It's hard to believe that tomorrow it's been two years since that horrible day: Friday, July 13, 2007. I've never been fond of Fridays that land on the 13th day of the month, but, of course, our first ultrasound for our first baby would fall on that date. I tried not to be superstitious, but that morning I felt scared and subdued as your Daddy touched my belly and talked about seeing you. I wanted so much to share his excitement, but something inside me held back a bit. I can remember that day so clearly--it has played back in my head like a movie more times than I care to recall. In fact, I've tried to push the vivid images out of my mind when they come back to haunt me, perhaps not as often as they once did, popping into my stream of consciousness (usually at inopportune times), or awakening me at night--the worst type of nightmare...one that came true. I remember the silence, the sobs, the screams, the stares. I remember it all as if it were yesterday, and the punch in the gut still takes the breath right out of my lungs.

I don't know that a mother ever gets over the loss of a child. Naturally, the rawness of the emotions have subsided with time, though some days will transport me right back to my personal hell. I am forever changed from having had you for a brief time, LJ, and for having loved you so deeply and purely. And I am forever changed from having lost you, for experiencing that particular kind of unfathomable anguish.

Today, LJ, I want to say thank you for the way in which you've changed me. Two years later, and I see some of my changes more clearly. I know that some might argue that the change in me is not all for the better, and that is okay. I don't really expect everyone to understand it, to understand me. It's so hard to put yourself in another's place, isn't it? We're all different, have different experiences, trials, and triumphs, and each minute detail helps shape the people we become. In many ways, I've become more introverted. I have noticed that I am more careful with my heart. Although I like to believe that every time a heart is broken, it grows back stronger, larger, it is never easy to open it back up for the pain associated with heartbreak. I keep to myself a bit more. I'm sure I'm a bit guarded. I do try to be open and honest with what I write here, but I try to be careful, too. I've felt how much the words of another can hurt, and so I find myself sharing less than I once did. It's hard to explain how I've changed. I'm just different. But, in many ways, I feel like I've become more "me" than I have been in many years...that I've reverted back to the essence of who I once was and perhaps strayed from for a time.

I never would've chosen this path for myself--to struggle to conceive a child in the first place, then lose the two precious babies we were blessed with. No one would choose that pain. But again, with time, I am beginning to see what living through such losses has done for me. Perhaps I wasn't as compassionate or empathetic as I needed to be to others. Perhaps someone who reads my blog has learned something from my experiences and will know how to better approach a friend or family member who experiences a similar horror. These thoughts are just a couple of ideas that have stuck with me during my time spent in self-reflection.

You see, although I keep myself pretty busy with work, I have a lot of time on my hands to do just that: think...reflect. Work is surface activity, and it can only take you so far. Even when you're completely caught up with work (which I never seem to be), you don't feel the satisfaction I'd imagine you'd feel by just being surrounded by the presence of your children. The feeling catches up with me easily; I keep myself busy, but behind all the busyness, I still feel empty. I miss my LJ and BB. I think about the 18-month old toddler LJ would now be. I think about how much messier yet full of life our house would be. I think about how frazzled and sleep-deprived I'd be. And I'd trade all of the "peace" and "couple time" and bit of extra spending money in our pockets in a second if I could see LJ now, read her a story at bedtime, play the piano and sing to her, even wipe the sticky strawberry juice from her chubby cheeks and fingers. And BB, who would've been due to join us outside the womb in less than a month, we'd talk to BB in my belly and await with anticipation LJ's brother's or sister's arrival. I'd give anything to be able to have these moments with my babies.

If I had to guess, I would admit that the lesson that I needed to learn most of all was to let go of my "sense" of being in control. Perhaps I merely needed to learn to plan less, to realize that this life is really out of my hands, and that I can only do the best I can with what I'm given. As I've written before, my life leading up to this point did little to help teach me this lesson. I became accustomed to thinking that planning, hard work, and dedication will produce the intended or desired results. I was used to achieving what I set out to do, and I'm sure I probably became a little self-righteous when I got what I wanted "all on my own": the grades, the job, the guy, the house, the cars...all of the things in life that I once imagined proved to the world that I was successful. Little did I know that true success is measured via an entirely different system. And that nothing that I've received in life was achieved "on my own." It is only by grace that I've been given the blessings in my life. And success isn't what you do for a living, or how much money you make, or what house you live in, or what "toys" you have. We've been richly blessed in these particular areas, but I would give any and all of it up in a second for another day with the babies I lost. Success is happiness. Success is family. Success is the simple things in life. Success is sticky fingers making a mess on your newly painted walls...because those little sticky fingers are a miracle.

LJ and BB, I visited your Great-Grandmother Beatrice's grave site while we were in Colorado last week, and as I talked to her through my tears, I thanked her for taking care of you both for me. Give her a big kiss for me, okay?

Oh my beautiful babies, I miss you every day. Thank you for the lessons you have helped teach me and I'm sure will continue to teach me, just by being a part of my life.

Love Always,
Mama