The First Mourning

I woke up early and it took me a while to realize I was actually awake. I was in our familiar bed but in an unfamiliar room in our new house. I slowly climbed out of my sleepy haze as panic started to spill into the pit of my stomach. The week’s events were flying at me. I put my hand over my belly and the most gutting realization came at me - I was no longer pregnant. My twins were gone. I replayed the events from the hospital. Being told I had to prepare to deliver my babies but they would be too young to survive. Hearing their heartbeats for the last time. Naming, baptizing and holding John and Cynthia until they were gone. Burying them. Then having to move into the home we bought to raise them in. Now we were in that home - and it was empty.

I was always a go-to-bed-early, get-up-early, morning person. But this was the first time in my life when I didn’t want to go to sleep because I knew I had to wake up and remember. Every. Single. Day. People often ask us how did we survive all of this? Well it obviously wasn’t easy but you just do it. You put your feet on the ground every morning and just keep going. Eventually, time starts to insert itself and create enough distance from the rawness that you are able to let hope and possibility seep back in again. After all, at least in our case, we wanted a family of our own more than anything. So we had no choice, we had to keep pushing forward.

How have you continued to push forward when facing the toughest moments of your journey?