I have had heart burn all day. Not only did it hurt physically, but it hurt emotionally because the only other time in my life that I have ever had heart burn was during my last pregnancy. All day long I have been eating papaya enzyme tablets to sooth the burning sensation...and all day long I have felt the lump in my throat that tells me there is a scream locked in there that is unable to emerge. It feels like are knots in my throat that go all the way down to my heart. The burning pain is symptomatic of the burning pain I feel every day, all day long.

I read recently that there is no such thing as "recovery" or "getting better" when you experience a traumatic loss...no such thing as going back, and collecting the you that once smiled easily. Rather, the you that emerges from the pain is a new you, a you that has lived through trauma, a you that has now been places many others have not been, giving you a new lens with which the world is colored.

It's not an unhappy thought...in fact, it gave me a lot of hope that though I would not be the same old me...I would be a wiser, more weathered me...a me able to help others who are in pain, because I have been there and back again...well, Actually...I don't really think I've gotten "back" yet...but, I am there now, rather...I am here now. Here, with the knots in my throat...in my heart. Everyday I work on uniting the knots...and in the process, sometimes I find out that I've made the tangle even worse...but sometimes...on lucky days...I work on the knots, and suddenly, I realise that I've just gotten one out. There may be a new one, or an old one in it's place tomorrow...but the point is, I AM working them out day by day.

Healing isn't something that happens overnight...and I still have the scar on my leg from when a little boy ran me over with his bike and skidded out on my leg. It was a deep cut when I was 8, and you can still see the tread marks today; but it has healed...I do not bleed from that spot anymore, and it doesn't hurt. Hearts are much more tender...they bleed spiritual blood...they ache psychic tears...they hold pain that throbs against the beat of your natural rhythms, and the stress appears as heartburn, and new gray hairs that seem to sprout overnight.

I made a space for my new puppy today...next to my bed on a 50 year old sheepskin...I put his toys on his bed in expectation of two weeks from now when he will be in my arms. I sat there for awhile with tears in my eyes. Had things not been what they are, I would have been placing baby toys in order preparing for my babies to be in my arms. I am getting to fulfill my nesting urges...I will get to care for a baby pup that will lick my face with love...It's o.k. that I cry for my twins...I know that I will always be sad that they aren't with me in physical reality, and I know that in spirit they will never leave me. They are my forever babies. My puppy is a reminder of them, and a soothing balm to my heart which is aching and morning. I will always have the mark that they left upon me...the scar of loss...but, maybe, one day...It won't hurt as badly.

Boy....I can't wait to hold that puppy. He can't be here a day too soon.

I definitely need that no sting spray to sooth the inflammation I am suffering...and it's soft and furry and warm.

Feeling like number one

On Saturday morning, my husband got out our tennis rackets and took my hand. We walked to the school just up the hill from our home. He informed me with a smile that we were going to create a new game. Standing within a painted circle on the elementary school playground, he dubbed the name of the game "circle tennis" We took turns serving every five points that were accumulated, and laughed like crazy as we ran around the circle hitting back and forth in flip-flops, trying to aim our shots perfectly so that they would not bounce before the line in the middle, and not hit the outside ring. It was wonderful fun! My husband is quite good at tennis, and as such is able to play with even amateur players like myself because he enjoys running to and fro for my not always "on" shots, delivering the play back to me with grace and precision.
When we got to the game point of 25, I was miraculously in the lead, somehow just having a string of luck I guess...or maybe...mini games and I get along better than full sized ones. I am also pretty good at mini golf, if you can call that a sport. It may have something to do with my short stature. Who knows...in any case, I won the point, and my husband cried out with glee that I was the international world champion of circle tennis! He hugged me exuberantly and said he was delighted to be married to a world champion....and you know what....I really did feel like number one, which was a pretty nice feeling after so many months of walking with my head down, heavy with grief.

We walked home holding hands, chattering about this and that, feeling happy in our love, and dear friendship. Our sons were playing in the yard happily...everything felt just right.
Things are not always the way we want them to be, sometimes life is almost unbearable....but sometimes...it is better than you could have imagined. That is the way of life. It is what makes things balanced.

A person's a person...no matter how small.

Our lost twins share the names of some very important people in my life. In some ways, they are people who have been a pair of the most significant people in making me the person I am today. My eldest son's name is Sanderson...a variation of the name Alexander. The man who introduced my husband and I is a dear friend named Simon. Simon is also Sanderson's godfather.

