Running with the wind

The wind is howling like a ghost outside. Ordinarily I do NOT like that. I never have liked it, from the time of being a small child. It felt too wild. Like no one could hear you if you screamed for help. (That should give some insight to the childhood I had!---sheesh....)

But tonight....The wind is howling. Screaming really. The trees in my yard are bending with the strength of the winds pushing power. You can hear the rushing of the leaves---they sound like ocean waves pounding on the beach or like a subway rushing trough tunnels in New York!

It is pretty dark, because the full moon is covered by gray clouds that are eerily illuminated by the light of the moon that is trying to peek through unsuccessfully. Yes...I am usually anxious on a night like this...especially when my husband is out of town like he is. But, the kids were watching a movie...and I felt so restless....

I got my puppy's leash and his reflective vest and put a wind breaker over my fleece sweater, and told the kids I was going for a walk, and that I had my cell phone if they needed me. They yelled "AWESOME!!!" (I suspect they were thinking about the ice-cream in the freezer, and how it would be up for grabs.....)

I walked with my puppy who felt wild in the wind....he wanted to RUN, so run we did. I ran.....and talked to the wind....to my babies....cried...and ran...and cried....and screamed to myself....and laughed at the unusual friskiness that the wind had instilled on my sweet gentle giant ball of fur....and cried and enjoyed that no one...no one at all...could possibly hear my screams...and no one would see my fat ass running...and no one would be outside in weather like that....and it was dark and chilly and wild....

and I was free.

I ran all the way up to the water tower...which is about five miles UP the mountain...and I ran all the way down. My heart was pounding..because I am NOT a runner (see the above aforementioned "fat ass" comment...which was the name my stepfather christened me when puberty came into my life, and a generous teen happened to yell at me a few days ago on a daylight stroll as he drove by...nice...what a lovely young man...and I still have to ask the REAL question..."and WHY, may I ask...are you staring at my ass with such interest?".)

But, again-- no one could SEE my fat ass running...and so I felt free to run. Funny how hard it is to exercise when you are over-weight. everyone seems to think it's such a joke to see someone like me running. Big Breasts, wide hips, short legs....how DARE I exercise! It almost seems to scare people to see a fat person exercise, as if...maybe...there is more to being plump than just being inactive...how terrifying.

Anyway--I digress....

It felt amazing to be in that wild wind with my dog...racing around in the cool air of the night. I was not afraid. After all...the wind sounded like ghosts all around me...and I am not afraid of ghosts anymore. I have been to the other side...and there isn't anything to fear. If anything...I look forward to seeing my twins again. Not immediately..because I have a lot to do here right now...but I know they are there. I know it...because I was there too.

So let the wind howl....it is freedom....it is wild and crazy...it doesn't care about the opinions of others....it lets me scream and cry and dries my tears as quickly as they fall.

There is the sound of ghosts in the air.

For the first time in my life,that is a good thing.

yes....a very good thing.

Finding the Gift...

I woke up this morning and noticed how chilly the air was. Getting up to shut the window, I saw the dawn peeking up over the mountains, and though part of me wanted to snuggle back under the covers for a few more moments, I started to put on some fleece pants and a sweater. I gathered up a leash and clipped it on my sweet baby sheep dog. "Let's go Ferdinand..." I whispered. He stretched out a little and then plodded beside me. Usually he is the one to wake me up in the morning with his big bear paws gently patting my arm to let me know he wants to go out. In any case, we went outside and started walking down the street, heading for the gully that houses the ashes and memories of my lost babies.

