You don't want to read this (and I don't want to write it)

I've been really haunted the last few days after watching Zinnea's film offering in the International Infertility Film Festival. After struggling with infertility, Zinnea finally got pregnant in 2004, only to discover that her daughter had a fatal birth defect called Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia (CDH). Instead of terminating (as her doctors recommended), Zinnea and her husband decided to go to term. Mia Marvelle passed away six days after she was born.

In her film, Zinnea includes the incredibly private and deeply wrenching images of her holding her daughter and weeping. And photos of she and her husband holding their daughter after she's passed and saying goodbye.

After watching the film, I found myself gasping for air and sobbing inconsolably. This isn't a shock; many, many things have made me cry here on the internets. So many of us have suffered and lost, and I've cried right along with many of you.

But I couldn't stop thinking about those photos. I couldn't sleep that night; they kept drifting into my mind and I would start to cry again. The strength of my reaction took me by surprise.

It wasn't until about 3am that I finally figured it out.

I was jealous.

Every time I think I've done all the processing I need to do about losing the boys, I find a new area that I haven't dealt with yet. Of course I'm not jealous of the horrific loss they suffered; what I'm envious of is the fact that they got to see their baby, to hold her, and to say goodbye.

I've had inklings about this before. A few months ago I allowed myself to wonder what, exactly, had happened to Nicholas and Zachary's bodies. But as soon as I had the thought, I shut it down. I wasn't ready.

And I'm still not ready. I don't have any desire, whatsoever, to again probe the grief that surrounds the loss of my sons. There's a lot of shame there, and anger, and guilt. Oh, God, so much guilt. But God doesn't agree, apparently. I am supposed to deal with it.

Not long after I lost the boys, I expressed my rage and anger here in this blog. I hurt some people in my anger and one person pointed out that others had lost "live babies" after all, so I shouldn't be---well, honestly, I'm not sure what I wasn't supposed to be. I guess I was being reminded to keep my grief in perspective. But I still feel pissed off that things went the way they went. I still feel ripped off. I feel like the randomness of the universe, the luck of the draw, or worse, "God's plan" doesn't make any fucking sense and is completely and utterly unfair. I don't care what others suffered. My "lot" in relation to the boys SUCKED.

Thinking about the day we lost the boys now, all I can remember is that it all happened so fucking fast. Remember, I went from going in for a routine anatomy scan to having to terminate the pregnancy in less than 24 hours. I was so ill that I didn't get to participate much in the decision making process. No one at the hospital said to me, "Yes, delivering your sons will be more risky, but at least you'll get to see them and hold them and say goodbye." No one said, "Do you want to make arrangements with a funeral home?"

Instead, they just said, "You are dying." This was all Charlie could hear--that not only was one son dead, and the other was dying, but so was his wife. No one came to him and said, "Have you thought about what you want done with their bodies?" All they said was "We have to terminate. NOW."

We were alone, afraid, and sick. Options weren't offered. I was the patient, not the boys. No consideration was made for Nicholas and Zachary.

Instead of getting to say goodbye, to look at their faces, I was just knocked out and the boys stripped from my body. I'm left with the shame and guilt of--God forgive me--treating my sons like standard medical waste. My sons. My boys.

I wish, oh, how I wish, that I'd done things differently. That I'd gotten them cremated and been able to scatter their tiny ashes. That even if it would have been awful, the worst pain in the universe, that I would have been able to see their faces just once.

I wonder if Zinnea sees reflections of Mia's face in her (living) daughter Naima? I often wonder if the boys would have looked like Tori does; if they would have scrunched up their noses like I do when I laugh, like she does, or if they would instead use their eyebrows like Charlie does. I know I wouldn't have been able to tell that from their tiny and unfinished faces at only 22 weeks gestation. But, oh, god. I wish I'd tried.

I know I'm one of the lucky ones, now. I do have a living child. So many of us don't. But this--this sadness--will never leave me, I'm afraid.

It's never over, is it? Even while I was sitting on my front porch last night, holding Tori, watching her extend her hand as she tried to reach up to the wind chimes Anne gave us, I felt the deep wound that the loss of the boys caused. Even while I find myself sinking deeper and deeper into joy because of Tori's magnificence, I still find myself the owner of a bruised and battered heart.