Sanderson, who was brought into my life earlier than one would think was a good idea, was a being that altered my world for the better from the very beginning. I was quite young...but old beyond my years. He shifted my entire world. He was a true blessing to me...though...blessings, as wonderful as they may be, are not always easy. Sanderson has been what many would refer to as....high need. Not that HE felt he needed ME....but rather, keeping some semblance of order around his energy demanded a certain caliber of devotion, which I doubt many other parents would have been able to keep up. I am thankful I was so young and naive...it helped me to keep up with the demands of raising such a high spirited child. My son is a person with bi-polar disorder, and also has had a brain injury since he was 17. He has always been bi-polar. It is clearer now, as is the usual case with bi-polar children as they enter adulthood.

Simon is also a person with bipolar...I met him in New York at the age of 17. He was like a brother to me at a time when I felt more alone than I had ever felt before. He was kind, understanding, and enlightening about the world at large. I remember a friendly kiss on the cheek that turned my world upside down. It wasn't a feeling of "falling in love",for, as I said...he was like a dear brother; rather, it was a feeling of waking up. I remember feeling this flash inside of me...a flash of understanding, awakening. Suddenly...I saw the world differently...I saw everything differently. I would never be the same.

It was that opening that paved the way for me to meet my husband...Sanderson and Simon have been such important people in our lives...

and they have challenging mental illnesses.

We named our babies, unconsciously, after these two men....Simon, and Sanderson. Our babies...our twins...Simon and Alexander.

My husband and I cried over this understanding...holding each other tightly, best friends, lovers, partners on a journey that has made other raise their eyebrows in wonder...sobbing about how our babies have changed us deeply; That the people society would judge as insignificant contributors, people with mental illness...premature babies....they had some of the deepest ability to change the way we see the world, and ourselves in that world... because of them, our lives would never be the same...and will always hold a special kind of beauty which we only see because of these special, wonderful, unique people-- People of immensely significant value!! Our babies were small....so very small....but the way in which they are in our lives has, and will continue to be, huge beyond comprehension.

No...not insignificant...not defective..not just premature, or mentally ill. Brilliant. Special. Wonderful. Life altering beings. People with a unique message. People with a special kind of lesson to teach us all, if only we are willing to see.

My heart is full...my heart is bursting with love for the bringers of light that I have had the great privilege of having in my life for any period of time. I want to scream from the top of the mountain my gratitude for getting to have the opportunity to be touched by these wonderful blessings. I am surrounded by their light. It illuminates our world. It changes the future.

That is real magic.

Business as Usual

Yesterday, I was watering the "Royal Plum" tree that we just planted as a memorial. It has lavender and Coriopsis flowers at it's base...purple and yellow....for my babies. I was going over names in my head for our new baby sheepdog that will soon be here...almost asking my little ones for guidance...thanking them for leading me to a warm puppy for healing. Being grateful for the gift, because, that is how I am seeing it; as a gift from our babies. I was saying the names out loud, to hear how they would sound in the air....Sirius, after the dog star in the heavens? Merlin, for the beautiful magic he is sure to bring our family? Felix, for the luck potion that points Harry Potter in the right direction for answers he MUST have to succeed on his journey? Happy? Lucky? Albert? Owen? Charlie? Baby?....Baby?.........

Tears filled my eyes and I quickly shot the hose up in the air so that little diamond droplets of water would shower my face before my boys, who were happily throwing water balloons at each other wouldn't see that I was crying...again.

I saw the mail lady drive up, and deposit something in the mailbox, so I put the hose down, and wiped my face with my now wet sleeve. I walked over to the mailbox, and opened it up, fully expecting more bills, catalogs and useless coupons for processed food that I don't buy. Instead of what I expected, there was a large box containing formula samples, and a disposable diaper sample. I looked at it for a moment, and then slammed my mailbox shut, walked briskly into the house calling out to the boys that I was going to take a little nap, and that they should stay outside unless someone was bleeding or broken. They laughed heartily at my little command, and I smiled weakly...and went inside to my bedroom, locked the door, and screamed and cursed and screamed some more into my pillow until my throat hurt.

