Goodbye, Nicholas and Zachary

Someone asked me if we’d decided to name the boys.

I didn’t want to. For many reasons--we never really settled on names, for one, and I didn’t want to give them shitty names we didn’t like. But also, I didn’t want to name them because of the whole “angel baby” thing that is so prevalent on the message boards. “Angel babies” are related to the “baby dust” people. And I’m not a “baby dust” person.

But after we lost them(ug--we need something better than ‘lost’ them--like we left them on top of the car or something), I found myself thinking of them by name, more and more.

So by the time we had our little gathering to say goodbye on Wednesday night, Charlie and I had decided to call them Nicholas and Zachary, the names we considered the longest.

It was a lovely gathering. A little more than a dozen people came. We found a great prayer on-line for miscarried babies that I read (it was a modern Jewish prayer) and we read some meditations from a prayer book (another Jewish tome--we’re not Jewish, but their prayers are highly compatible with our spiritual views).

There were three kids present, two toddlers and one a little older, and they walked talked and create a ruckus the whole time. Our antiquated cat Frank ran around the perimeters of the circle puking at top volume while our neighbor the minister said a prayer. The kids all yelled along while our friend the opera singer sang Amazing Grace.

It was chaotic and lovely, and exactly the way it should have been.

Afterwards, we all went out and planted the daffodil bulbs. Then we went out to a nice chinese restaurant and discussed the elections and whether or not we could all move to Canada together.

We cried, our friends cried, and we were able to say goodbye in a formal way. It was really good.

It hasn’t cured the sadness by any means. My boobs have stopped hurting, but they are freely lactating, and the urge to put a baby to my breast is so incredibly strong and painful. I half-joked that now would be a good time for a baby to be discovered in a trash can that I could be a wet nurse for. I’m sure it would only make my pain worse, but it feels oddly like it would help to have someone to care for when my body so clearly wants to be doing it.

I cry every day, usually in the mornings. Charlie cries too. Even though we had no baby stuff in the house yet (except a crib that has been squirreled away in the basement) there are still reminders. My positive home pregnancy tests, which I finally tossed the other day. Charlie’s copy of “Daddy Smarts” that his sponsor gave him. The Baby Name books.

Putting everything away feels almost like denying them, but what else can we do? The pain is too great otherwise.

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I said I was going to write about what happened, but I’m finding I don’t need to. The thing that stands out the most from the whole experience is how FAST it all went. I mean, at 9 am, I was getting an ultrasound. At 11 am, I was at the OB’s office. At 1 pm, I was in Labor and Delivery getting my pressure monitored. At 3 pm, I was admitted to the hospital. By 10 am the next morning, I was being wheeled back to surgery. By 2 pm, I was back in my room, with an empty uterus.

I also remember the drugs, how the magnesium made me feel like crap, how the morphine for my headaches made me vomit. How the drug they gave me right before surgery felt like a speedball, and how that made me cry.

I remember being so scared while in the pre-op area, when all these twelve year old doctors were coming over and asking me the same questions over and over while I cried.

I remember feeling alone so many times in the hospital, and weeping.

I remember walking out of the hospital, how hard it was physically, and that I should have gotten a wheelchair, but I didn’t want that nasty-ass nurse to push me around anymore.

I remember sitting in the lobby trying so hard not to cry, and crying anyway.

I’ve never cried so much in my life. I didn’t know there could be so many tears.

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I also told you I was going to write about what I’ve learned.

I struggle with “understanding.” Meaning that I can’t accept pain without purpose. I need to feel like there is a point to my pain, that it’s not all just crazy chaos without reason. Perhaps it’s my recovery training, but I usually find some light in the darkness after some time.

The light for me, in this situation, is that I’m no longer conflicted.

Even after trying to get pregnant for two years, I still (as you long-time readers of this blog know) was pretty conflicted. I bemoaned being not able to go canoeing, and camping, and all that stuff once I found out I was pregnant. When I found out it was twins, it was even worse.

I didn’t write that often about how deeply afraid I was that I wouldn’t be able to handle it. I was ashamed to realize that some part of me, larger than I wanted to acknowledge, was convinced that my life was officially over, that I was now destined to a life of motherly misery.

I was also so fucking sick all the time and felt so awful, that I found myself resenting the pregnancy.

Plus, I had so much grief over not having a girl. And the fear of breast-feeding! I was absolutely terrified at the thought of two babies hanging off me all the time.

I felt so guilty feeling that way that I shoved it down.

It was only in the last three weeks of the pregnancy that this began to pass. I was coming to love the boys, and love the idea of them. It figures, right?

