating me on getting through the last few weeks. It warmed my heart that she understood what these last nineteen days represented. To me, they represent survival, but also survivor's guilt. I still sometimes wish that I had never gotten pregnant in the first place. I hate even thinking that as I love Mila more than anything in the world, but the pain of infertility (which I know all too well) would never have hurt as bad as this does. I keep praying that God give me hope and courage to face what He has planned. I have to believe that Mila's conception and beautiful gestation served a purpose. I try to look back fondly on the days that I carried her and she lived in my womb. It was an amazing time, but I feel heartbroken for the mother that never saw this coming, that will never see, hold,or smile at her baby. We were so sure that Mila would be fine. I still can't explain or understand the horror and shock we felt when she wasn't breathing.  I guess this is it, the low point of the last three weeks. I could go on more, but I feel a pity party coming on and none of you want to be invited, I'm sure.

I still need prayers. I still need people to tell me that Mila touched their lives, too. She was and is a very special baby. I think she knew exactly what she was doing here on this earth, that her time with us would be short. I feel her, though. Every minute of every day, she is with me.

Thank you for reading and for joining me for the last nineteen days. Thank you to those who validated my feelings and shared your own personal stories with me. I know I am not the only one who has lost a baby or a loved one. I know that we all have pain. My hope is to be some kind of inspiration, to remind others that through God all things are possible, and to make sure that Mila's short but extraordinary life touches others. I think it has, and I am grateful.

19 days of living: day eighteen

I'm almost done. Like I said in my last post, the pressure of keeping up with this for nineteen days has been tough. There isn't much time or energy to blog once the dishes are done and the kids are in bed. I'm just like my babies at the end of the day: tired, cranky, fussy, lethargic. Also, by this time a year ago, I wasn't dying. I was stuck in a hospital room, waiting to go back to who knows what. I was numb, in shock, and very confused. It would be many weeks, if not months, before I began to realize what an ordeal we had just been through. Today, I feel content saying that I did spend the last three weeks living. I said yes to Charlie and Sofie when they wanted to play, I danced, and I sang. I stopped to look at flowers, butterflies, clouds, and people. I smiled, I served, and I told my story when people asked. It's been good.

I've crossed into a new place, it seems. The place where I have funny, smart, five year old twins, AND a beautiful baby girl waiting for us in heaven. I want to live each day humbly and graciously, while never passing up an opportunity to tell people about Mila and the new life she gave me. I feel more optimism and purpose, like I'm ready for God to use me and my story for a greater purpose.

It's surprising to me that, in these nineteen days, I haven't had a really tough day. Usually, there's at least one day every couple of weeks when I miss Mila so much I can't move. I weep for her, and I long to hold her in my arms. Maybe I'm comforted by her presence more these last few weeks, or maybe I'm waiting to be done with my experiment in 'living' so I can really let it out. I'm not sure what this is about. My fear is that, now that the first year has passed, the sting of losing a child will fade. Our experience seems to have vanished for some of our close friends and family. I was surprised by those who never mentioned Mila's birthday or the fact that I am alive and well one year later. On such a sad, yet triumphant, occasion, those people who once prayed and wept for our family appear to be over it. This, if anything, is what has been the most painful. Maybe these people didn't know what to say one year later. I understand. A friend who knows what it's like told me to teach those who hurt me so they will know what to do in the future.

 So, some advice for those who don't know how to console or support a bereaved parent: 

Make a phone call, post a supportive message on Facebook or Twitter, send a text, send a card, light a candle. 

Tell them that you didn't forget, that you know what day it is and you're thinking of them and their loved one. Give a hug, say a prayer, and be grateful it wasn't you. 

I did have one of those days last week when I just didn't want to understand all that has happened. "Really, God?" I prayed. "Why did this have to happen to us?" I found comfort in a Bible verse I am coming to know. It's one that many bereaved parents rely upon for hope and comfort. In fact, there are quite a few angel babies with the name Jeremiah, waiting for their families to join them heaven.

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all of your heart."

Jeremiah 29:11-13

I've continued to document some of our special events over the last week. Here are a few photos. 

(And, please, leave my photos here. They are mine to share, not yours to have.)

 Watching the Whiz Bang Days Parade down the street from our house. It was a hot one that day. I was happy that Charlie and Sofie hung in there.