I guess I always will.

Comments

[cursingmama]

1.

Some wounds never heal, and even those that heal will leave scars. Learning to live with the scars, learning from our scars, and helping other prevent the same kinds of scars is what we do. Its too bad our first instinct is to hide our scars.

[Becky]

2.

I come here because of this, your honesty. Thank you for being strong enough to be honest, even thought it hurts.

[Chrissi]

3.

Your words are amazing even in grief. We each have our own grief and have to learn how to live, I don't believe it's up to anyone to judge us on how we learn to live again....but we must learn to live again. I am so sorry you feel such guilt, Charlie couldn't lose you.... I honestly don't think a husband has any other choice. My heart still goes out to the two of you even with darling Tori for your loss of the boys.

[Gwen]

4.

Your story is so heartrending and your grief so raw and real, it hurts to read about it. But you know what I think when I do? That by telling your story, by sharing your experience, you are giving someone else the information and the strength they need to handle their own sorrows better. Before my sister had multiple miscarriages, I never thought about what they really meant or how important grieving and saying goodbye to your lost children is. How could I? It was so far out of my experience. Just like for you, when your boys were taken from you so tragically. You didn't know to do anything differently. Now you do. And now you can share that knowledge with others and be a part of the informed decisions they make.

[Whitney]

5.

Somehow, I never realized you didn't get to hold or see your boys. I don't know how I missed that. That's got to make it so much harder! I'm sorry again that this happened to you.

[Celeste]

6.

Can your pastor help you hold a memorial ceremony for the boys? Maybe there is a way to have a tangible ritual that will help you in some way. I have read about a park in Japan that is dedicated to the souls of lost babies. Could you use some kind of memorial you could sit with and think about them? I realize you don't have their remains, but maybe there is something you can use to turn into ashes that you could bury or scatter, even if it is just copies of ultrasound scans or even printed posts from your blog.

I hope this doesn't sound stupid. I'm just thinking out loud here that maybe in some small way, a ritual would be a comfort.

When the time is right, maybe you could speak (or write) to somebody at your hospital so that in the future, they would know to save a baby's remains so that the parents have the option on how to proceed with them. Maybe that would help, knowing that you helped to keep another family from having an extra measure of pain. My apologies if you have already done this and I missed it, or if this all just sounds like total assvice.

Hang in there, Cecily. Some things just have to be gone through.

[Catherine]

7.

A friend recently lost her newborn daughter to CDH and I was jealous of her. Because in that moment, she was holding her daughter while my sons were buried under the hard earth.

I think we always long for the things we didn't get. I held my boys...but it wasn't enough...not nearly enough. I should have unwrapped Alex from his blanket. I should have dressed Travis myself. There is always going to be more that I wished I'd had. But what I'm really missing is that lifetime of memories I didn't get. The regrets I have are just symptomatic of feeling that bigger loss...that giant gaping hole in my life.

You were cheated of a lifetime. There are going to be moments when you are keenly aware of that...there are always going to be things that remind you. Having a living child changes the grief somewhat but it does not eliminate it. Now you know what you lost. That is a blessing and a curse all rolled up into one.

But no matter what you feel...guilt should play no part in any of it. You did the best you could. That's all any of us can do in the moment.

[Meggan]

8.

Just had to say, telling someone else to keep their grief in perspective is such bullshit!

I think all of us have some regrets. I had a miscarriage at 16 weeks and chose to see the baby (though the doctors tried to persuade me not to), but didn't find out if it was a boy or girl and didn't touch or hold it. And I still wonder about that almost every day.

Thanks for continuing to share your thoughts and feelings about your boys.

[Elena]

9.

Hi Cecily,

I think the scar on your heart for your sons is one that will always be there and I don't necessarily think that's a bad thing. My scar for my son is what connects us. We are the living memorials for our dead children. In a way I find that comforting.

Cecily, you know that I am a big advocate for prenatal hospice. Part of the reason why is that they would provide some of the services and ask some of the questions parents in your situation never had the time to think of or ask.

That all said, I wonder if perhaps God is calling you to something like that? Just a thought.

Elena

[Yatima]

10.

Oh Cecily, I am so sorry; I am so sorry.

[baggage]

11.