Before the shit hit the fan, when at first we thought the only problem was that one twin had died, I felt so--ug. Relieved. That it was only going to be one baby, and that would make it all so much easier...

Well, since the boys have gone, I’ve come to realize that I--without reservation, without a doubt--want to be a mother. I don’t care about my life changing, or giving up things, or whether or not I have a daughter or a son. I don’t care. I want a baby, more than anything else in the world. I am looking forward to breast-feeding, I’m happy to open up my life and my heart and let another soul in.

It’s not much. It’s not worth sacrificing the boys for; I’m sure I would have come to the same conclusions if they’d lived. But I feel as if some block in my heart has been removed. I also feel that I will be able to give a baby the gift of my love, without resentment or fear. It’s more than my mother could give me; and maybe, after all, that is the true point of all of this.

I hope I don’t sound callus or cruel. For me, it’s like peeling off another layer of the onion (a common recovery metaphor). I’m a better person beneath.

I’m going to miss Nick and Zach every day of my life. But whenever, however, a sibling arrives for them, he or she is  going to get a better mother. Thank you, boys; it’s a big gift to give in such a short time.

Comments

[Lisa]

1.

Still just admiring you. I don't think you are callous, I think you are honest. It's hard to sacrifice your life for someone else, even your child. I think after they are born it becomes easier, it's just automatic. You do it and don't think about it. But there are times I resent coming in last place after my children. I chose to do this and happily do this 90% of the time- but 10% of the time I realize the sacrifice I am making. Cecily, you are already a good mom. I will rejoice the day you hold your child.

The parents at my kids school are leaning towards Toronto- I say we all go to the same place and colonize.

[SusieJ]

2.

We ALL feel like that. Why do you think we had an exchange student? He as a "test" -- could I handle math at 5 a.m. (yes, highlight of my day). Could I get angry at him and not psychologically scar him for life? (You think I'm kidding.) I still have to tell my mother what a great Mom she was. Sane people doubt themselves. It makes them reassess and do better. Insane people don't doubt and think they are chanelling God's will at all times. Wait, the political entry was Wednesday.
I've seen you with babies and kids. You'll be fine. You LIKE children. You treat them with kindness and respect. And the breast feeding thing is STILL skeeving me out, and I don't care what SuperMom says, it's just not unnatural enough for industrialized life.
Everyone thinks "what if" and wishes sometimes that they didn't have an obligation -- aging parents, retarded siblings -- when the obligation is overwhelming. It's when you start screaming about hell on earth that you might really have a problem.

[SusieJ]

3.

No, don't move. Who will fight the good fight if we all leave? It's going to be my mother in her wheelchair running over people who think bigotry is morality, and lying to go to war is OK -- but lying about sex isn't.

[Carrie Jo]

4.

I've been lurking, reading your story. Your strength and ability to see any light at this point is amazing. Thank you for sharing yourself with all of us.

[Nina]

5.

And again you posted nearly the exact same sentiments and feelings i had while pregnant with my second. (the one we lost) I felt so guilty afterwards for feeling like i did and somewhat resenting the baby that didn't make it. (like that had anything to do with it)
I think that your next pregnancy you will cherish so much more and even if you feel yucky and overwhelmed -and even if its another boy you will be thrilled!

I wish you the best of luck in trying again and i hope that you will continue to heal and find peace. I love those names btw.

[Tammy]

6.

Cecily, are you me? I felt exactly the same way after I miscarried my first pregnancy. It gave me even greater certaintly that I wanted a child (though, like you, I figured I would have come to that realization on my own had that first baby lived... but still, it was a lesson learned), and that my next pregnancy wouldn't be so conflicted.

I applaud your honesty and your willingness to say the things that so many of us keep inside. It seems like your words are healing for you, and I wanted to let you know that they're healing for me, too.

[Lindsey]

7.

You are amazing and that was beautiful.

[Chrissi]

8.

Hey Cecily....your words were beautiful, every last single one of them, keep talking about your feelings, etc or don't ...do what make you feel better right now.

Chrissi

[Sarah]

9.

"Amazing" is no longer a strong enough word to describe you, my friend.

You are supercalifragilisticexpialadocious!

I love you so much.

Sarah

[Jo-Ann]

10.

You had me openly weeping at work.

You and Charlie will make amazing parents.
I love you girl. Your children. ALL of them are so lucky to have you as a Mom.

Love
Jo-Ann

[Elise]

11.

Wow, what beautiful sentiments. You WILL be a mom, and you WILL be a great one.

[Lisa]

12.

