I'm tired today. Not so much physically but emotionally. I'm ready for this day and this week to be behind me. It's not that I don't want to honor Abby on this day because I do. She was my kicker, my fighter and my largest baby. She was the one I was so sure would survive. But she didn't survive and right now, it feels like too much.
Really, there is so much and so little to say at the same time. When I think back to the week of October 23-28, 2003 it seems surreal. It's hard to wrap my brain around the magnitude of hope and pain we had and I can't help but wonder how we managed to function and survive. After I said goodbye to Abby, I wanted everyone to go away and leave me alone and yet I was scared to be alone. My nerves were frayed and the range of emotions that coursed through me was absurd. But in some ways, I felt relief. It was over.
It's now October 28, 2008 and it is a cold and rainy day. The kids and I were all cranky. Instead of going to the gym and taking care of myself, I tried to comfort myself by eating disgusting amounts of Halloween candy, all of it chocolate, and now I feel queasy.
I wanted to write something eloquent and beautiful for Abby today, but I can't seem to find the words. While it wasn't the worst anniversary week I have had, it was much harder than I thought it would be.
I'm sorry Abby. I wish I could have given you more in 2003 and I wish I could give you more, now. I miss you and I love you very much. Still. More than ever.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Monday, October 27, 2008
~Remembering Ryan~
Today is Ryan's birthday. He was born around 5:30 a.m. in a very quiet room that only had R and me in it at the time of his birth.
This morning, at 5:30 a.m. I was holding a different boy. For some reason, Joey woke up crying so I went to him. Instead of sitting on the edge of his bed, I crawled into it with him. I stroked his hair and whispered soft words to comfort him and he quickly fell back asleep. I continued to stroke his hair and closed my eyes, but I did not find sleep.
Instead I thought about my other son, Ryan. I thought about his entrance into this world. I thought about how, even in death, I was unable to lightly stroke his hair and whisper soft words to comfort him. He was the second child born to an interval birth. While there is never enough time with any child who is dying, with my son, I had to let go of him before he died. Shortly after his birth, just as in Hannah's birth, I was given a heavy dose of Magnesium Sulfate to stop contractions with the hope of saving my third child. Once the Mag hit me, I was physically sick, excruciatingly hot, and incapable of caring for my only son, even though the only care he required at the time was to be held and loved. I am so grateful that R was there and that he was able to do the things that I was not.
At some point this morning, I left Joey and went to Ryan. I sat and looked at his photo for a long time. I wonder who he would look like now? At birth, he resembled my family so much more than Hannah or Abby did. Would he have been my only child to look like me? Would he have been big, like my brother? Would he be blond with blue eyes like Joey and Laura or would he have had my brown eyes and auburn hair? It's impossible to know how he would look today because babies change so much as they develop and grow. I guess it doesn't matter. What I do know is that in his birth, he was an absolutely beautiful baby boy.
Today I am sad.
Today I miss my other son.
I love you Ryan.
This morning, at 5:30 a.m. I was holding a different boy. For some reason, Joey woke up crying so I went to him. Instead of sitting on the edge of his bed, I crawled into it with him. I stroked his hair and whispered soft words to comfort him and he quickly fell back asleep. I continued to stroke his hair and closed my eyes, but I did not find sleep.
Instead I thought about my other son, Ryan. I thought about his entrance into this world. I thought about how, even in death, I was unable to lightly stroke his hair and whisper soft words to comfort him. He was the second child born to an interval birth. While there is never enough time with any child who is dying, with my son, I had to let go of him before he died. Shortly after his birth, just as in Hannah's birth, I was given a heavy dose of Magnesium Sulfate to stop contractions with the hope of saving my third child. Once the Mag hit me, I was physically sick, excruciatingly hot, and incapable of caring for my only son, even though the only care he required at the time was to be held and loved. I am so grateful that R was there and that he was able to do the things that I was not.
At some point this morning, I left Joey and went to Ryan. I sat and looked at his photo for a long time. I wonder who he would look like now? At birth, he resembled my family so much more than Hannah or Abby did. Would he have been my only child to look like me? Would he have been big, like my brother? Would he be blond with blue eyes like Joey and Laura or would he have had my brown eyes and auburn hair? It's impossible to know how he would look today because babies change so much as they develop and grow. I guess it doesn't matter. What I do know is that in his birth, he was an absolutely beautiful baby boy.