The cool autumn breeze felt fresh on my cheeks and I pulled my hat a little lower around my ears. No one was stirring around us--It was Sunday after all, a day of "rest". Even the busy eager church goers were not up yet. I walked briskly, my 13 week old pup trotting politely beside me. I looked down at him with a smile. Already his downy hair is obstructing the ability to see his sparkling eyes. Soon, he will look like a mop with legs. A large shaggy mop. I thought about all the dogs I've had in my life. Good dogs, silly dogs, active dogs, sweet dogs....some big, some little....but all of them pulled. They would get attached to a leash, and suddenly, the race was on. By the time the walk was over, my arm would be throbbing for the relief of a hot bath and Epsom salts. So, it was pretty special to me that my young pup had never pulled my arm out of it's shoulder socket in an effort to move faster, move faster, move faster! No, he was happy to be by my side, even following me at times. Not in a lethargic way, it was more of a contentment to just be with me.

We were walking. And that was enough for him to feel happy about.

We were walking. And I was able to hear the breeze and the birds around me without wondering if I would be pulled in front of a car by an eager cat chase.

We were walking. And I was relaxed.

Relaxed.

Relaxed.

I laughed a little to myself as we entered the wooded gully...thinking about all of the times I'd walked here in the past 5 months. Hundreds of times. Hundreds. I thought of all the tears that had soaked into the dirt that my feet were now walking on. Thousands. I thought about all of the talking and wishing and screaming into my husbands chest I had done here. Countless.

My babies are gone.

But I was relaxed.

I walked up to the stone with my Fuzzy pup. He sat down right away. He knew the drill. He would sit, and I would kneel. He would cuddle close to me while I cried. But today...kneeling there. I smiled.

I thanked my boys who never got to be for all the wisdom I'd gained from them. I thanked them for sending me a friend to heal with...a perfect dog. I thanked them for transforming my sight and opening up the world of purple and yellow all around me that I'd never noticed before they touched my life. I thanked them for my life. And for theirs. I thanked them for loving me. For letting me love them. I thanked them for helping me understand something about life that I didn't know before. I thanked them for giving me sisters. Sisters to love, and cry with, who understand my heart, while I can understand theirs. What a gift! What a gift.

I got up and brushed the dirt off my knees and blew a kiss into the air for my babies.

I know it isn't over....the crying comes and goes. I know I will still have moments of feeling the stab of loss in my gut. That isn't something you lose. Even so, this morning when I was walking away from that rock, I knew something had happened to me. I had found that golden thread that shows you something good in life. That golden thread that runs through existence in all it's corners, high and low. I had found it's presence in my darkest loss... and there was something really beautiful about understanding that it was there. Coming up out of the gully I noticed a purple wildflower with a yellow butterfly sitting on it.

I looked up at the newly lit sky and whispered..."Thank you."

Garbage Gut...

I just got home with my puppy....he has been at the vet for several days with what they eloquently called "Garbage gut". Sounds very medical right? Very official? What it means is that my sweet puppy likes to eat things that are not digestible. Rocks, grass, weeds, sand, wood chips, confetti, toys, small plastic items, flowers, carpet, string, crayfish shells....etc...etc...etc.....

So, even though my house is at it's peak level of cleanliness.....my fur baby still consumed enough crud to clog his entire system which almost killed him.

Now what?

I am on a mission. Clearly, vacuuming alone is NOT enough. I am getting down on all fours today, head low to the ground and I will find EVERYTHING if it kills me! I will also be leashing him, and closely monitoring him outdoors....because clearly I wasn't being vigilant ENOUGH. (this of course makes my children laugh because they think I am super anal about my sweet fur baby....they say I don't treat him like he's a dog... and..well...he ISN'T a "dog". He's my Ferdinand.)

I took him on the bus today...an official comment to the driver of "He's a service puppy in training" gave us a smile and total access. My heart beat slowed to a comfortable place, and he quietly sat at my feet. The world is allowing us in together. I am allowed to be with my comfort...my emotional helper.

And that.....is as perfect as anything could be right now.

Some kind of Sports team...

Where do we go from here?
Whats around the corner?


I was at an anniversary party yesterday. It was the kind of party I never throw or even go to-- even before I became an introvert. There were over 100 people filtering in and out. Three kegs, a definite aura of possible pot smoking going on somewhere hidden in a back room in spite of the dozens of children (my own included) running around in a lord of the flies fashion, people laughing, drinking too much, lots of great food, music, the smell of grilling veggies and meats, the sky a bright blue, people signing a big banner with congrats for the happy couple who had managed to keep loving each other for 10 years. Quite a feat in this day and age! A celebration. A party.