:delurking:

I have been touched by your story, but didn't want to write anything because I am also pg with twin boys. But if this helps in just a little way, you have helped me deal with this pregnancy. Especially this last entry where you admit to some of your anxiety about having twin boys. I have this exact anxiety. I could have written those paragraphs. The things we don't know whether we should admit. Thank you for your honesty. You have helped me face my fears and ask myself, "what do I really want?" I want these boys. I want to be their mom. I will be strong enough and deal with the fears I have. Thank you for that.

I'm so sorry for your loss of Nicholas and Zachary. I think you have a great plan and you will go on and be a mother soon. Keep writing. It probably helps a lot of us.

Lisa

[Lila]

13.

Prayers. And what JoAnn said. And more prayers. Sending you good wishes from far. To be able to learn from such grief is awe-inspiring.

Nick and Zach are in many people's thoughts. I'm sadly glad you gave them names. They will not be forgotten.

14.

I am so awed by the fact that you are so self-aware. Your beautiful, honest words eloquently express thoughts and feelings that most people wouldn't even begin to recognize they had.
I spent my entire pregnancy with a doomed attitude about the misery of motherly life which lay ahead. (Despite previous pregnancy losses.) And sadly, it took me about 9 months of my daughter's life before I was able to remove that block from my heart and really, truly love her as you say without resentment or fear.
Thank you for sharing yourself with such nakedness. You are an incredible woman.
Wishing you continued healing and strength.

[Emily]

15.

That was so beautiful it left me in tears.

You are amazing. You are going to make an amazing mother.

[Nance]

16.

It sounds like a lovely memorial for your sons.

A thought - and you can take it or leave it - but since you're still lactating, you could express and donate your milk to a milk bank for preemies and such. It might make things so much worse for you, or it might make them better. I can get some info about it if you're interested.

I'm glad that you feel that your sons' deaths could leave you with something other than sadness. I think most moms feel conflicted about parenting at some point. IMO, it's part of being a good parent.

Goodbye Nicholas and Zachary. I wish I could have met you.

[Chris]

17.

Beautiful! Sometimes the only way to live is to find the "lesson", "point", whatever you want to call it. Thank you for having the courage to share it with us! Also, the memorial sounds like it was really nice...I'll think of Zachary and Nicholas when I see the daffodils this year.

[Lauren]

18.

Could you post the link for the online prayer please? I need a prayer this week.

[AyEnDeeAreEeAyAitch (formerly Andreah)]

19.

Reading your words make me physically hurt. It's almost exhausting. I ache for you and theres this big hunk of sour stuck in my throat that won't go away when I swallow. But f you are getting better than so am I. But what you wrote here: "...the urge to put a baby to my breast is so incredibly strong and painful." Is just so raw and real that I had to reread it three times...I am just so getting what you're saying right now. It's just all so intense..these emotions you're having and my reaction to them.

I am so proud of your strength and I feel so blessed to be able to read your amazing thoughts. I am so elated to know that your loss has only strengthened your commitment to be a mom because it's obvious that's what you were meant to be. To be able to express your true feelings so deeply and beautifully shows your awesome mommy potential right there.

Fuckin' A Cecily...You had me at Hello.

[susan]

20.

Cecily:

I really don't know what to say. Your words, your life move me beyond words. YOur bravery, strength, courage...I wish I possessed an iota of what you embody.

Mourn as you need to. Grieve as you need to. Know that much much love and respect is being sent to you from every which way.

susan

[Jhondra]

21.

Delurking also...

Canada is sounding better and better. But, like someone else said, we have to fight the good fight.

Still admiring your strength. You're in my thoughts.

[Laurie G]

22.

Cecily,
I've found so many experiences here in your blog that I thought were mine alone. It's amazing how such a personal experience which is, in a million ways, completely unique to each of us, is still so shockingly universal. I've said the same words myself:"if there's one thing I've learned from my miscarriage, it's that I'm no longer conficted". I was worried about so many ridiculous things when I was pregnant--I feared gaining weight (please), breast-feeding, pain of delivery, ending up with a girl when I really wanted a boy, blah, blah, blah. All of it is gone now. Completely. I just want another chance and, if I get it, bring it on! I'm ready. (I think)
Also, as a sober person, that experience of being drugged. For one, of course, my body is so messed up from using that the drugs they gave me for the d and c didn't take away the pain they just made me unable to communicate. It's so frightening to be "under the influence" in any way as a sober girl. I know why you cried.
Too much talking about myself...I really just wanted you to know how much you're giving by writing about your experience. It's so deeply important to know we're not completely alone in these experiences. I hope you get as much comfort in the writing as we, out here, get in the reading.
I'm so, so very sorry this happened to you and your husband. You're obviously a deeply, loving, strong, brave person. It's time for a break. I wish you a grand, dramatic turnaround in fortune.

