A letter to Boe on his second birthday

Dear Boe,

Two years ago today, you changed our lives forever. Two years ago today, we lost so much. In an instant, we lost our son, our innocence, our hopes, dreams and aspirations. We lost "normal" and the Kirsten and Adam we used to be. In an instant, it seemed that we lost everything.

Yet, even in the midst of unbelievable shock and pain, we also gained a lot, too. We gained your brothers, Adler and Cameron, we gained the true meaning of sacrifice and heroism, we gained the knowledge that, in an instant, life can change and everything you thought you knew, everything you believed in, dreamed of and hoped for, is up for grabs; nothing is sacred, nothing is for certain, and nothing is guaranteed.

Our eyes were opened wider than we ever thought they could be to sights so simultaneously beautiful and wrought with pain, that we truly did not know whether we should laugh or cry, so we did both. We learned that, despite our best efforts, this thing called life is truly out of our hands. Someone else is in control, and we are merely along for the ride.

Boe, today it has been 2 years since you died. Two years since we lost you physically, but gained an angel. It has been 2 years since we held you in our arms, but you have been held in our hearts and minds every moment since. It has been 2 years since you died and were born, 2 years since a part of us died and, in its place, a new more aware and open part was born. It has been 2 years, and I still miss you like hell, but I am able to remember you with a smile more frequently than with tears. It has been 2 years, and tonight I will light 2 candles, and rather than blow them out, they will remain lit, for to keep them lit is to keep a piece of you alive.

Happy birthday, Boe. I love you and miss you more than words can say.

Closing in...

It is approaching... The 2 year anniversary of Boe's death, and my boys' birthday. I have found myself thinking of "Two years ago today, I was..." a lot recently. I realized that I started doing this around the 1st of April. That is when my perinatologist decided to hospitalize me for observation while he was out of town. I was 29 weeks pregnant.

This week it is "Two years ago today was the last time I saw Boe's heartbeat". The last time I knew he was safe, alive; the last time I was "normal". I don't really play the "what if" game except in one instance, and it centers around this day, April 19th.

I had gone in for a Biophysical profile. Basically, they looked for heartbeats, breathing, movement, and possibly even hiccups from the boys. If they did all of these things, they "passed". On this day, it took the nurse a long time to locate Boe and get a steady reading on him. I really did not think too much of it because he was under Adler and Cameron and had always been a little tricky to find. When she did find him, he was fine. His heartbeat was normal, he was moving and practicing his breathing.

Now, looking back on that day, I wonder "what if"? What if she had been concerned that she had so much trouble getting a good read on him? What if he had failed even one point of his profile and she had called my doctor in for more careful observation? What if the boys had been delivered that day? Would Boe have survived? Would he have been OK?

Sunday is their birthday. It will be a joyous day, filled with laughter and fun. It will also be a bittersweet day filled with a hint of sadness. Sadness over the loss of what should have been, sadness over the knowledge that there is a piece of the puzzle that is missing, sadness over the candle left lit and not blown out. Sadness is closing in, and just as quickly as it comes, it will be wiped away by the joy that comes from being his mommy.

Life according to Michelle...

The Duggars recently aired the episode which chronicled the discovery of their daughter's death and her memorial service. Typically, I do not watch this show, but I heard this episode was airing, so I made it a point to watch. Even though I do not understand many of the family's lifestyle choices, several things about their ordeal really struck home.

First off, I was so impressed and touched by Michelle's serene approach to what had happened. She said so many things that really resonated with me. She spoke often of how much joy Jubilee had brought them during the 18 weeks she had been alive. I had never thought of this before, but even with all the risk and sacrifice associated with my pregnancy, I was SO HAPPY to be pregnant with triplets. I enjoyed thinking of the men they would one day become and trying to predict what each of their personalities would be. I enjoyed hoping and dreaming for them, and I was so excited and anxious to meet my little men. When Boe died, I was so consumed by the shock and sadness that accompanied his death that I forgot to remember how much joy he brought to me during the days he was living.

Michelle also spoke of how Jubilee got see the Lord first. I am no where near as religious or devout as the Duggars are, but I found such peace and comfort in this thought. If Boe never got to lay eyes on his mommy and daddy, at least the first thing he saw was someone who will always accept him, protect and love him. The last thing that really stood out to me was the kind of life she believes Jubilee will now have. She spoke of the fact that Jubilee will never have to cry or feel pain. She will never experience sadness, heartache or despair. Adam and I both feel that, had Boe lived, he would have been compromised in some way, to what extent we cannot predict.