I don't like parties. Never have. I'm more of an intimate gathering type of girl. I like to have deep conversations, or play funny games. I like to laugh with a few people that I know. I like to get to know them better. I don't drink. Neither does my husband. We don't smoke pot...or anything else for that matter. I never dropped acid, or ate mushrooms....I like to feel my feelings even when they are raw and painful. I like to go to the places of conversation that become closed if substances are involved. The raw places. The truth places. I like to know that what I am experiencing is real...not induced by a substance. If I ever do get to see a fairy, I will know that I really saw it!!!

My "parties" don't offer kegs and homemade wine. There isn't a back room for parents to sneak off to while their children run around in circles--boys against girls...girls boldly kissing the boys and laughing as the boys scream in feigned disgust. No one has the glazed over eyes of mild intoxication that influences what they say and how they say it. I like balloons. Flowers. Lavender Lemonade or sparkling pear cider. I don't win awards for my home brewed peach wine. I win awards for kick ass cakes and ethnic food.

So all that difference aside, I was at this party. It was the anniversary of the banjo player in my husbands band. A sweet hippie couple with two cute redheaded kids to match their parents copper topped love. They are more laze fair about their substance use than I am...I try not to judge them...but...I don't really like it.

So, I was keeping an eye on my kids...and stroking my puppy's fur while he slept in the shade, and occasionally popped something yummy into my mouth. People watching. It's become a sport of mine. Wondering what kinds of pain are hiding behind the smiles. I wonder this because my own smile hides all kinds of pain...and I often wonder if people can see behind it. If they avoid my eyes on purpose.

A young woman that I'd never met raced up to me and said "Hey...would you watch my little girl while I go in back?" She winked at me to let me know what "in back" meant and smiled sheepishly. Now...the old me would have weakly smiled and said "sure." simply to seem like I wasn't judging and was happy to watch a tiny little girl whose mother was going to go "have fun". The new me looked at her...looked at her tiny daughter with the little pink dress...and shook my head. "No...No I won't do that for you. I just can't." She looked a little taken aback...and then rushed off to find some other person she didn't know to care for her little one while she got high.

I felt like crying. I felt like crying for all the children who had parents that were not there for them, when I am usually such an attentive mama who would have LOVED the responsibility of two more...it made my stomach turn to see the parental shirking all around me...it seemed so unfair...I felt like I could become a child napper at that moment...be like the pied piper and lead all the children away into a world they didn't even know existed, where mommy and daddy are REALLY there for you when you wake up at night from a nightmare, or get stung by a bee, or have your heart broken....

I watched as a little boy less than two years old cried as he looked for his mom in the crowd of people he didn't know. Where was she? Probably in "the back room". I looked across the yard and saw my husband cuddling another woman's tiny baby boy. He adores babies. We both do. Only...it seems that he can actually hold one without losing his mind. I loved watching him dance around with that little boy...so tiny...so new...and all I could think was how wonderful it would have been to have seen him dancing with his eyes sparkling...his arms full of two new little boys blinking up at him...getting to know their daddy. My fingers gripped Ferdinand's plush fur a little deeper and my puppy looked up at me and licked my arm. His eyes peeking out of the hair that is growing so fast sparkling with understanding for my heart.

My husband gave the baby back to the happy young mother after a final kiss to the downy little head, came over to me and saw in my face that I wanted to go. He understands...he doesn't like the whole scene of parental irresponsibility that I was watching all around us either. These are the people that never grew up. These are the people that didn't just "experiment" in college. These are parents. Parents who think they are just happy hippies having a mellow time together, and maybe that's true on some kind of level. But when push comes to shove...they aren't being very attentive parents. They aren't really there for their kids. How can they be when they are in a "back room"?