[Jessica]

23.

I think Nicholas and Zachary are beautiful names. I've been thinking of you, and them, ever since I found your blog. You're in our prayers. And yes, I do feel they gave you a gift that you'll pass on to their future siblings. You're a truely amazing person.

[lioness]

24.

What a courageous, honest thing to write. I am so happy you did find the answer to your "why". You are amazing.

[Brooklyn Girl]

25.

I can't think of an appropriate response to this except to say thank you for sharing it with us. You continue to amaze me in every possible way.

[Moxie]

26.

I love you.

And please don't move to Canada. I wrote a blog entry about why none of us can go to Canada. But especially you.

[Rebekah]

27.

I don't mind being the 4 millionth person to shout from the rooftops ... that was BEAUTIFUL. Cecily, I am so, so, so sorry for your loss. My heart has ached, my stomach has churned and my soul has mourned for you. I am SO sorry that you are going through this, but rejoice that you have found some sort of strength and resolve from it all. I don't want to try and reword what you said, so I'll just cut and paste the parts that spoke so powerfully to me and leave it at that ...

"But I feel as if some block in my heart has been removed. I also feel that I will be able to give a baby the gift of my love, without resentment or fear. It’s more than my mother could give me; and maybe, after all, that is the true point of all of this."

and

"For me, it’s like peeling off another layer of the onion (a common recovery metaphor). I’m a better person beneath."

You're amazing.

28.

The tribute to your boys was beautiful. I am new to your blog, but I will be sticking around. You are so brave, it is awe inspiring.

Many prayers to you.

[Sheri]

29.

Ugh. I'm so lame. The above post was from me. Sorry about that.

[Karen]

30.

Oh, man, Cecily.

You've taught me so much, my friend.

Thank you for that.

You're a beautiful woman, you know that?

[Dana]

31.

I greatly admire you and your strength -

Wishing you well and much more.

[maricar]

32.

Reading your entry brought me to tears again. I left the hospital not naming Johnathan either. It felt horrible to me. Should I name him the name that Jerry and I chose in case we had a boy? Should I give hime the first choice name or second choice one? Wasn't Baby Fernandez enough? But my mom encouraged me to. And I'm glad she did. I felt he deserved a name. He gave me so much joy, he deserve one. Seeing his name on the gravestone helps me somehow. I know that's weird but it does. I feel guilty that I complained so much when I was pregnant with him. I didn't feel an overwhelming comfort or peace when we had the ceremony at the cemetery and I was mad that I didn't. I still don't. I don't think I ever will. Even though I tell people I'm okay with it all and that I'm at peace, I'm lying inside. I'm still a bit bitter and I miss him so much. Sorry. The more horrible part is that after Malia was born, people kept telling me that the pain must be less now. That it makes things better. That losing (I hate that word, I didn't lose him. I wanted him.) him was meant to be and that he's in a better place.

[Joy]

33.

I just wanted to drop you a note. I have been reading your story via other blogs. My husband and I lost our triplets to pre-term labor at 23 weeks and I have struggled with the same thoughts--resenting the pregnancy, being sick of tired of being sick and tired, wanting it over, etc. Just please know I am thinking of you and pray that you will find peace.

[Menita]

34.

This is beautiful, Cecily. Your honesty and bravery are amazing. The goodbye ceremony was the most heartbreaking yet moving thing I'd ever heard.
Wishing you peace, and some day, happiness again.

[Tricia]

35.

I'm always at such a loss as to what to say when I read your posts. I have never miscarried, I am one of "those fertiles" that gets preggers at the drop of her hubby's pants. I did find myself in a roll-over car accident last year where I turned around to check on my children and our youngest daughter had been thrown from the car. The paralyzing fear I felt is still with me at moments today. I can't imagine the void you must be feeling right now. Your strength, and especially your sense of humour are inspiring. You just seem like the type of person that will get back up, dust off the dirt and plow on through life- cracking a few jokes along the way. Thank you for reminding me how quickly it all can change.

[amy]

36.

Love the names you gave your sons and relieved to hear their memorial went the way you wanted...

[Stephanie Hartman]

37.

Those are beautiful names. Of course, I'm biased because Zach is the name of my son who was stillborn 14 weeks ago at 36 w 2 d. I love Nicholas too--it's a name we've tossed around for our next child.

