I have a lot to say, at least in my head, about this experience, but it's not time to say it.
There are moments, amid the hustle and bustle of pumping and driving back and forth from the hospital that the reality of our situation hits me, or more accuratly, the reality of our situation a few weeks ago. As they become less fragile, and more like infants, and less like fetus', my
mind let's yet another layer of protective repression receed, and I am hit by waves of fear and terror at how closely they have clung to life during these last 4 weeks.
Jen, at 'maybe if you just relax' lost one of her twin girls--the big one, the one they hadn't been concerned about. I have struggled with how to even speak of this. The inevitable reaction to a horror that you yourself have escaped is to use words like 'lucky' and 'fortunate', or the worst 'blessed', to try to express your relief at having had a different outcome. But as I sit here, my heart heavy her loss, I am reminded that none of us has control over these outcomes. To claim luck or blessings is to imagine some force that has chosen us for respite from the horror of loss, and ultimatly, that the person who has experienced the loss is lacking in some way that we aren't. That is unbearable to contemplate.
Today, I'm going to
Hold my boys as close as their little nervous systems can tolerate and appriciate the very fact of them. Jen, my heart breaks for you and your family.