Anyway...I guess I was there too, in a different kind of "back room", the back room where I sit and grieve my babies...where I am alone with my broken heart. Who was I to judge these parents leaving their kids for the back room...after all...where I have been for the past four months? In a back room of my broken heart. I realized that it was exactly the same thing. I was alone in a crowd of people. And so were my children even though I was only 10 feet away.

I wanted to go home.

As I was gathering up my stuff so that I could join my family in the car the lead guitarist called out to me "Hey Sara! If you'd just have a couple more boys you'd be able to have some kind of sports team at your house!" He laughed and held up his glass, filled to the brim with amber ale. I looked at him for a minute...and said.."Yeah...that would have been nice...I would have liked that." The guy sitting next to the guitarist groaned and slapped the guy across the back. "Idiot!" He whispered fiercely enough for me to hear as I turned and walked away blinking back the tears.

I took a few deep breaths and walked on. The wife of the banjo player grabbed my arm and hugged me, thanking me for coming, telling me that I'm super sexy with all my curves and "tiger purred" at me in joking fashion. She always does that after a few too many. I wished her many more years of love with her sweet husband, and continued walking. There was an extra child in our car...the little girl of the lead guitarist...It seemed she would be joining us.

We drove away and my husband squeezed my hand and showed me a pair of mini drumsticks given to him by one of his band members so that he could "play" in his office between therapy clients "to keep him young and sane". We stopped at the river on our way home and I dug my toes in the sand while I watched our boys and a sassy girl play in the water. It felt good to breath slowly in the silence of nature...to cleanse out judgmental thoughts and process the day.

The sky was still blue as ever...the air crisp and warm at the same time...children laughing.

"You did really great today honey" my husband said

"Thanks..."

"I just want you to know that I don't want to go to any more parties like that."

"Me either."


It's really nice to be on the same page...to be in love...to be holding hands and growing together rather than apart..to be sober and in touch with reality....our kids are happy....and they really are sort of a team already. Maybe not a sports team....but a team none the less. And Simon and Alexander are part of that team, even if they can't be seen.

Thank you beautiful friends for nominating me for the Honest Scrap award...There are so many blogs I love...so many women I would nominate...but most of you have been nominated!!! Here are 10 possibly interesting things about me...depending on your mood....

1. I had my first child at age 15. Talk about growing up fast....wow...

2. I look just like my mother when she isn't dyeing her hair platinum/chartreuse, putting in green contacts, and starving herself....of course...she may have changed all that, but I wouldn't know due to the restraining order that protects me from her... thank goodness for the legal ability to do so.

3. I love Kumquats, mangoes, and Mexican or lavender chocolate.

4. I used to bite my toenails. Eeewww!

5. I wet the bed till I was 13.

6. I never use babysitters because I was molested by mine.

7. I hate white walls with poster art hanging on them.

8. I brought a ton of sand home from my Hawaiian vacation, and sift it through my fingers when I am sad...which is often.

9. I never wear shoes if I don't HAVE to.

10. I have never taken drugs, smoked or consumed alcohol (with the exception of 1/2 a wine cooler in my freshman year... and that was plenty!!) I like it "pure" thank you....smile.

September

Fall already? Is it possible?

Somewhere in the past four months I must have entered into a time warp. Somewhere deep inside of me I am still in April hearing that distant voice rumbling that my baby was gone...the beginning of a journey leading me to the loss of not one...but two.

Where were the summer days filled with laughter and freedom?

The trips down the river?

The peaches ripening in the sun?

The days complaining about the heat?

None of that happened. None.

Where were the summer nights filled with excitement of lovemaking around the huge belly of a pregnant woman?

The endless waking up to pee?

The altering of pillows to find a comfortable spot?

None of that happened either.

No...I am still in the hospital room...popping kumquats into my mouth...feeling the sting of unwanted contractions. I am still holding the tiny body of my baby...lifeless.

I am still hemorrhaging even a month after that...discovering that there was another unknown person to loose. Another one....