I'm so sorry. It must be so much harder not to have that bit of closure. I'm so sorry.

[Laura]

12.

Cecily, you are such a dear person. I wish that the medical community could have offered you more options in the past.

[Green]

13.

You know, I don't think that's your guilt to have to hold on to - that should be the guilt of the people who rushed you through and treated your sons like medical waste. It's on them. You were relying on them, as you should have been able to, and the hospital dropped the ball. Not you.

Not the same, but similar: My grandma, who I was very close with, died suddenly in 1994. I still haven't dealt with it, because it hurts too much. It's one of those "if I start crying about her, I don't think I'll ever stop" things, so I shelve it and though i think of her often and talk about her, I can't deal with her death.

[Amy]

14.

(o)

[Wendy]

15.

I'm sorry Cecily. The medical community often fails families in respects to our dead babies. They should have better training in how to help a family say goodbye. It's not fair you didn't get to see your boys and unimaginable that you were not given the choice about what to do with their bodies.

[jax]

16.

One day you will find peace.

[heather]

17.

Thank you so much, Cecily, for allowing me /us this view into your perspective. I have learned so much in the way of sensitivity by learning about what you have gone through. It would be awesome to see some reforms made a that hospital ( all hospitals) that would ensure that more was done to consider HOW you would live, than just IF. I am sure, no matter what, the grief would be equally immense, but I can ( only ) imagine the closure that it would have helped to bring to have been able to reat your sons like the much wanted babies that they were; anyone who reads this blog ( anyone who knows you, I imagine) knows that you,given the proper opportunities, would have done things differently; shame on that hospital.

[Aurelia]

18.

I'm sorry Cecily, I pray that my recent email wasn't the cause of your pain. I thought you had cremated your boys, although I knew you didn't have photos. I thought you knew what happens to the bodies of infants under 20 weeks or 500 grams.

So, deep breath here, I'm betting the hospital has photos and mementoes anyway. Standard practice for over 20 years in many hospitals is too take photos, nice ones, putting the infants bodies back together and wrapped up in blankets and hats so parents can get photos later.

They do it even if the parents order them not to, because almost all of them change their minds later. They might have photos, or footprints, or something.

As for burial, at 22 weeks, in your state (If I have the right state?) they cannot just treat bodies that size as medical waste. They are cremated and buried or scattered somewhere. Some hospitals have special scattering grounds. Others have funeral homes and cemetaries who take care of this.

Cecily, if you can't bear to ask, maybe one of your friends or Charlie can check with the hospital. If I was there, I would do it for you.

They may not have anything, they might be the exceptional case, but it really might be worth checking.

I'm so sorry about this. I got to hold my son who died at 21 weeks, but not my daughter who died at 16 weeks. I wish I had delivered her and seen her and held her. She had already passed away, and I could've delivered her but the Doctors made it sound so impossible I didn't. But Cecily, remember this, you were close to death, you could NOT have delivered the boys. Yes, the hospital could've done many things differently, but you had to have a D&E.

I'm holding you in my heart right now...

[Sheri]

19.

I think Elenea is on the right track.... " you know that I am a big advocate for prenatal hospice. Part of the reason why is that they would provide some of the services and ask some of the questions parents in your situation never had the time to think of or ask. That all said, I wonder if perhaps God is calling you to something like that? Just a thought. "

When I read that, it was a like a lightbulb going off....

[maricar]

20.

Honey, I'm hurting along with you. I think loss is loss. My boy was long gone when I saw him but it doesn't make it any easier. Not sure if I made it even harder on me with what I decided to do. Not many people know what a dead 18 week gestated baby looks like. I know the jealousy all too well.

[Anne]

21.

So I’ve tried to write something at least 3 times and nothing comes out right. I’ve haven’t had to stand where you’ve been but it isn’t hard to imagine how painful it must be to think about the Boys, to think about what could have been and you’re right Cec that will been with you forever. I know the Boys will be with you forever no matter what it just really sucks (REALLY REALLY sucks) that in addition to the sadness and what ifs you feel at their loss you also have to deal with how you lost them. It really isn’t fair (not that pain and loss ever is fair).

And speaking of wind chimes, I miss mine, I put them in storage, I need to go and get them back out. Kawika always smiled so sweetly when we’d go and play with them. I’m so glad Tori likes them and I hope they always invite good chi into your home.