Your memorial service sounds beautiful. We had ours in our backyard as well. Was the prayer you used "We Remember Them"? Our two year old son and four of his friends were running around our yard the whole time, helping to water the tree we planted for Zach, blowing bubbles, and generally thinking it was a grand party. They got us through it.

Pssst....there is a copious amount of angel stuff on pregnancy loss websites and groups. It usually makes me want to run away screaming. And some refer to the day your baby died as "the day he/she got her wings." I actually shrieked out loud the first time I saw that one. Whatever works to helps someone mourn is fine with me, but it's not for me.

The urge to nurse is so painful. My 2 year old had just stopped nursing a month before Zach died. I had to fight the urge to encourage him to start nursing again when we came home from the hospital.

It's hard to put things away. It's been 3 months now, and I still haven't put away the co-sleeper or the baby clothes. Sometimes when I try to, I fear that it will be the last time I put these items away...that we won't be able to get pregnant again or that we're going to lose the next one.

Amazing how fast things go in the hospital. And horrendusly slow.

This was a really hard pregnancy for me. I had no clue how I was going to handle a two year old and a baby even though this was planned. I puked for seventeen weeks. I was in pain and tired and scared. I had an active toddler who demanded all of my attention--none of those nice little mental heart to heart talks with the baby. At 33 weeks I was having pre term labor and 70% effaced, so I had to slow it down for the next 3 weeks. During those 3 weeks I finally had those heart to heart talks with Zach. I got to know him. I told him about us and his brother and all our hopes. I'm so glad that I got that chance.

I'm still looking to learn something. I'm glad you found some light.

[tess]

38.

you inspire me with your strength, honesty, and courage. thank you for posting. your clarity is amazing, so are you.

[Karen]

39.

I stumbled onto this blog just last night, and couldn't stop reading.

I don't know you at all except here, and I want to personally go beat the assortment of trolls with a very large baseball bat. Except of course that if they've read as far as they did and still commented as they did, they are clearly insensible to pain and therefore not worth beating on.

Could not let this pass with offering prayers, support - you need all of them that you can get.

And everyone else who said this is absolutely right: go ahead and be mad at God; God's big enough to take it.

[Orodemniades]

40.

Cecily, that was a lovely, amazing post.

[Kristin]

41.

Cecily...I am truly amazed by your strength and by the fact that you are able to see good in this after such a short time.

[Nina]

42.

The ceremony you had for your boys sounds wonderful. Your strength is truly an inspiration.

[Anne]

43.

There is so much I want to say but I'll just content myself with say how proud I am of you. It seems so strange to think/say this (to someone I hardly know) but it's what keeps popping up in my mind.

[Tertia]

44.

Nick and Zach forever in our hearts.

[LauraN]

45.

Cecily,
you chose beautiful names for your boys.

My heart still breaks for you, but it sounds like you are getting through your pain. Istead of the onion metaphor I would use the ugly duckling tale. You are finding out who you are and you will be a beautiful mama swan ready to fly high when time comes.

As far as moving to Canada, please check this link out: http://letsriot.com/stuff/new_map.jpg I hope it makes you giggle.

Take care of yourself,

Laura

[Jennifer]

46.

My heart goes out to you today, Cecily.

[Sandy]

47.

Thank you for naming and putting in writing about the doubts that your pregnancy brought ... I experienced similiar feelings when I became pregnant at age 39 for the first time, but have never had the courage to actually acknowledge them out loud. Our baby boy didn't make it into the world either. We had a rememberance ceremony for him at our parish...just my husband, myself and the priest. It was so sad, hard and helpful all at the same time. Thanks again for sharing your pain, insight and courage.

[Meg]

48.

No, not callous or cruel at all. Just honest. Lots and lots of honesty. You amaze me.

On a side note, my first and second husbands were Nicholas and Zachary. Both are good guys. :)

[Cath]

49.

Forever in my thoughts! you have an amazing inner strength that one day will pass on to your children and how amazing will that be.
You are a unique woman Cecily and i only wished i lived near you, i would love to be your friend and be there for you through this. I would love to give you a great big hug and tell you that everything will be ok.
{{HUGS}}

[Ellen]

50.

Someday, when you are a Mom to other babies, you are going to rock. You have been so strong through this and if you can get through this you are going to be just fine when another baby comes your way.

Thank you so much for sharing your feelings. I think so many women want to paint these pictures of sunshine and light when they talk about motherhood... I'm glad to hear I'm not the only who it scares the shit out of.

[SJtheMom]

51.

When you do breastfeed your future child, it will be the most wonderful thing--but only after it hurts like shit for the first week or two. See? Always something to look forward to. Thanks for sharing the eloquent story of your boys, Nicholas and Zachary.