Once done screaming, I started tapping above my eyebrow...an attempt at re-gaining control over my emotions...a technique used for healing trauma...amazingly, it does help! I lay on my bed, looking up that the lavender ceiling that my husband, a man of many many talents, has painted with stars, soft clouds, and a crescent moon...I looked up into these faux heavens, and wondered how long I would get zapped with grief from unexpected jolts that remind me of what I can not have.

Somehow, I was "accidentally" put on the same list as all the other mommies who just had babies when I gave birth to our first dead twin in the hospital, and so, because of that, I get a constant stream of e-mails informing me of my babies age and developmental milestones, a regular supply of plastic bottle samples, formula samples, diaper samples and creams, lotions and baby butt balm that I will not be using. Not that I would have used most of this stuff anyway...I use cloth diapers on my baby's, I breastfeed exclusively and for years, I don't use products on my baby's that have ingredients that I can't pronounce...so, I would have donated these things to the food bank, or teen parent shelter anyway. I wouldn't have kept them even if....even if....

But they remind me that there IS an "even if"....these samples and phone calls with telemarketers who insist I just HAVE to have the newest baby magazine, are a constant reminder that I have dead babies. That Simon and Alexander will never need baby butt cream, or diapers....or anything. It isn't them that needs something...It is ME that needs something. I need them...want them with all of my being. But---I can't have them. No matter how much I want them. No matter how much I cry. No matter how much I BEG to wake up from this hell to find it was all just the WORST dream I have ever had...but only a dream!!

No...the reality is that I will continue to get products for babies I don't get to have simply because our world runs in a "business as usual" fashion. I can write to a hundred companies, but my name is on a list that sells and re-sells to every baby product corporation that wants me to buy their stuff. They will probably keep sending this %#&*! to me for a year or so.

So, I just lay on my bed...tapping above my eyebrow...trying to find my breath again...to steady my heart, ragged and broken, trying to find a happier thought than the one that whispers maliciously "Your babies are dead..." And...there it is...the laughter of my living sons...the promise of my husbands kiss during an evening walk...and the expectation of a little baby Sheepdog arriving at my home on August 14th.

I got up...went upstairs...and made lemonade snow cones for my boys.

The response to my gesture of love was exactly what I needed at that moment..."Mom, you are the BEST!"

This time...my tears were grateful.

Healing with Warm Fuzzies...

Such a sweet little silly baby!

I will hold you so soon! But not soon enough for these acheing arms that want you NOW!

O.k., O.k....I know it's silly...I know that a puppy isn't a baby, much less twin babies. I know I am not going to get my babies back by having a puppy. But...you have to admit...he IS adorable...more than adorable!

This morning, I woke up to my period. I woke up to the understanding that I am not pregnant, not that we are trying to get pregnant right now. I know my body has a lot of healing to do. But there it was...the reminder that I am not pregnant, that I am not about to give birth to twins in a month, as much as I might want that truth to be different, it is NOT...reality is this-I am not going to hold twins in my arms, I don't get to nurse them, I won't get to hear them laugh or cry, I can't go back and change that they are dead.

I know that I may not have more babies. I know that I might. I also know that I DON'T know anything right now except that I can't replace Simon or Alexander any more than I could replace any of my sweet children with another baby. I know that I could not just go out and find a new "Ty" if I were to lose my husband. I know that there is no going back to get what you have lost.

However...I feel a little bit like an adoptive mother right now...I see pictures of the baby that is going to be mine in a few short weeks, and my heart, beating with the pain of yesterday, is feeing the glimmer that comes with hope that I will smile more often, laugh easier, and find a place to put my distracted energy...that I will have a baby to love and that love, while it isn't going to erase the injury that loss has asaulted me with, will sooth the pain.

We are so excited for the arrival of our baby pup...he has given us back a peice of our joy simply by exsisting in our hearts while we wait for him to be 8 weeks old, old enough to join us in our wild, love filled ride.

Getting to Nest in Spite of it All...

Here is the photo of my "baby"...the one near the purple flowers. The Adult Dog is what he will look like one day...almost exactly, with a few minor marking exceptions.

Why am I getting another dog to add to my family of 5 living boys, A Bassett Hound, a Pug, two rabbits, and a Ferret? Why? Well....because. I am adding my Old English Sheepdog puppy to my family because I was going to have twins...and now...I am not.