[Ceece]

22.

my soul, my heart, my everything hurts after reading this and I've never experienced this loss.

I just want to send you hugs and vibes and prayers.

I too second the ideas of holding a private memorial session or seeing this as a calling to aid other families.

Lovies to what ever you decide.

[Birdie]

23.

Thank you for sharing your story and for your honesty.
And I agree that it is rubbish for someone to tell you to "put your grief into perspective"...just because something "worse" (and who's judging that anyway!?) has happened to someone else doesn't make your situation suck any less.
So there.

[Julie]

24.

Cecily - you, Charlie & Tori are in my prayers. I hope you find peace - some how some way.

[HeatherP]

25.

It's never over. You just have to accept that you did the best you could, the very best, under the circumstances.
I delievered my son in a live birth. An hour later, he was dead. If I could go back and do it all again, I'd do some things differently. But, (most days) I'd rather go forward.

[bekah]

26.

I don't think people are meant to get over a loss like this. I don't think it's natural for people to actually get to a point in life where the pain of a loss this great doesn't slice into you like a knife. I believe that we reach a point with loss that we just live with, and deal with it. A point where we accept it along with all the other stuff in life. But I think it'll always hurt this bad, because it was a huge loss. And I believe it's possible for you to enjoy every marvelous second with Tori and grieve for your boys at the same time, and I believe that's okay.

[Abigail]

27.

Oh Cecily. Please don't regret sharing this with us - it is an honor. Truly. I'm sorry you're hurting.

[Leggy]

28.

I don't really know what to say other than that it never really does go away does it, it just has to get reprocessed 1000 times over. Thinking of you...

[kathleen999]

29.

I think you are right and it will always hurt. We don't get do-overs and a joyful experience doesn't completely make up for another painful one...especially one this painful. I do think you are right and it's good to think about it and vent about it and cry about it.

A big hug to you. I wish I could give you a real one. I always empathize so much just because of the coincidence of our boys' names, and it makes my heart stop to think of going through what you did.

[Rhonda]

30.

*hug*

Oh, Cecily. I'm so sorry you didn't have the chance to do any of that.

And grief is grief. "Perspective" is irrelevant. So the hell with anyone who says you don't have the right to feel the way you feel.

I hope that Aurelia is right and your hospital has a memento waiting for you, if it would help give you more closure.

and thank you for sharing with us. We are none of us alone in this, and talking and reading about it helps.

[Maura]

31.

Sending you much love and gratitude for your honesty. I know all of us wish that we could relieve you of some of the pain you still feel.

You have been a real advocate and educator here about the realities of preeclampsia and D&E, and I'm thinking that your experience - if you are able to share it - can also be very educational for medical practitioners who took care of you and your sons on that fateful day. If you feel able to, you could share your feelings and let them know your intense emotions about the remains of your sons, with some suggestions of what they could do differently to help grieving parents.

I'm so grateful that you were in a hospital that had doctors who were trained and willing to treat your preeclampsia in a way that saved your life and preserved your health so that you could go on to have Tori. It would be great if what the commenter above says is true of your hospital and that you can learn more about what happened to the remains of your sons. Either way, I hope you'll consider sharing your insight with your caregivers so they can learn what might help other parents.

[Jo-Ann]

32.

The past three or four days you and the boys have been in my thoughts with every daffodil I see when I am out and about.
Your post is so poignant and raw. I am sending a hug to you.

[wealhtheow]

33.

Oh Cecily. Please know you are in my heart. Yes, you are one of the lucky ones with your Tori. But your joy doesn't cancel out your grief, doesn't lessen it. It makes it more bearable, but having Tori doesn't mean you never lost the boys. I hope Aurelia is right and the hospital can help you with some sort of closure on this particular issue.

My friend, I'm thinking of you and praying for you.

[Amy Damewood]

34.

((((((hugs)))))) I think you're right. Good luck with your journey. I can tell you've come very far already, you're not denying what you have every right to feel, and eventually maybe the guilt part will fade away, because NONE OF THAT WAS YOUR FAULT. I know your mind knows that, but it can't hurt (I hope!) to hear it...Sending love...

[Cristina]

35.