As if one wasn't enough.

As if the universe wanted to prove that, in fact, I really could suffer even more. Yes. More suffering was to be permitted by the universe that was supposed to protect me. No. I would not die from the scream that echoed across the span of my being into the void around me.

Where did the summer go?

It dissolved in my tears.
It hid behind clouds that mocked me, pretending that spring never passed. The cool days mimicking spring. The hours ticked by, but the season stayed the same.

The fruit trees in my yard failed to fruit.

My legs went without the glow of summer; still as pale as they were on April 22nd.

My children stayed home from camp.

I never saw the musicians at the farmers market.

I sit here, looking at the calendar which claims that it is September. My baby is turning 6 years old on the 10th. He was to have been a big brother...instead...he will unwrap packages of legos that no watchful mothers eye will have to protect baby fingers from grabbing and placing into rosebud mouths in the months ahead.

I sit here next to the baby sheepdog with the plushy fur that my fingers stroke in the middle of the night for comfort when I wake up to care for....no-one.

I sit here.

I wonder if Fall will pass in the same timeless way. I wonder if I will ever find my way out of the hospital halls where the tears ran with steady fervor embedding furrows at the corners of my eyes.

I feel so tired. Maybe that tiredness is the clue that the summer has passed; without rest, without laughter, without peace. Maybe that tiredness is a sign that I need to sleep, waking up to the Fall that is and leaving the Spring that was behind.

Maybe.

Letting them go...(photos)

Letting them go

Walking down the road that leads to the meadow where our special rock lay silently in a field of purple and yellow flowers. A procession of 7 people and a black and white puppy. My husband holding purple and yellow balloons and a small container that held the ashes, two boys holding purple and yellow candles, one holding a bouquet of purple and yellow flowers, one holding some coins, and one walking by my side while I guided our fluffy pup on a leash.

It was a truly lovely day...such a blue sky...a cool breeze...The balloons gently waiving.

When we got to the rock...we placed the candles, the flowers and the balloons around the rock. The candles were lit, and we took turns expressing our hearts to the babies we all wanted and loved. I felt silenced...unable to speak words to ears that were cremated into ashes...knowing they can hear my heart....and how it screams in pain for them to be in my arms...just to be in my arms. I whispered "I love you...I love you..." But nothing more would come. We sprinkled the ashes on the rock. My husband and I took turns placing our hand lovingly and gently on the ashes...rubbing the smudge into our own skin...making them part of us for all time. Our sweet sons placed their coins on the ashes. It was their idea--taken from the Greek myth that claims that souls need the coins to pay fare to cross the river "Styx"...I was so touched that they came up with the idea on their own, a way to aid their little brothers at least once with the love they have for them...with the humor they wanted to share with them.

We all held onto the balloons. My husband had purchased 7 balloons...7 for the family members left behind, 7 for the sons we love. On the way home...two of the balloons popped. A purple and a yellow one. So...we decided that the symbolism was that the five brothers were symbolized in the balloons that had not popped, and the two that had popped were our twins...they were going to be raised into the heavens with the strength of their brothers. We released them into the sky...and they flew up....up.........and far far away....until they could no longer be seen.

I took some of the petals from the flowers and placed them in the jar that had once held the ashes.

Looking up into the sky once more I whispered...."they are gone....they just disappeared."

My husband held me tight while I cried quietly and the boys embraced the two of us.

We walked home...and I was ever so glad to be holding my puppy in my arms...He licked the salt of my tears off my cheeks and felt so lovely and warm...I have to let my twins go...but I don't have to stop loving them...I don't have to stop wanting them...But I do have to let them go. They are on their way. I know they will stay in touch in the wondrous way of spirit. Yes....

It was such a beautiful day.

beautiful.

Early morning...

I am spending a lot of time out in the early morning air lately. The wee hours before the sun actually lights the earth with it's warmth are fresh and cool. The stars seem to shine more brightly just before they disappear behind the light that streams up in golden rays from behind the mountains--like a sunset in "rewind" mode.