Today I am sad.
Today I miss my other son.
I love you Ryan.
Friday, October 24, 2008
~Honoring Hannah~
Today is Hannah's birthday. She would have been 5 years old.
Yesterday I was sad as I thought about my sweet babies and all the lost opportunities we have missed out on. Before falling asleep, I cried lightly while R held me, but then I fell into a deep slumber and slept soundly through the night.
This morning, I woke up to the sound of R and Laura laughing together. It made me smile and feel good inside. And then they were in our room. R put her on the bed and she was climbing all over me, laughing and giving me her big, sloppy, open mouth kisses. I felt Hannah near, in my heart, but I was up and starting another busy day.
It's only now that Laura is sleeping and Joey is having "quiet time" that I have the time to think about this day and about Hannah. If I wanted to, I know I could sit on the floor of my room, think sad thoughts and dredge up the darkness that engulfed my life 5 years ago. I could put myself back into the depths of grief and relive that horrible week. It would be easy to do, if I wanted too.
But this year, I don't have that awful feeling of despair that I have had in past years, and I don't want to force a sadness that I don't feel just to keep Hannah, Ryan or Abby "alive". For me, the way to keep them "alive" is not through grief, but through love.
And so, when I'm done with this post, I will sit quietly and go through Hannah's memory box. I will look at her pictures and gently unfold the soft, thin blanket that she was wrapped in for her short life and I will run my fingers over her footprints. I will cherish the tangible reminders I have from my firstborn child. I may cry, and that's perfectly fine. I may not cry and that's perfectly fine too.
I will try not to reflect on what I have lost, but rather, to see all that I have gained. Today, I will try to honor Hannah by seeing the many gifts that her life has brought me.
Yesterday I was sad as I thought about my sweet babies and all the lost opportunities we have missed out on. Before falling asleep, I cried lightly while R held me, but then I fell into a deep slumber and slept soundly through the night.
This morning, I woke up to the sound of R and Laura laughing together. It made me smile and feel good inside. And then they were in our room. R put her on the bed and she was climbing all over me, laughing and giving me her big, sloppy, open mouth kisses. I felt Hannah near, in my heart, but I was up and starting another busy day.
It's only now that Laura is sleeping and Joey is having "quiet time" that I have the time to think about this day and about Hannah. If I wanted to, I know I could sit on the floor of my room, think sad thoughts and dredge up the darkness that engulfed my life 5 years ago. I could put myself back into the depths of grief and relive that horrible week. It would be easy to do, if I wanted too.
But this year, I don't have that awful feeling of despair that I have had in past years, and I don't want to force a sadness that I don't feel just to keep Hannah, Ryan or Abby "alive". For me, the way to keep them "alive" is not through grief, but through love.
And so, when I'm done with this post, I will sit quietly and go through Hannah's memory box. I will look at her pictures and gently unfold the soft, thin blanket that she was wrapped in for her short life and I will run my fingers over her footprints. I will cherish the tangible reminders I have from my firstborn child. I may cry, and that's perfectly fine. I may not cry and that's perfectly fine too.
I will try not to reflect on what I have lost, but rather, to see all that I have gained. Today, I will try to honor Hannah by seeing the many gifts that her life has brought me.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
10/23/03
5 years ago tonight, my world started crashing. I remember so clearly our last hour of innocence. R and I were laying in bed, me on my side with his arms wrapped around my body and his hands lightly touching my belly, feeling Hannah, Ryan and Abby's kicks and bumps. We were talking, dreaming, about our life to come. We were excited. We were having triplets.
R turned off the light around 11:00 p.m. and was lightly snoring about 1/2 hour later until my panicked voice called to him from the bathroom: "R, call the OB. My water just broke" Although I had never experienced PROM before, I knew with great clarity that this is what had just happened. R was groggy and moving slowly and I felt so angry with him that he wasn't taking faster action. Later, he appologized for this because at the time, he didn't think my water had broken~it was just too soon for something like that to happen.
When we were in the car R kept asking me if it was a slow leak. We were both hoping, praying that it was, even though I knew it was a full rupture. There was just too much fluid. On the ride, I felt another big gush of warmth run down my leg and I was scared, but I had never had a baby before so I didn't understand the full magnitude of what this meant.
We were rushed up to L&D and the resident on call did an ultrasound. One of the babies had very little amniotic fluid. I remember asking if she could tell the gender and when she said "boy" I was devastated. Ryan. My baby boy.