The hole in my heart aches every single day...worse as my expected due date approaches...more painful as I wake up every morning knowing that I should...SHOULD...have been getting ready for my little boys. I was robbed of nesting for them...robbed of careing for them....robbed of loving them and having them love me in return. Robbed of their warmth. Robbed of watching them play with their brothers, and grow, and be silly....Robbed of their lives.

I found this sweet little puppy...next to the purple flowers...the same flowers I have planted in my yard for my babies. I knew I needed him in my arms. I knew I needed a big, furry, loveable bear hug of a dog. Someone new....a baby...someone that will take as much energy and patience and time and warmth as twins would have taken. My twins. I needed a friend to fill some of the painful emptyness in my heart. I needed this sweet little dog in my life.

I paid for his deposit, and will make payments until he is 8 weeks old...they will bring him to me from Missouri on August 14th...I was due on the 21st...I will have a baby in my arms to sooth my acheing heart...I will have someone to cuddle...someone who will lick away my tears, and distract my troubled mind. A giant ball of fur to play with my kids and protect my family with love. A jolly soul to laugh with and romp with.

I haven't felt so joyful in months....I haven't felt so right for months....

I am SO glad to know I can regain the joy of nesting for a new presence...a new baby.

I bought a big fuzzy squeeky camel today for him. And a knotted rope that is purple and yellow...

We are searching inside ourselves for names for our new baby pup...I know we will find the right one if we are quite inside....

I feel like our new puppy was given to us by our babies-for they must know, more than anyone could ever know, how much I need this dog right now....How much it matters that he be here now that they are gone. He will be in my arms on my due date. I can't wait to hold him.

I got photographs today that have my twins names written in the sand. Simon and Alexander. Somehow, it seemed urgent to frame them, and put them up right away. I put them in a double frame, the kind with two windows, because they belong together...they were twins. They came to us on different days...almost a month apart from each other. Alexander on April 22nd...Earth day, and Simon on May 28th...a surprise to us all.

I put the finished photos in the frame with matting, and began to look for a perfect place to put my new treasure. The treasure that was filled with all the beauty of sunrise and sunset..my babies names scrawled in the sand. Two different moments in time...holding hands.

I walked slowly all around my home...sometimes taking down another photo or painting to see if it would seem appropriate to replace it with a memory of our twins. No...not here...not there...not right over in that spot...didn't fit in this spot...too high...too low...too out of the way...too in the way...

I stopped in the living room. Stopped frozen, my heart pounding. WHERE could I put them? I couldn't find a place...I couldn't find a place for them to fit. The air closed in my throat, and my eyes filled with burning tears that quickly trailed down my cheeks. I could hear my husband and my 13 year old playing music together only a few feet from where I was standing...but I was a million miles away.

I quickly walked downstairs with the photos in their frame clutched tight to my breasts and made my way to the bedroom. I sat on the bed and sobbed...I sobbed and gasped for air because I couldn't find a place for my babies. There wasn't any room for them in my home.

I heard the door open and my husband asked my what was wrong, explaining that our son had seen me leaving the room with tears in my eyes holding the picture.

"There isn't room for them...I can't find any room!!"

He took the picture gently, and sitting there quite for a moment, he smiled and held it up over the head of our bed, and said lovingly, "We will make room...we will scoot and build and grow until there is room for them...Look...they fit right here. It's o.k...they fit here perfectly."

I looked at the spot he had chosen. It was true, they fit in our bedroom, where they were made by the love that my husband and I have burning within us for each other. They fit in our hearts. There is room for them. There will always be room for them.

My 10 year old son lost his beloved rat today. Her name was Cheese-ball. She was an old lady rat, closing in on being 100 years old in ratty years. She was frail, and weak. Too tired to climb anymore with success, too weak to chew seeds out of their shells. My son nurtured her each day, careful to not bump her sore arthritic feet, giving her raspberries, yogurt, and little soft tidbits from each of his meals. He held her close to him, not minding that her fur was thinning, and that she was no longer firm and round, but had been reduced to a bony little pile of love that eagerly awaited his gentle hands caress each day. Her eyes were bright, and still shiny, and our vet proclaimed that her heart was in great shape, though it was clear that she would not live much longer simply due to her advanced age.

My son came to me this morning, and bravely announced that Cheese-ball had died in the night. He had known this day would come. She had lived longer than most rats ever do. He expressed that he was grateful that she wasn't suffering anymore with her ancient body. Then, he burst into tears.