As a parent, you try your damnedest each and every day to shield your children from pain and sadness even if it means that you, yourself, hurt in their stead. If carrying this sadness, this awful, empty burden, is what it takes to guarantee that my little boy never cries; if his life needs to take place in the solace of another, more powerful, set of arms to save him from a life of discomfort, struggle and pain, then I will bear that burden. I may not do it willingly or always happily, but at least I can do it knowing that he is in the care of someone far greater and more capable than I, and I can do it with gratitude for the joy he brought me while he lived and the joy that keeping his memory close brings to each day.

Because....

One would think that the loss of a child would send anyone in to a deep and dark depression out of which it seems nearly impossible to emerge. Sadly, this is probably the case for many men and women who have found themselves in just this predicament. It's not to say that I was not sad and very low in the days following Boe's death, I was; I just did not have the luxury of succumbing to the bone-crushing, mind-numbing despair that catapulted into my life.

I had 2 boys in the NICU and a beautiful little girl at home. They all needed me and, for my sanity, I needed them. So, surprisingly, in the midst of immense pain and tragedy, I was able to push forward and find bits of joy in each day. It was in Libby learning to speak and walk, it was in each little victory my 2 little survivors achieved. Now, nearly 2 years later, I find myself in a very different place, and it's not one which I care to visit for too long.

I feel it is safe to say that I am knock down, drag out depressed. I do not want to get up every morning, I only do because I know I have to. The desire to sleep, and consequently "escape", is at the top of my list daily.

I look forward to very little and dread almost everything. Big events have the tendency to practically paralyze me with anxiety. Before you shake your head or roll your eyes in disgust at how self-serving this is: I KNOW how lucky I am. I have 4 beautiful living children and 1 in heaven. I have a husband who is very supportive and works tirelessly for our family. I am amazed, and sometimes envious, at how willing and able he is to whisk some or all of the kiddos away so I can have a little quiet time.

In spite of all this, I hate myself. I look in the mirror and I see a tired, sad and worn out me. I see a woman who is defeated and down trodden. I see a woman who I do not wish to be, but do not know how to get rid of. I hate that waking up everyday has become a chore, a burden, for me. I hate that my sweet little children, no doubt, suffer the brunt of my ambivalence and anxiety. I hate that my husband comes home from working a long day and has to swoop in to take over because I am simply spent. They all deserve better from me, and Lord knows I desperately want to give it to them. I just don't know how.

I am taking steps to right this situation, and I pray it will not take long to see a positive change. I just wonder, why now? Why when I have just given birth to a perfectly healthy, full-term baby? Why when I have 3 other little ones who crave my love and affection? Why when it is more important than ever that my husband and I present a united front and land on the same page? Why not when Boe died and it was logical for me to be sad, and I only had Libby at home, and I knew that Adler and Cameron were being well cared for by the NICU nurses? Why not when Adam was off from work and I could have leaned on him more without being such a burden, why not when we could have moved through our grief and the process with a bit more unification, and time? Why not?

Because. Because, and it sucks. I am ready to start living my life again, I am ready to be me again, to laugh at jokes I once found funny instead of rolling my eyes at how lame they are, to wear clothes and shoes that once made me feel pretty instead of hiding them in the closet because they make me feel ugly and out of shape, to want to reach out to friends and family whom I really miss seeing and hearing from but don't because I am too tired to do so and too ashamed to be honest about what I am moving through, to honor my little boy Boe and my surviving children by being a happy fun mommy who sees reading a story to them as an adventure not a chore or an interruption, to be the wife who greets her husband with a warm smile instead of a tired drawn look that says, "I'm done" and a snap in her voice that says, "This sucks". Yes, I am ready to be the best possible me that I can be because EVERYONE dear to me deserves it and, quite simply, I'm tired of feeling this way.

Broken

"The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong in the broken places." Ernest Hemingway

The world has broken me. It has broken me in many different places on different occassions. Sometimes I have seen it coming and have been able to catch the pieces, and sometimes it has been completely and totally unexpected, leaving me to search for the fragments scattered so widely and abruptly. I am not naive enough to believe that that world will never break me again, she is not that kind, and I am not that special.