And yet, there was amniotic fluid, which is always replenishing itself, so there was hope. I was told we would know more in the morning, when the perinatologist could come see me. That night, R slept on a lounge chair and I slept on my side, in trandelenberg position. I can't remember, but I'm pretty sure the Doctor gave me a sleeping pill because even though I didn't sleep well, I did sleep.
It would be the last time that week that I slept.
I still didn't understand that this was the beginning of the end.
R turned off the light around 11:00 p.m. and was lightly snoring about 1/2 hour later until my panicked voice called to him from the bathroom: "R, call the OB. My water just broke" Although I had never experienced PROM before, I knew with great clarity that this is what had just happened. R was groggy and moving slowly and I felt so angry with him that he wasn't taking faster action. Later, he appologized for this because at the time, he didn't think my water had broken~it was just too soon for something like that to happen.
When we were in the car R kept asking me if it was a slow leak. We were both hoping, praying that it was, even though I knew it was a full rupture. There was just too much fluid. On the ride, I felt another big gush of warmth run down my leg and I was scared, but I had never had a baby before so I didn't understand the full magnitude of what this meant.
We were rushed up to L&D and the resident on call did an ultrasound. One of the babies had very little amniotic fluid. I remember asking if she could tell the gender and when she said "boy" I was devastated. Ryan. My baby boy.
And yet, there was amniotic fluid, which is always replenishing itself, so there was hope. I was told we would know more in the morning, when the perinatologist could come see me. That night, R slept on a lounge chair and I slept on my side, in trandelenberg position. I can't remember, but I'm pretty sure the Doctor gave me a sleeping pill because even though I didn't sleep well, I did sleep.
It would be the last time that week that I slept.
I still didn't understand that this was the beginning of the end.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
The Wonderment of Joe
Today is Tuesday. Tuesday is soccer day.
Just like every soccer day, Joey, Laura and I arrived first. For some reason, we were exceptionally early today so we walked over to the skate park to watch a kid skateboarding for a while. Joey was enthralled by his tricks and how he flipped the board around.
When we saw Coaches John and Paul, I scooped up Laura and the 3 of us walked towards the field. I put Laura down and she started playing with one of the balls, and I turned to Joey.
"Ready?" I said in my most casual voice as I put my hand out towards his. With a less than enthusiastic voice he said "yeah" and put his little hand in mine. Together, we walked towards the coaches. Other kids were trickling in and running by us. Then, out of the blue, the most wonderful thing happened: Joey let go of my hand and started running with the other kids.
He proceeded to spend the next 30 minutes running, playing and laughing. He turned frequently to make sure I was nearby, which I was, but it was only for a second before engaging in the game again.
After 30 minutes, he had had enough, so we sat on the sidelines and talked about what they were doing. He laughed when Coach Paul or Coach John did something goofy (which, in a class of 3-5 year olds, is often) and when it was time to clean up, he jumped up, ran over to the cones and started picking them up. He gave both Coaches big "high fives" and he was beaming as we walked off the field towards our car. So was I.
This kid never ceases to amaze me.
Just like every soccer day, Joey, Laura and I arrived first. For some reason, we were exceptionally early today so we walked over to the skate park to watch a kid skateboarding for a while. Joey was enthralled by his tricks and how he flipped the board around.
When we saw Coaches John and Paul, I scooped up Laura and the 3 of us walked towards the field. I put Laura down and she started playing with one of the balls, and I turned to Joey.
"Ready?" I said in my most casual voice as I put my hand out towards his. With a less than enthusiastic voice he said "yeah" and put his little hand in mine. Together, we walked towards the coaches. Other kids were trickling in and running by us. Then, out of the blue, the most wonderful thing happened: Joey let go of my hand and started running with the other kids.
He proceeded to spend the next 30 minutes running, playing and laughing. He turned frequently to make sure I was nearby, which I was, but it was only for a second before engaging in the game again.
After 30 minutes, he had had enough, so we sat on the sidelines and talked about what they were doing. He laughed when Coach Paul or Coach John did something goofy (which, in a class of 3-5 year olds, is often) and when it was time to clean up, he jumped up, ran over to the cones and started picking them up. He gave both Coaches big "high fives" and he was beaming as we walked off the field towards our car. So was I.
This kid never ceases to amaze me.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Mounting the Balence Beam...