I held my little boy, and stroked his dark silky hair. His body quivered with the racking sobs that were the result of losing his best friend, his constant companion for the past 3 and a half years. I thought about how lonely his little boy body would feel without the warmth of his lady-rat cuddled up under his shirt, and about how strange it was to hold him so tightly...knowing she wasn't there. Most of the time, it was wise to hold my boy a little gingerly when bringing him close for a hug, least his ratty be in his shirt...but...not now.

I also thought about loss...loss of pets, so dear and funny...loss of people we love. The grief we feel, those of us left behind, it is all so painful because we know we can never hold our loved ones again. We know that we will never laugh with them, or play with them, or care for them again. I thought about the people who might grimace and say to themselves..."It was just a rat after all..." Just a rat. Just a dog. Just an elderly man or woman. Just an addict. Just a (fill in ethnic choice of the day). Just a fetus. Just a baby. Is there REALLY any valid reason to diminish a loss of life? We do it all the time..."It's only a cow." as we chew up a burger; As if there is some sort of validity to shrugging our shoulders and labeling life as more or less valuable.

I prefer the ancient model of valuing life, of understanding it's importance and significance...to thank an animal for it's life if it is to be food...to honor a families grief when a family member, no matter how young or old, dies. To allow the space and embrace for that process. To honor a wonderful animal that lived as a pet and died as a friend. To some people, the fact that my twins were unborn...that they were tiny and not ready to be born...makes it somehow acceptable, less important. To others, a full term baby lost would be justified as "Gods will" or something else that makes it seem acceptable to them. When we lose a beloved elderly grandmother, we understand it as "their time". When we lose a pet...we know others are thinking..."It's just an animal."

My sons rat wasn't "just" a rat. He loved her. She filled his heart with love every day of her life.
My babies weren't "just" 5 month old aborted products of conception (as the doctors bill so lovingly put it). They were LOVED...and we felt their love in return. Tangibly. In Miracles. Love is priceless. There is no limit to it's depth. When you have love it no longer matters how big the object of your affection is. Love can be huge within a small being. Our hearts do not respond to logic. Our hearts bleed with loss. Understanding from others is what helps heal that wound. Being allowed to feel the depth of your pain without being told there is a logical reason to feel better is to allow someone to FEEL the loss that IS justified. My son knows his rat was old...but it doesn't stop him from feeling the deep loss of his dear friend. She wasn't "just" a rat. My babies weren't "just" premature fetus's.

We will bury Cheese-ball in "rat forest"...the place where other rats that she lived with have been buried in years past. My son, lover of all things soft, furry and small, lost his last rat today. The cage in his room will remain empty until he decides he is ready to love another rat with shiny black eyes and an amazing capacity for love in it's tiny body. An empty cage... Just like the little empty bed in my room that will remain until I am ready to let it go, or fill it.

My son looked up at me, his cheeks red and damp from crying. "I really AM glad she isn't suffering anymore mom...I'm just so sad that she's gone."

"Her body is gone baby...her body is gone, but she was deeply loved by you..and that love will never die." As I said this to my little boy, I realized I was saying it to myself as well. My love for my babies is real...strong...and will never die. I can love them whenever I want, for as long as I live.

I can feel them in my heart.
They are my forever babies.

I cannot hold them with my arms, but I can reach out with my spirit and love them forever. It doesn't mean I won't miss them painfully...it doesn't mean I won't be sad...and it doesn't mean that I am happy, or even content with the reality that they are gone. It means that love is a powerful enough entity to cut through the barriers of death expressing itself through space, time, and circumstance.

Staying still...

It is interesting to note that most of our internal feelings and emotions have mirror manifestations in nature. Storms, lightning, gentle rainfall, thunder, tornadoes, sunsets, sunrises, the blooming of flowers, winter, spring, summer, fall, deep lakes and oceans, deserts, forests, long winding paths, drought, flood, quick-sand, currents, shooting stars, rainbows...the list goes on and on....and on. Each type of natural reality has it's reflection within our core of being.

It seems that the truth of this lies in the reality of oneness that we all share. We are not separate from nature. We are not just connected to each other, but are literally one with all that there is. This includes everything in reality. Emotions are as organic as a flash flood, or a winter snow fall...or the breeze of spring. We feel what we feel because we are organic creatures, living in an organic world and we bend and sway just like saplings in a riparian grove in the wind.