I've never really been a morning person. I have woken up slowly, reluctantly, and carefully most of my life, preferring the allure of nighttime to the buoyancy of morning. When I had babies that nursed, I would cuddle them close in those wee hours, eyes sleepily opened to watch them happily suckling their breakfast, often drifting back to sleep with them in my arms; A beautiful peace over me.

This morning, I was caring for a dfferent kind of baby. Not a nurseing child, but a silly, fluffy puppy who needed to relieve himself after a long slumber. I walked around the yard with him at my side, and admired the sky's muted blueness sprinkled with enourmous sparkling stars. The birds were beginning to wake, and the dew in the grass was making my toes moist through the pink flip flops I was wearing. No cars...no voices...no lawn mowers.....no human sounds except for the flopping of my shoes in the grass.

Today was to have been my due date had my babies lived. August 21st. The day that Ramadan begins. An auspicious day. August 21st.

Instead of preparing to give birth, possibly even passing the day with a groan of irritation at being so heavy with child, I am empty. My babies are gone. I will spend the day preparing emotionally to spread ashes of what was once living inside my womb. I thought about the purple and yellow candles I wanted to light for them...and about the balloons I wanted to buy to release into the heavens; a symbol of sending them to my babies who would never see them. Who would never feel the warmth of my milk in their tiny bellies.

I was standing there in the dewy grass...the stars were beginning to fade, and tears were on my cheeks. And then, there it was....warmth. A smooth warm tongue gently caressing my damp toes. I looked down and smiled at the sweet face of my baby Old English Sheepdog. Bright brown eyes twinkling at me from behind an already abundant puff of fur. I could almost hear him saying "It's o.k....I'm here for you." I picked him up and held him. He is such a dear cuddly baby. His weight felt so good in my arms...his baby smell so reassuring.

I brought him inside and lay him down on his little bed next to my own. He flopped down and fell asleep immediately, with the quick breathing that is of a baby. I lay down in my own bed and closed my eyes...hearing his breath....with the crisp wetness of the grass still on my feet.

Yes...It is August 21st.

I'm a finalist in a blogging contest!!

http://www.beliefnet.com/Community/2009/08/Vote-for-the-Blogging-Contest-Winner.aspx

Please go to this site and vote for me in the Beliefnet blogging contest. I am a finalist out of over 100 other bloggers....I can only win with your help.

Thanks so much for reading....and for supporting me on this rocky journey.

Sir Felix Ferdinand.... our "Baby" (We just call him Ferdinand)

He is here...our rainbow puppy....

Never have I encountered such a dear peaceful puppy. He is so sweet and follows us everywhere with his big paddy paw feet. He is smart and funny, and loves to cuddle for hours. He is gentle and observant and has the softest fur I have ever touched. He looks like a woolly stuffed animal...and never objects to being loved on.

He seems to know he has a job to do...that he must heal our broken hearts...

He is right on task...

I have nothing but love for him. He sleeps by the side of my bed, where my fingers can stroke him in the night and he licks my fingers softly and I fall back to sleep knowing all is well. I wake up early to take him out and feed him, and then brush his wonderful fur coat while he literally purrs with delight and total submission to my attention.

I carried him in a sling yesterday, and he just looked at me with his wise brown eyes and snuggled into my chest while we walked around.

What a sweet baby....I'm so thankful for this opportunity to heal through his love.

I love hearing my children laugh with him, he loves to play with them, but is really careful not to hurt them with his teeth. I'm starting to wonder if he is an angel in a dog body...sent to care for us all...to give us back some of the joy that was stolen from us all.

Born on the 19th of June...he is a Gemini...the sign of the twins. Could it be a coincidence???
He arrived with a purple collar....another coincidence??
He seems to know...
everything that we need him to be.

My rainbow puppy is here.

Grief turned inward...

So...I am "supposed" to be getting better..."supposed" to be getting over my babies dieing...."supposed" to be moving forward....

