When something difficult happens in life, during the struggle to put on a smile and 'just keep swimming', those darn negative thoughts still often manage to slither their way in and hold you hostage, despite our best efforts to thwart them. After we lost our twins, I was given advice, pamphlets, and books about what to expect in the grieving process. I definitely was sad. Sad for a long time. It was a deep internal sadness. I never did get angry. That was one step I managed to skip right over. I wasn't mad at anyone that they were gone. I just missed them horribly. The biggest hurdle for me in my grieving process was (and still is) the guilt.
Two weeks after I delivered Maddox and Sampson, I had my follow-up appointment with my doctor. I had a giant pit in my stomach as I entered the same halls I had walked down just a couple weeks earlier when I innocently thought I was going to see my healthy little boys snuggled together in an ultrasound, listening to the rhythm of their heartbeats. The same halls I had walked through to check-in to deliver my now-stillborn babies. I sat in the same office, saw the same office staff. I'm pretty sure I tried to avoid eye contact with everyone there. I honestly felt a physical sickness being in the same place I had just lost my boys.
My doctor had scheduled me as his last patient. I remember sitting down in a chair across from him and immediately breaking down. I don't remember everything that was said at the appointment...we went over preliminary results from the autopsies (which didn't reveal much), maybe talked about my physical recovery. But I remember when tears welled up in my eyes and I asked him if I had scheduled my ultrasound just a week earlier, would we have been able to see something, see signs of distress...would there have been something I could have done to save them? I was definitely ugly crying. My doctor knew I was torturing myself. He told me that I didn't do anything wrong. There was nothing that I could have done differently. Sometimes these things just happen. I hadn't failed as a mother. I hadn't just ignored signs of trouble. There hadn't been any...none that I noticed, anyway. I remember feeling what felt like a giant kick just the Sunday before my twins were gone, a movement that struck a nerve and I had to bend over because it made my whole body tingle. It didn't hurt, it was just one of those weird feelings like when you smack your funny bone. I remember even exclaiming to my family who was around when it happened that the boys were making their presence known and that they had done that same thing just a day or two earlier. This may not be true, but I have since often wondered if those strong kicks were their last desperate struggles to survive. I really don't know if it was, and there's a good chance it wasn't, but it sits in the back of my mind sometimes. By the time I left the doctor's office, the waiting room lights were off, people had gone home for the day, and I slowly walked out of the clinic, again passing the very doors I had entered with my boys and come out without them (the clinic was right across the hall from the delivery rooms in the hospital, so everything had happened right there). It was a very lonely walk back to my car.
But the guilt was only beginning. I am actually over that specific guilt. The guilt that really engulfed me and that I still struggle with is that, now that my boys were gone, my little girl didn't have her close siblings anymore. Now she didn't have anyone to grow up with like I had with my sister so close in age. She was just by herself. And for some reason, that broke my heart. I know that tons of families have kids with a far wider gap between and are just fine, and even prefer it that way, but for me, I felt like I had robbed my little girl of a special relationship (or relationships). Her brothers were gone. Every day I was home and would see my little kiddo eating at the table, or reading a book alone to herself, or playing with her toys by herself (which she was awesome at...she was a very grown up girl for her age and was/is very independent) it made me ache inside for her, for my boys. I felt so guilty seeing her alone. I wished she had someone to play with (of course we played with her and read to her, but I wanted so badly for her to have the interaction with other kids...it just wasn't the same). She played so well with other kids and absolutely loved being around them (she would even yell out 'kids!' when she'd hear children laughing and playing outside and would always be on the lookout for 'kids' when we'd visit my parent's house, shouting 'kids! kids!' as she looked around for where the sound was coming from outside). Normally I would think that's adorable and I do love how she loves being around people, but now because she didn't have her brothers or any other kids around the house, it would just sting me with guilt. She still has that same excitement when she's around other little people her age, even the older kids. She always screams with happiness when a friend comes over or when I tell her we will be going somewhere with her friends. I love seeing her around them. She is just drawn to them. And it is bitter sweet. I love it, and it depresses me. It's a double-edged sword.
I felt guilty for my girl. I felt guilty for wishing that I could have had just one more child before this had happened so at least she wouldn't be by herself. I felt guilty for feeling guilty. I know a lot of people that struggle to even have one child, so I would feel guilty for my strong desire for more kids and my shallow wish that they were close in age. I felt guilty that my boys were gone. Guilt ate me up inside. I still struggle with it.
In the delivery room, after the twins were born and after I had gone in for surgery because of the complications, my nurse told me that (with the preface 'your doctor won't tell you this, but...'), with all she's seen over her years of nursing experience, because of the trauma my body went through, she would wait at least 2 years to even start trying to have more kids. I about died. No way. 2 years was way too long. When I had my follow-up with my doctor, I mentioned that and he said to just wait at least 6 months so that my body could recover. That was still hard for me to swallow, but it seemed more reasonable than 2 years. I still thought that 6 months seemed like a lifetime when I desired so strongly to grow my family and get a sibling for my little girl. Looking back now, 6 months seems like nothing. I wish it ONLY took 6 months before we could start to grow our family again. I wish for even a year! If I had only known the difficulties that were still ahead...
The guilt still remains. Some days I'm better at warding off those negative feelings, and it feels amazing when I am just living in the moment and appreciating how blessed I am to have such a spirited, stubborn, and hilarious little girl in our lives. Other days I allow the guilt to creep back in and it's been a tough, continuous battle. The back and forths of life are crazy sometimes! And there have been many more since and I'm sure many more to come. But, c'est la vie!
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