We are not immune to the hurricanes of our lives, we can not ignore it when the currents are strong, or pretend that the deserts in our lives don't make us gasp for the healing of water to renew our chance for life. We thrive in abundance, we need shelter from foul weather, and sometimes, we need to be rescued when the quicksand of emotional pain threatens to drag us under it's blanket of suffocation.

Tears are the organic responds to being flooded with a hurricane of grief.

Rage is the outpouring of lava from the volcano of our soul erupting.

Love is the warmth created within the warmth of a billowy ocean and the smell of flowers on the breeze.

Forgiveness sails through us like the melody of bird song.

Hopelessness is the realization that you are stuck in the desert, and that no one can save you.

We are one with nature...our feelings are natural responses to a natural world. We can see our emotions in every manifestation of natures mirror.

Feeling that I must stay still while I am caught in the quicksand of grief, least I be pulled down by my resistance to it's magnetism is understandable. I know if I am still within myself that I have a chance of survival. A chance to discover a way out. I know if I try to find stillness within myself, rather than thrashing about in efforts to free myself from the trap of depression, an opportunity for healing may have a chance to make it's way toward me, and a vine may break loose from an overhead tree, offering me a way out, before I sink. It is in the stillness, in the allowance of letting tears fall freely, without shame, that the way will come.

The patterns are the same...within us, and outside of us...and this is only true, because there is no in or out. We are one.

Somehow...understanding this truth feels like the vine I've been hoping for. There is always a rainbow after a storm...

Only Half Full

We have the ashes sitting safely on a shelf.

They are still in a plastic container provided by the mortuary. We didn't buy an urn, because we plan to release the ashes near and around the "mother rock" near the twin pines in the wooded gully near my home. It is a healing place. It is a place surrounded by yellow and purple flowers. It is full of the vibration of my babies.

But something in me feels like that little plastic container is only half full.

There is something missing. My other twins ashes are missing. It somehow seems...incomplete to put the ashes of only one baby there. There were two of them. One in a little plastic container of ashes...and one in the hospital dumpster in a red bio hazard bag. One that we knew about, and birthed, held, and kissed goodbye. One that stayed hidden inside until my body tried to flush his body out by hemorrhaging a month later, only to have to be removed by a metal object in pieces. I never saw him. Didn't even know he had been there until we left the hospital. Too late to do anything about his remains. Too late.

But...he was there. He was there. He stayed with me as long as he could hold on, or maybe it was only as long as I could hold on...I'm not sure which way it was. The only thing I am certain of is that he WAS there.

They were both there. My babies were there...and are still all around me in spirit. I can feel them. So close, and yet so far away.

I would have loved them so much. Would have loved to hold smiling twins in my arms.

I want to put the ashes around the rock that led us to discovering our little Simon...our secret twin. I want to be able to visit that place, and be with my twins again. I want to tell them how much I wanted to hold their hands, and skip in the waves of the ocean one day. I want to tell them how my arms ache for them.

I want to tell Simon that I am sorry I didn't know he was there...that I am sorry he was lost and overlooked.
I want to tell Alexander that I miss his tiny little hands and feet and precious angel face...that I wish he could have heard the song I sang to him in those last hours together.

I wish they had opened their eyes and seen how very much I love them both. I wish that they were still safe inside me, waiting to be born alive into this family that would have adored them.

I have the ashes of one of my twins. Just ashes. I have to believe that it's not the important part. I have to believe that my other twin isn't diminished just because I never saw him..never held him...don't have his ashes to sprinkle in the place that was given to us as a place to connect with spirit...with our babies. Sprinkling the ashes is a ritual...a ritual of love and respect of a person.

I will ask my twins to know that I am giving them both to the earth when we sprinkle that little jar that is only half full of the life that was loved within me.

There is nothing else I can do.

As If

At 2 in the morning it almost seems easier to just stay awake than to keep trying to fall asleep.

I got up from the couch earlier in the evening during a movie that was making me feel rather anxious, saying to my 19 year old and his girlfriend "I just have to check on..." and then froze inside. I had felt this sudden NEED to check on my babies. As if it had been too long for them to be sleeping. As if I was worried that they might not be safe. As if they needed me.

As if they were there at all.