 Sitting on the curb with my babies, waiting for fireworks. See their little toes on either side of me?

I'm no pro when it comes to photography, but here are some of the fireworks. Oooh!

The beginning of the grand finale across the lake. Again, I could learn a thing or too about photography, especially on my phone. And, by this time it was after ten o'clock and Charlie and Sofie were climbing all over me because the grass was tickling their legs. Sometimes I feel like a human bean bag chair, but I love the affection. How blessed am I?

19 days of living: days nine through twelve

I've realized with this little "assignment" I've given myself, of writing about the nineteen days I spent in the hospital last year, that I could never be a professional writer. Don't get me wrong, I love to write. I could do a book or articles here and there. But creating something inspiring, helpful, or insightful on a daily or weekly basis is not my thing (even though I do a daily reading and writing assignment in my 12 step recovery program). I think the real problem today is that I'm tired. I'm missing Mila so much and I wish she were here, that they could have revived her, that God would have saved both of us. Maybe I'm also suffering from some post traumatic stress disorder. Today, July 12, was the day I woke up from being in a coma to the nightmare that my life had become.

I have so many memories about the dreams, visions, and hallucinations I had in the hospital while I was on many painkillers, paralytic drugs, and sedatives. During the days prior to waking up the doctors and nurses experimented with the level of sedation I was on so I was kind of in and out or half-conscious at times. All I know is that this was the day I was extubated (allowed to breathe on my own, without a ventilator) and fully taken off of sedation. I remember thinking that all of my IV bags were balloons, that the hooks they hung on were decorations to bring home, and that my mom had decorated the walls with baby-themed items (none of these things true, of course). I thought there were people hiding in my room, trying to scare me and I heard many strange voices. I thought people were laughing at me and making fun of me. Sadly, I also thought for a few hours that I had delivered three babies, and that I was waiting to have them brought to me so I could nurse them or at least pump breast milk for them. I remember being mad at Chris because not only did he not bring me my babies, but he didn't even bring me my breast pump so I could at least start feeding my babies breast milk. We've all wondered if the three babies were Mila, and our boy and girl twins lost at 18 weeks in March of 2006. Only hours later, I was embarrassed that I even thought that. I realized that I gave birth this time to just Mila, and that she was gone. Other than that, I had no idea what had occurred in the last 12 days. It took weeks, even months, to piece things together and to grasp the grave condition I was in. Only now am I starting to understand that the fact that I survived is a true miracle.

This week things have slowed down. Chris went back to work and Charlie and Sofie have started two weeks of swimming lessons. Even though I'd like nothing more than to take a nap all afternoon, I've been enjoying the warm weather by swimming at the community pool with the kids and taking out our little pool to to cool off at home. I've also been busy this month with yard work.

While I was in the hospital last year, the weather was unbearably hot and humid. Everyone's lawn, including ours, took a hit and turned dry and yellow. The yard is usually my responsibility and a beloved hobby of mine as well. I love getting my hands dirty and seeing a soft, green lawn as the result of my time and care. Chris didn't have the time, energy, or interest in maintaining the lawn so it pretty much died during the days I spent in the hospital. When I woke up I asked him if he was watering and mowing and he said no. Other friends and family tried to help, but it was a lost cause. One of the saddest moments was when I stepped out of the car in our driveway to see the devastatingly dry grass. I never got it to green up last summer or fall. It served as a constant reminder of the death and loss we had experienced. I hated it.

This spring I promised myself that I would not allow the lawn to die again. I'd say it's been just as hot and humid and our lawn looks great. I've tended to it lovingly, totally determined to keep the grass green, lush, and alive!

This weekend is Whiz Bang Days, our city's annual summer festival. The kids, Chris, and I will go to the parade, maybe a craft sale, and fireworks. Poor Chris took the kids last year on his own and I was sad to hear I had missed it. I didn't realize what day it was when I woke up and I also grieved the loss of so many days of my life. I had not chosen to miss so much. I felt powerless.

Today I have some power and control back in my life. I can't change what happened, but I make choices now with much more confidence and consideration. I don't let others manipulate me or make me feel guilty. I do that enough myself! Today I am grateful not only to be awake and alive, but to be home; strong and present.