I am extremely social so when Joey was a baby, we started going to a playgroup with moms who have children his age. I loved it because my son was exposed to other kids and I had the chance to spend time with the women. As the kids got older, it became obvious that this situation made Joey uncomfortable. The other kids would run around and play with toys, but Joey would cling to me and rarely leave my side. I heard all sorts of advice about what to do: Expose him to more kids more often, leave him to fend for himself, put him in preschool, don't coddle him, if he wants you, walk out of the room, drop out of the group. None of these felt right to me.
I decided that we would keep going but that I would "help" Joey feel more comfortable. My friends would be gabbing away while I sat on the floor, playing with the kids as Joey warmed up. There were days when I didn't have any "grown up time" but Joey would eventually move away from my side and play. It was slow progress, but it was progress.
We still meet weekly and it still takes Joey longer than most to warm up. He's never directly "in the mix" but he's much more comfortable leaving me and playing on his own and recently, he's started interacting more with the other kids.
When I looked at preschools, I looked for one that had smaller classrooms and a higher teacher-student ratio. I found one that I liked and when he walked right into the classroom and started playing, I knew this was a good fit for him. Unfortunately, the kids in the 3 year old program need to be potty trained and Joey is not, so he didn't start school this Fall.
Instead, I enrolled him in a Pee-Wee soccer. I struggled with this decision because I just wasn't sure he would like it. In the end, I figured we'd try it and if it's a disaster, we'll stop. It's a 9 week program for 3-6 year olds and unfortunately, Joey is the youngest in the group. The only way he will even consider playing is if I'm running up and down the field with him. He never strays too far from me and often, he retreats back to holding my hand and "resting" on the sidelines. I have to coax him onto the field and there are times when he fights me hard. Most of the time, he cries and whines and then just when I think we should call it quits, he'll run down the field kicking the ball and a huge smile will creep across his face. Or he'll laugh as Coach John or Coach Paul chases him to the goal. Recently, I noticed he'll occasionally start talking to the kid next to him. When thess things happen, he looks like he's having a really good time.
Sometimes when I watch the other kids gleefully racing off, barely casting a second glance at their moms, I feel frustrated because Joey is clutching my leg or begging to be "up" (held). I would much rather be sitting on the sidelines drinking coffee with the other moms, not running up and down the field with him. And, when I'm honest with myself, I know I wish sometimes that Joey was less clingly and more sociable and that makes me feel guilty. I recognize the last thing he needs to feel is that I'm dissapointed in him, so I try not to show my frustration, but I'm sure there are times that he can sense it.
I know he's out of his comfort zone in soccer. That's not the question I ask myself. What I think about is if he's too far out of his comfort zone so that it's counter productive and hurting his social confidence. Am I pushing him too hard? Should we hang up the towel and call it quits? There are 2 more sessions of soccer left. He participates, laughs and smiles more than he did when we started, but he still doesn't love it. I'll be happy when it's over. I think he will be, too.
Parenting is so hard sometimes.There is such a fine line...
I decided that we would keep going but that I would "help" Joey feel more comfortable. My friends would be gabbing away while I sat on the floor, playing with the kids as Joey warmed up. There were days when I didn't have any "grown up time" but Joey would eventually move away from my side and play. It was slow progress, but it was progress.
We still meet weekly and it still takes Joey longer than most to warm up. He's never directly "in the mix" but he's much more comfortable leaving me and playing on his own and recently, he's started interacting more with the other kids.
When I looked at preschools, I looked for one that had smaller classrooms and a higher teacher-student ratio. I found one that I liked and when he walked right into the classroom and started playing, I knew this was a good fit for him. Unfortunately, the kids in the 3 year old program need to be potty trained and Joey is not, so he didn't start school this Fall.
Instead, I enrolled him in a Pee-Wee soccer. I struggled with this decision because I just wasn't sure he would like it. In the end, I figured we'd try it and if it's a disaster, we'll stop. It's a 9 week program for 3-6 year olds and unfortunately, Joey is the youngest in the group. The only way he will even consider playing is if I'm running up and down the field with him. He never strays too far from me and often, he retreats back to holding my hand and "resting" on the sidelines. I have to coax him onto the field and there are times when he fights me hard. Most of the time, he cries and whines and then just when I think we should call it quits, he'll run down the field kicking the ball and a huge smile will creep across his face. Or he'll laugh as Coach John or Coach Paul chases him to the goal. Recently, I noticed he'll occasionally start talking to the kid next to him. When thess things happen, he looks like he's having a really good time.