The lump that instantly formed in my throat stopped my sentence, and I hurried off as if I really had something I needed to check on. I stood in the doorway of my four younger boys. Night lite on. The steady breathing of four boys in bunk beds. The faint sound of banjo music that had lulled them all to sleep. Big, happy, peaceful boys.

Walked to my own room right next door...looking at the big bed...and the little bed next to it. The little empty bed. A toddlers bed. I was going to set up my co-sleeper soon...for my baby. It would have had two babies in it...which would have been such a wonderful surprise. I could have reached over and touched them if they stirred..or brought them into my arms to nurse sleepily without having to get up myself. We would have slept together. I would have woken up in the morning to birdsong, and watched my babies sleep, going over every detail of their beautiful faces, imprinting it all to store in my memory for all time.

I usually keep my babies close...close so that I know they are safe.

My babies are gone. There isn't anyone to check on. No one to nurse. No one to hold in my arms...even though they are asleep. I don't get to watch their little fringed eyelids flicker in a dream state. They never opened their eyes.

I feel like they are here...like I should be taking care of them.

But there aren't any babies in my home, even though my heart is screaming that they must be here somewhere. I must have misplaced them. Lost them.

Yes. I lost them. Now, they are only found in the whispers of the wind, or gold and purple flowers, or tiny humming-birds that move so quickly I can't always track them with my eyes.

I love you.

I will always love you.

Tomorrow is the 4th of July.

Already, the neighbors are lighting off the fireworks that are illegal within city limits. I live within city limits. "Why can't we have fireworks?" is the question my boys ask me. They see all of the neighbors lighting them off, so they don't understand. I explain that there is a $3000.00 fine for anyone caught lighting fireworks off within city limits, sooooo, even though everyone else is doing it, It is still against the law, and right now, I am not really prone to wanting to test my own personal luck at this moment in time.

You see, I haven't been having very good luck lately.

Not at all.

In addition to losing my twins in the nightmare room that is my life right now, our only car just moved on to that place where good cars go when they die. My driveway. We had hoped to spend the 4th out of town, in the woods, camping, where everything is peaceful. Last Sunday the car started jumping a bit, like it wanted to stall. We figured it was just something minor...but...after a complete inspection, a friendly Aussie accented man with large tattoos on his arms, explained a detailed list of what exactly was wrong with our car, and told me that driving it would be potentially deadly....upwards of 2000 dollars would fix it up nicely. Yeah. Right.

He encouraged me to get a new car.

Not worth fixing.

great. It looks like we will not be going out of town...or anywhere else for that matter.

Sooo...My husband is riding his bike 15 miles to and from work...2 of those miles coming home are up a mountain. I have been taking the bus to get small armfuls of groceries for a family of 7. The bus comes once an hour till 7 p.m., so it isn't the end of the world but it takes a lot out of me right now because I am still really weak and anemic.

We are making it work.

I hear the fireworks outside....people laughing....I know my kids don't understand why we can't break the law too. Putting aside the fact that I hate lighting off fireworks because I am afraid of the repercussions that come from an accident, having known a man whose brother was eyeless because a tiny firecracker jumped up into his eye right when it blew up, I am also already so anxious from losing my babies that I almost pee my pants every time a firecracker bangs outside my window and am finding myself having a lot of empathy for all the frightened pets in town who are terrified of all the noise. I know that if anyone in this town is going to get fined for lighting off fireworks...it is ME. No thank you.

I would rather sit outside in the yard roasting marshmallow's with my kids, and enjoy the firework show that is shot off in the valley...we will have a perfect view, and all over the city, we can enjoy the illegal fireworks from the safety of our porch. That's really the best part anyway...watching the pretty colors.

Tomorrow is the 4th of July.

But...it's really just one more day to me.

A day to get through, like every other day; Making sure we do something to enjoy each other, to nourish the love we share. Taking one step at a time to get through it in spite of the emotions that flood through me on a regular basis.

I will get through it.

In spite of everything...and because of everything.

Chocolate. Is there anything in the world more comforting to a bleeding heart? I ate an entire bar of something called "Death by Chocolate"....sounds like it could be the way to go! Better than bleeding to death. Better than driving off the side of a cliff. Better than drowning. Better than suffocation. Or heart failure. Or stroke. Or cancer. Or spontaneous combustion.... or... or ... well...anything!! Because in truth, the only thing that dies with chocolate is your mood funk.

...And your diet.

Ah well....you can't have everything!