Each time I have been broken I have been forever changed to a version of myself with more visible cracks and imperfections than before. Each fissure or break, while weakening me temporarily, in the end, only serves to strengthen me. It may take me time to put myself back together and to learn how to live "around" the damaged area, but having to adapt like this teaches me to be flexible, resilient, and perhaps, dare I say, a better version of what I was before.

Isn't that the point? Isn't that what software designers, for example, do? They take an operating system like Windows 1.o and figure out what its kinks are, where is it weak, what can be better? After a while, they make their tweaks and changes, some minor and some drastic, but the hope is that Version 2.o will be better.

There is no doubt that Boe's death has changed me forever and that I am forever changing. My prayer is that as I try to repair the me that was left broken and battered by the death of my child, I'll evolve into someone better, more improved, aware, alive and stronger than before.

Carrying him...

When Boe died, my faith was shaken to the core. I felt so very betrayed and confused. How could God, who is supposed to love me unconditionally, do this to me? How could he bless me with 3 little lives to nurture and then inexplicably, for no reason, take one of them from me? Why did this happen? What did I do to deserve this?

Over the last 21 months I have done a lot of "work". I have read, I have researched, I have found other women who have lost children, I have "support grouped", I have walked in my Baby Boe's name, I have visited my boy at the cemetery and placed flowers at his grave, I have grieved in silence and out loud. As I have done all of these things, my relationship with God has shifted. There have been times when I have been perfectly at peace with his decision to take Boe, and there have been days when I have seethed with anger and resentment to the point that to be around me has, no doubt, been very unpleasant and toxic.

I can honestly say that, as I write this, I am in a place of peace these days. I miss Boe everyday, and I do not believe that will ever change, nor do I want it to. I know there will be times when I can speak of him and smile and times that just hearing his name will reduce me to tears, and I am OK with that.

I am blessed with all the children that I have, living and dead. Each of them have touched my heart and shaped who I am as a woman in ways that I cannot explain. This is kind of how I see it; I am honored that God chose me to carry one of his heavenly angels. I am so grateful he gave me the 229 days with Boe that I had. If he had given Boe his wings any sooner, Adler and Cameron may not have survived, and that is just too dark and painful a thought to bear.

So, thank you, God. Thank you for letting me carry one of your precious little guardians. Thank you for letting me carry him just long enough to be able to keep his earthly brothers here. Many people only dream of angels, but I held one in my arms. Thank you.

Sudden Impact

Last week's episode of Grey's Anatomy followed the fall out of a horrific car wreck in which 2 of Seattle Grace's doctors had been involved. Obviously, the mention of a sudden impact was literal, but the story also stressed the need to recognize those sudden impacts which are figurative as well.

To close the episode, the narrator, Meredith, says that sudden impacts happen when we least expect them. We are warned that there is no way to prepare or brace for them. When they occur, our life is changed in an instant and we are never the same.

My sudden impact occurred on April 22, 2010. Many victims of sudden impacts do not remember the moments leading up to the crash or the actual crash itself. It is too traumatic, their minds block out what is too horrific to handle to protect their psyche. I am not so fortunate.

I remember everything about that moment. I remember joking with the ultrasound technician about the fact that I was "still" pregnant (I was 32 weeks and 5 days, my doctor wanted me to make it to 34 weeks) just before I hopped up on the table for her to perform the sonogram. I remember watching her face change as she turned to me and my husband and said with disbelief, "I am so sorry, but Baby B's heart has stopped beating." I remember it felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room as she excused herself to retrieve the doctor, leaving Adam and me to try and process what she had just told us.

Impacts often leave debris and wreckage in their wake. Those who survive them or arrive to assist must wade through all this to try and make sense of what happened and assist those in need. The impact that I experienced has certainly left its share of debris and wreckage. I know, without a doubt, that there is (and always will be) a piece of me in that exam room. The Kirsten that I used to be resides there, and I shall never be "That Girl" again.

Over the last 21 months I have laughed, cried, screamed, raged, begged, pleaded, reasoned, etc... all in the name of trying to piece together the events that unfolded on that day. I know that no amount of this will bring my Boe back, he is gone. I do, however, feel that each time I laugh or cry, scream or rage in Boe's name, I take a little step closer to "That Girl".

Like Meredith said, after a sudden impact we are never the same. My hope is that maybe, just maybe, I can continue to sift through the wreckage to find my way back to someone pretty damn close to "That Girl" I left behind. She was pretty cool and I miss her. I want her back.