I smile more. I laugh more. I do more. I hold back tears more. I try to think about ANYTHING else. I am moving forward. Doing my life. Doing Yoga. Walking every day. Homeschooling my children. Playing ABC go Fish...and Clue... Getting a darling, fuzzy, wonderful puppy to love. Being a good mother, A good wife, A good cook. Being outwardly patient and smiley with family, friends, neighbors.

So...why did I hack my hair off in tears? Jagged clumps on the floor of what was once beautiful, long, chocolate and caramel colored wavy hair.... Looking worse with every chop. Why did I start ripping off a tiny mole on my neck in complete agitation? Leaving me no choice but to call my doctor to have her remove ALL my tiny little moles to prevent me from doing it again. Here I am biting my nails, and the skin around the bed of my nails creating painful hang nails....Basically ravaging myself quietly.

Went to my hair dresser that I see about...oh...once or twice a year. Took off my hat and begged her to fix what I had done. "Why did you do it?" was her question. I just shook my head and shrugged, not wanting to explain that what I really wanted to do was to shave it all off. To be as ugly and wretched as I felt inside.

She was able to layer it nicely...lots of curls...it looks much better. It feels lighter. No trace of my hack job--except that it is much much shorter.

My doctor, cutting off my moles, asked me "Why are you having these removed, they look fine."
My reply? "because I keep ripping them off."

She looked at me and said..."I'm worried about you."

"Don't be. I'm doing fine...a lot better...really." And I smiled and laughed a little..holding back the tears.

And that's what I tell everyone. I'm doing really good. I'm doing just fine. Getting better...see my clean house? See my happy family? See my wholesome cooking? See the folded laundry?

The weeded garden?

See?

You see...I am finally doing what I never could do before....I am neat...I am on top of it...I am in control. Do you like what you SEE???

I am in control of SOMETHING!!!!!

and my curls are laying in the garden...

and my scream is silent.

A good, clean, silent girl...for the first time in my life.
Nothing wrong here....nope...not a thing. All better.

silently bleeding. with a smile.

Somehow, it seems to me that tears are a lot more healthy than this repressed walk that satisfies and comforts the masses. I think I'll take it back....my right to cry. There isn't an alarm clock that is set after a loss that says "O.k....you've been sad about this for your allotted amount of weeks, now, BE HAPPY!!!"

No. No, that isn't how it works. There are days of sunshine..and days of rain filled skies. They balance each other. I think the days of sunshine are all the more brilliant in contrast to the days of gray clouds. Pretending that the clouds aren't there, when they ARE, is just denial...denial of reality.

I am getting better....and my babies are dead. I smile more each day...and I still find myself overcome with grief. I help other mama's who have lost their babies find some reason to go on, just as they help me. We are on this path...we have loss, and love, and tears and smiles. None are present without the reality of the other side.

Give me my tears...and let my curls grow again.

The smiles will come later, slowly at first...and then more frequently. But I will never be the me I once was before I was the mother of dead twins. I am a new me....a me that "gets" this kind of pain...this kind of heart break. This me is someone who can hold the hand of another...and understand without question.

Yes. I am getting better---and my tears are allowed to keep falling in the sunshine. That is how rainbows are made.

Panda puppy...cuter every day.

This is our puppy on my birthday...August 9th--he is 7 weeks old and will be comming to our home on the 14th...isn't he a sweet little panda!!!!

pushed under again...

I can hear the wind blowing through the trees in the night air. A storm is coming. The kids and I took a walk this evening, watching the storm clouds move in slowly as we walked, the wind picking up, the air getting cooler.

The boys are now in bed, with teeth brushed and stories read...and I am here, typing about the weather. But really, it isn't about the weather. The weather is just the catalyst for the story of my heart right now. It is the metaphor for how I feel right now. Like a storm is brewing. Like the rains of my heart are about to burst open in a massive outpouring.

