Six Months

Tomorrow marks six months since we lost our last two babies. Honestly, I hadn't even thought about it until a coworker (who lost her own baby 1 1/2 weeks before we did) emailed me about the connection. I had a trip planned for that weekend and everything. When I realized the dates, I almost backed out; but my husband and I decided it would be a good distraction. And I had been doing well emotionally. It had been a long time since my last big breakdown and I was feeling pretty stable. So off my friend and I drove today... to Monterey.

Some of you may remember that we scattered the ashes in the ocean. Well, we did that in - you guessed it - Monterey. And we're actually staying in a hotel that could be walking distance from that same beach. Still, I thought I'd be fine. But here I sit in my car, just back from sitting on the beach staring at the barely visible white froth of the crashing waves while weeping from my gut. It's one of those cries that I had never experienced until losing the babies. I have to imagine that was how the word guttural came to be. But, despite the sadness, I felt the need to write. So here I sit in my car, typing away.

It's a strange sense of loss. It's not like we lost a six year old child, or a parent, or a lifelong friend. We lost children we only knew for a few hours combined. I never even felt them move while I was pregnant. So it's a strange thing to miss them, but I do. But mostly I'm sorry that they will never be able to experience life, love, pain, joy, sorrow, anticipation, Christmas, their first day of school, a first kiss, being tossed into the air by their dad, leaning to drive... the list goes on and on. I'm not guilty - I did everything I could - but I'm sorry nonetheless.

So I mark this six months as an important day - one deserving of love and remembrance. I hope that their ashes have scattered around the globe and that their DNA is now a part of many different plants and animals. That, in a small way, they are alive and fueling the planet, maybe even making life possible for some other creature. And here I sit, trying to make sense of my feelings, staring at a vast black ocean, a starless sky, and a glowing screen - looking to the universe and my own words to make sense of it all. Somewhat unsuccessfully, I might add.

All I can do is wish a happy half-birthday to my little ones, Ewan, Sebastian and Amelia. We love and miss you all. Love, Mom.