Sometimes when I watch the other kids gleefully racing off, barely casting a second glance at their moms, I feel frustrated because Joey is clutching my leg or begging to be "up" (held). I would much rather be sitting on the sidelines drinking coffee with the other moms, not running up and down the field with him. And, when I'm honest with myself, I know I wish sometimes that Joey was less clingly and more sociable and that makes me feel guilty. I recognize the last thing he needs to feel is that I'm dissapointed in him, so I try not to show my frustration, but I'm sure there are times that he can sense it.
I know he's out of his comfort zone in soccer. That's not the question I ask myself. What I think about is if he's too far out of his comfort zone so that it's counter productive and hurting his social confidence. Am I pushing him too hard? Should we hang up the towel and call it quits? There are 2 more sessions of soccer left. He participates, laughs and smiles more than he did when we started, but he still doesn't love it. I'll be happy when it's over. I think he will be, too.
Parenting is so hard sometimes.There is such a fine line...
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Life Goes On...
With Hannah, Ryan and Abby's birthdays falling right around Halloween, there are always a plethora of activities scheduled for kids. Since Joey was born, I've always said that I will take care of my own needs regarding my grief during this time until Joey was old enough to really enjoy these activities. When that time comes, my grief becomes secondary and Joey's enjoyment of this "holiday" become my priority.
This year my MOMS Club is going to the local senior citizens center so the kids can "Trick or Treat", sing songs, do crafts, etc. with some of the older seniors who don't have family nearby or many visitors. We do this several times throughout the year, but I've never gone to the Halloween event because it usually falls on Hannah, Ryan or Abby's birth day. This year, it's on Ryan's day.
My neighborhood does a Halloween party complete with games, scarecrow making, pumpkin painting and other fun activities. This year, it falls on October 25th~the day Hannah died. Our local Halloween Parade is also on October 25th.
So many activities. Would Joey miss them if he didnt' go? Probably not because he's only 3 1/2 and he wouldn't know they are happening if I didn't tell him. But I will tell him because at 3 1/2, he will really enjoy them.
Will it be hard for me? I really don't know. It's impossible to know how I'm going to feel. But, we will go because even though Hannah, Ryan and Abby died and I love them and miss them, life goes on. And even though it may be difficult at times, I know that's a good thing.
This year my MOMS Club is going to the local senior citizens center so the kids can "Trick or Treat", sing songs, do crafts, etc. with some of the older seniors who don't have family nearby or many visitors. We do this several times throughout the year, but I've never gone to the Halloween event because it usually falls on Hannah, Ryan or Abby's birth day. This year, it's on Ryan's day.
My neighborhood does a Halloween party complete with games, scarecrow making, pumpkin painting and other fun activities. This year, it falls on October 25th~the day Hannah died. Our local Halloween Parade is also on October 25th.
So many activities. Would Joey miss them if he didnt' go? Probably not because he's only 3 1/2 and he wouldn't know they are happening if I didn't tell him. But I will tell him because at 3 1/2, he will really enjoy them.
Will it be hard for me? I really don't know. It's impossible to know how I'm going to feel. But, we will go because even though Hannah, Ryan and Abby died and I love them and miss them, life goes on. And even though it may be difficult at times, I know that's a good thing.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
The First Time...
Last night I was snuggled in bed and nearly drifting off when I began thinking about Hannah, Ryan and Abby. My thoughts were gentle but sad and soft tears fell from my eyes. It was the first time this month that I have cried.
My sadness only lasted a short while before my eyes became heavy and I nodded off to sleep. I woke up this morning to bright sunlight streaming through my windows and Joey's head peaking out his bedroom door. He said a cheerful "Hi Mom!" and then I heard Laura giggling and babbling in her crib. My sadness from the night before was gone. I knew this was going to be a happy morning and a happy day.
My life is full now and as a person, I am happy again. But in a few short weeks, I will quietly honor the 5 year anniversary of Hannah, Ryan and Abby's births. I still love and miss them every bit as much as I did when they were born, and so I expect that as their birth days get closer, I will feel more moments of sadness. Last night just happened to be the first time.
I know it will not be the last time.