What do you say to a person when they tell you you are lucky to have not been carrying girl twins since they had to die? As if it was more acceptable that they died because they were boys, and I already have five sons. What do you say to a person who means well and doesn't know what to say to such a horrible nightmare situation so says something unconsciously ugly to you?

I quietly replied that I love my boys...that they are sweet and tender and wonderful...and that I would have loved twin sons in my arms.

She waived that away with a laugh..."yes...but at least they weren't GIRLS...that would have driven you insane!"

wow.

The things people say.

unbelievable.

It makes me want to stick my head in the toilet and drown myself just to prevent people from saying things that rip me apart...because, just for the record in case it has escaped anyone...I want my baby boys back. I was happy to have more boys. I would have been just as happy to have girls. I wanted my babies!!! It didn't MATTER to me if they were male or female...they were my babies; and I want them back.

Someone made a mistake...a terrible error...babies aren't supposed to be born dead to their parents. I am supposed to be the lady that is "made to have babies"...isn't that what everyone always told me in response to my big healthy beautiful family? Isn't that the purpose of these wide hips and large milk giving breasts?

It isn't selfish to want my babies back. It doesn't matter that I already have five sons...that doesn't make my twins disposable. We ALL wanted them. We were excited. We were ready.

I'm going to go and hide under the covers and let the lightning and thunder muffle my sobs...the universe can cry along with me....but the one thing I am sure of is that it will stop raining before my heart stops crying. A good thing...because if it rained as long as my tears fall we would all be covered in the sea.

I wish someone would build an ark for me. Sometimes I am so afraid I will drown in this grief.

Maybe my new puppy will like to swim. Maybe he can be my life boat and bring me back to shore.

Just DO-ing

Painting. That is what I have been doing for the past two days. Just painting. Nothing artistic or anything like that...nothing that required any focus really, or talent. The covered porch on my house was showing signs of chipping and peeling from the hard winters and blistering sunny days of the past few summers. So, I got out the scraper and the sandpaper and the primer...and went to work.

I had this idea in my head that if I could focus on nothing, and just DO that I would be able to feel less lonely for my babies, less anxious about waiting for my puppy, and less melancholy about the future.

Scrape, scrape...sand, sand, sweep...prime...

I decided I wanted some new color on the porch...a new dimension to my home of grass green and yellow green...so I picked the color of vanilla ice cream..french vanilla sans the specks. A nice deep soothing simple color to compliment the house that is the brightest color in my neighborhood.

The paint had a lovely thick texture and I spent a fair amount of time just stirring it around staring into it's opaqueness. Not thinking. Just DO-ing. hours and hours passed...I was outside painting by the light of a lantern that flickered with the illusion of candlelight. Then, I woke up with the sun to paint again. Stopping only to feed my children and make sure my sprinkler was positioned in various spots around my yard throughout the day...I painted and painted...amazed at how many coats were needed to cover the light yellow green that had been on the boards before...4,5,--- 8 coats!

Not thinking...just DO-ing.

At 6 in the evening, the work was done. I couldn't even pretend that there was more to do. I stood there looking at the clean, freshly painted porch..admiring how it looked so soothing to my eyes. I wished I could paint it again.

Instead, I called to my boys that we were going on a walk to watch the sun set in the gully right after dinner.

We walked down into the meadow, where the first rays of pink were settling around the mountain line in the distance. Entering the field I kneeled next to the rock that would be the place we will soon spread the ashes of one of our twins...the only twin we ever saw or got to hold. I put some purple and yellow flowers on the rock and closed my eyes, trying to find the quiet that I had held while painting...

I love you...I love you...my heart beat with the rhythm of the words...I love you.

Walking away from the rock I looked up and saw a silver balloon sailing away up into the sky. My 13 year old saw my smile and commented that he has always found it strange that people enjoy seeing balloons float away even though it usually means that somewhere there is a small child crying that they lost their balloon.

My youngest son laughed and said "Look Mom...It's going so high! It's going to heaven!! It's a present for our babies!"

I squeezed his little hand...and walked on with my boys.

Just DO-ing.