The ache...

There is an aching spot in my chest. It's there all the time. I can move through my day, occupying myself with other things...there are so many ways to keep myself busy. Here is a request to read a story, there is a search for a pair of scissors, over there is a garden needing weeding or watering or just gazing...a meal to be cooked, laundry to be washed, dishes to be cleaned, lessons to be taught to children who enjoy the freedom of homeschooling, a basset hound to scold for ripping through the screen...again...

yes...there is a lot to keep a person occupied...and yet...there is that spot. I can feel it pulsing.

It reminds me in each and every moment that part of me is missing. I feel it even when I find a way to laugh. I feel it even in the magical warmth of enjoyment. I feel it looking into my husbands eyes. It is in the laughter of my children. It grips me in the beauty of purple and yellow flowers, or in the grace of a butterfly's fluttering wings. It is in bird song, vegetable soup, and bubble baths. It is an ache that permeates joy and throbs deeply in sadness. It causes me to jump at the wind, looking over my shoulder for what is not there.

It has become part of my heart beat. Of my breath.

It's as if I was walking over a bridge, looked over the top rail to see my reflection, and accidentally dropped a precious, irreplaceable treasure over the edge and into the river, never to be found again.

I can cry about it--and I do. I can scream about it--and I do. I can search for a way to heal from that loss--and I do. I can try to express the depth of this pain that never leaves me--and yes...I do that too.
But ultimately...there is nothing I can do to ease the ache. It lies in my chest, clenching at my throat as I try to keep focused on what is in front of me.

There is no way to replace the irreplaceable. You can not replace a life. You can not bring back what has passed through a veil.

I want to wake up and find myself a wiser and happier woman...I want to find that I have been having a bad dream...a dream that has taught me all I've learned in the past few months without the reality that has taken my babies from me. I want to be given all the growth and depth and empathy without finding my belly flat and lifeless each morning where they should be thriving...living. But...that was yesterday, and yesterday can never be today.

I asked my 5 year old to bring me a story to read. Out of all the hundreds of books he could have picked, he chose "Baby, come out!". A story about a baby that refuses to leave the comfort of her mothers womb in spite of all the appealing offers given by her family. Only when her daddy comes home and gives kisses to all does she declare she will come out to get a kiss. I had to really work hard to be able to read that book to my little "bear". I choked back tears, and tried to read it with the same jolly voice that I'd used when my babies were warm and happy and safe inside of me, the same voice that made my little boy laugh and fall in love with the idea of being a big brother.

Our twins have changed all of us without ever having taken a breath on earth. Time will lessen the ache I am sure...but we are never to be the same again.