Saturday, October 9, 2010

Happiness and Sorrow...It's October 9th.

It is the 4th birthday of my lovely baby girl and the 4th anniversary of the day her sister died.  I have been curiously anticipating this day for a few weeks now.  Not in dread or anxiety - in wonderment of how I would feel.  Is wonderment a word?  It is 1:56 in the morning and if I am recalling correctly at this time 4 years ago I was given meds to stop my contractions after a long night of being poked and prodded by nurses and finally the Dr. on call, trying to monitor the twin's heartbeats.

The meds always made me jumpy and slightly anxious, and the stress of my evening caused some OCD to take hold.  I remember not being able to keep myself from saying, "Rebbecca DeMornay...Rebbecca DeMornay." That sort of thing had never happened before or has happened since. It is one of the several memories that I will never forget.

I am sitting in my husband's office, which in reality is a curtained section or our living room, longing for the smile of my 4 year old little girl. Yesterday I asked her if she was always happy and she threw back her head with her curly nappy hair and openly laughed.  "Yes!!" She shouted, still laughing as if I had asked her the most ridiculous question in the world.  She is always happy.  Always smiling...except when I have turned down a juice request or am not giving her the laser-like focus and attention she feels she deserves.  Then she is whiny and attitud-ey.  But she is one happy, lovingly generous "little bits".  Before I finally go into my bedroom to sleep, I will slip into to peek at all my kids, but I always leave her for last...

I am trying to gauge how I am feeling. Overall, I am good.  But I realize that the sadness I feel at my core has been trying to express itself and I just have not let it.  Not for fear of my emotions - the depression, the deep pain and desolation has been gone for a long time now.  It's just that I don't want to cry but I can sense by the itching of my eyes that the tears are merely waiting for access. I think I am no longer sure of why I cry.  The memory of the experience doesn't really hurt anymore. I can tell my stories and even re-live the moments, but I am free from the despair. I am healed and I am thankful for it.  Sometime I marvel after I tell parts of my story or write about the experience in my blog, at how strongly people react, often offering their deepest condolences and expressing how sad it all is.  It always surprises me and I foolishly worry that I am somehow coming across as a sad broken lady in my writing. Sadness and brokenness are the far from the truth of who I am these days. I am not perfect, but I am OK and that in itself is a phenomena that I could never have predicted.

So why do I feel like crying...I didn't know Lauren the way I know Noelle.  I have never heard her laugh, felt her breath on my neck or seen the funny in her smile. Do I feel like crying because that will never be my reality?  That's a very valid reason, but its not mine.  For some reason I know that.  I feel like crying because the part of me that knows her - misses her and even though it has been 4 years that still astounds me.

I feel blessed and short-changed all at the same time. I am so grateful for the transformation of my life and all that my experience has produced, but would trade it all for a moment of time with my baby.  A part of me cherishes every memory while wishing it never happened because at the end of the day I am still without  her.  Sometimes I can't bear the thought that pain will never go away because that truth will never change. 

For weeks I saw and heard her little heartbeat, I saw those little jerky movements...I could lay my hand on my huge warm belly and know she was there.  Towards the end I thought she was safe.  I was relieved and thought we were out of the woods and then she was gone. 

Anyway, today I wish that she was either here or just gone from my memory...because today, its all too much.  Today, she is too real. She is too - not here.  Too gone.  Like when someone attempts to walk with the leg that has been taken away.  It makes you a little crazy because you know it should be there - but its not.

And although it is not an everyday thought - although my life is so wonderful and happy - I will NEVER feel as though it is OK that she is not here.  This is my worst blessed day, because with every candle Noelle blows out....every part my heart and my body aches for the one who is missing.

I am crying. I am going to stop writing, go lay down next to my husband and let him hug the pain away, and when I wake up, I am going to have the best day possible with the three babies that are here with me on this side of life.


  1. Simply beautiful. I have no words. Thank you.


  2. Your post is very honest and touching. Thanks for sharing your pain. You have a beautiful little girl, and that's a gift. Let her feel you with strength.
    mom bloggers club
    I also became your follower.

  3. All I can say is that I'm just aching for you, my friend.

  4. beautiful post and hopefully it was cathartic to write it. **hugs**

  5. Debbie - Thank you so much. Like I said on our group - I made it through!

    Mayra - Thank you for your kind words. I also stopped by your professional webpage and read the exerpt of your novel Sunstruck. I will be purchasing it very soon. Thought it was great.

    Partly - we have to tahe the truth of life day by day - don't we.

    GG - you always have such sweet words. It was cathartic to write and to share.

  6. I'm late on this CJ, but I'm getting lost in this blogosphere world of ours.

    Your post was beautifully bitter-sweet, and beautifully written. Your pain is raw and touching, and gripped all of us, I think. Thank you for sharing.

    Marina @

  7. Marina,

    Thanks for your comments. I understand about navigating the blogosphere. ALso, loved your article on the Yellow Wallpaper! One of my favorite short stories of all time.


  8. You are a rock for sharing this. You are a rock for being a good mom in spite of this. You are a strong woman and you've made your family (and God) proud. Love ya, sister.

  9. Thank you Crystal!

    It always feels good to share! Sometimes you have to be shown you own strength.