My sadness only lasted a short while before my eyes became heavy and I nodded off to sleep. I woke up this morning to bright sunlight streaming through my windows and Joey's head peaking out his bedroom door. He said a cheerful "Hi Mom!" and then I heard Laura giggling and babbling in her crib. My sadness from the night before was gone. I knew this was going to be a happy morning and a happy day.
My life is full now and as a person, I am happy again. But in a few short weeks, I will quietly honor the 5 year anniversary of Hannah, Ryan and Abby's births. I still love and miss them every bit as much as I did when they were born, and so I expect that as their birth days get closer, I will feel more moments of sadness. Last night just happened to be the first time.
I know it will not be the last time.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
10 Years...
When R and I planned our honeymoon, 10 years ago, we chose a location that had everything we wanted: golf, tennis, skeet shooting (we didn't seek this out, but thought it might be fun to try), hiking, beach time with all the water sports and spa treatments. We wanted active yet serene. We wanted casual but elegant. We were so excited by our choice.
Less than 2 weeks before our wedding, the eye of a hurricane went through our resort and blew it pretty much off the map. When our travel agent called us and said, "Your resort is completely destroyed. How do you feel about Jamaica instead?" We both responded the same way, "Jamaica sounds great" We really didn't care where we went, as long as we were together. But we promised ourselves we would go to our original honeymoon resort at our 5 year anniversary. As 5 years approached, we postponed our plans because I was pregnant with Hannah, Ryan and Abby. 10 years. We decided we would go at 10 years.
Our ten year anniversary is October 31. We will take the kids out to trick or treat, then drop them off at my folks because on November 1st, at the crack of dawn, we will board a flight to our honeymoon resort.
I'm excited. We plan to play tennis, scuba dive, lounge out on the beach, relax and unwind. We will play all day and dress up for a nice dinner at night. We will go to bed early. Or not. It won't matter because we can sleep in, if we choose too. Although I will miss the kids dearly, I know that this is a much needed vacation for R and me. It will be our first "couple" vacation since before we conceived Joey-over 4 years ago. Our last "couple" vacation, although wonderful, was wedged between our grief over Hannah, Ryan and Abby and our anxiety over whether or not we would bring children into our lives.
The timing of this vacation isn't lost on either of us~yes, it's our 10 year wedding anniversary, but we depart on Saturday, 5 years to the day of our Memorial Service for Hannah, Ryan and Abby. It also comes just a short time after we made the final decision to donate our embryos for training purposes, therefore ending our fertility journey.
But rather than feeling sad about the timing, R and I both feel as if this vacation signifies a new beginning for us, as if we are walking through some imaginary door to another side of our life together and when we return, we will be ready to start living that life.
Corney? Perhaps. But I am ready...
Less than 2 weeks before our wedding, the eye of a hurricane went through our resort and blew it pretty much off the map. When our travel agent called us and said, "Your resort is completely destroyed. How do you feel about Jamaica instead?" We both responded the same way, "Jamaica sounds great" We really didn't care where we went, as long as we were together. But we promised ourselves we would go to our original honeymoon resort at our 5 year anniversary. As 5 years approached, we postponed our plans because I was pregnant with Hannah, Ryan and Abby. 10 years. We decided we would go at 10 years.
Our ten year anniversary is October 31. We will take the kids out to trick or treat, then drop them off at my folks because on November 1st, at the crack of dawn, we will board a flight to our honeymoon resort.
I'm excited. We plan to play tennis, scuba dive, lounge out on the beach, relax and unwind. We will play all day and dress up for a nice dinner at night. We will go to bed early. Or not. It won't matter because we can sleep in, if we choose too. Although I will miss the kids dearly, I know that this is a much needed vacation for R and me. It will be our first "couple" vacation since before we conceived Joey-over 4 years ago. Our last "couple" vacation, although wonderful, was wedged between our grief over Hannah, Ryan and Abby and our anxiety over whether or not we would bring children into our lives.
The timing of this vacation isn't lost on either of us~yes, it's our 10 year wedding anniversary, but we depart on Saturday, 5 years to the day of our Memorial Service for Hannah, Ryan and Abby. It also comes just a short time after we made the final decision to donate our embryos for training purposes, therefore ending our fertility journey.
But rather than feeling sad about the timing, R and I both feel as if this vacation signifies a new beginning for us, as if we are walking through some imaginary door to another side of our life together and when we return, we will be ready to start living that life.
Corney? Perhaps. But I am ready...
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