I am so sorry. I swear when I am a nurse I am going to make protocols to address these issues. We as grieving Mamas need choices, but we need someone to direct us to what our choices are.
Again, I am so sorry. You have hit another stage in the grief journey. You will face it & work through it.

[Tara]

36.

Cecily, I agree it all happened so fast. I am glad you posted this and I love your honesty. I am so sorry..that the pictures made you jealous and brought more sadness...that someone told you you shouldn't be angry because people had lost live babies...for your brusied and battered heart..and mostly because you had to bury the boys at all. We all remember them and I think about them and you whenever I see daffodils. Which is a lot these days. :)

[Jaycie]

37.

I wish I could tell you that the pain goes away, or you'll somehow 'get over it,' but I'd be lying. It'll be 24 years this fall since my son was born at 25 weeks and died a few hours later (I got to see him briefly but never got to hold him), and the best I can tell you is that the horribly painful moments become fewer and further between. I still bawl my eyes out when I learn of other people's losses, partially for their pain and partially for my own, but on a day to day basis it's not so bad.

Forgive me if you've posted about it and I've forgotten, but have you gotten a memorial tattoo for the boys? I recall something about daffodils and their names, but not whether or not you've done it. It might be really therapeutic to have a lasting memento. I've never had a tattoo, but I've recently been considering having my son's footprint tattooed on my ankle. Seems silly after so long, but we do what we need to!
I pray for your continued healing, Cecily.

[Margaret]

38.

I am so very sorry to read this...my heart goes out to you. I can't imagine the pain.

[AussieAndrea]

39.

I know it doesn't really help, but I wish things could have been different for you. I am so very sorry for your losses.

[car]

40.

I wish I could just hug you. You know it wasn't your fault, that you had no choice in the matter, that the hospital staff weren't callous towards the boys so much as they were frantic to save you, that sometimes things happen and no one can say why. You were the best mom you could be for them, as long as it was possible. I know that doesn't help for me to say it. I hope that you will be able to work through the feelings, no matter how long it takes.

[Elisabeth]

41.

This makes me hurt so much for you.

It feels corny to say this, but I wish you peace, and the knowledge you and Charlie did the best you could in those terrible moments.

[Deadra]

42.

I'm so sorry. I wish I had something profound to say, only that I am sorry.

[Elise]

43.

Oh boy, I can't even imagine how painful this all is. We are all here for you guys.

[Sarah]

44.

sob.

[Melissa in TN]

45.

I'm with Meggan and Rhonda. You have every right to grieve as much as you want and you don't have to compare your loss to anyone else's. It is your blog--write what you want on it.

I am so sorry for your loss.

[AmyinMotown]

46.

Cecily, I am so sorry that you have to go through this. You know, you have to, that there was nothing else you could have done for your boys. Someone upthread said it best, "You were the best mom you could be for them, as long as it was possible."

[Jane]

47.

I have been praying for you. Many people have and continue to do so, you are lesson to so many Cecily.
It's OK.

[Stefania/CityMama]

48.

I can't imagine your pain. I'm so sorry you feel like you have to bear such a burden. Hugs to you.

[Heather AKA Epiphany Alone]

49.

Amazing comments above, just want to echo the sentiment of sorry you're hurting.

My two losses were ectopic, so there was nothing to see or memorialize. I had the names I'd given them recorded in The Book of Life at the Church of the Holy Innocents in New York City. They hold mass once a month to pray for those who died unborn. Although I am not Catholic, I found the sentiment - that they are always remembered as I remember them - to be healing.

[Cheryl]

50.

It was not your fault. It was not your fault, what happened. I know that does not heal you, but please try not to regret what happened. You did not choose it. And as for getting over it, I think this is one of those great lies of living, that we really ever get over anything that breaks us.

[Sarah]

51.

Cecily--what a heavy burden. I am so sorry that you're processing new pain and old pain and that the gried gives you a measure of relief. I can never decide if I am better when let it out or hold it in, but it has been an honor to read about your journey and to hear your story.

[Jenni]

52.

I am so sad for you and while I don't understand since I have never been through it, having my own child I have an inkling of what you're going through when I think of what that sort of loss would have done to me. I would imagine having Tori makes the knowledge of what you truly lost beyond comprehension.

I wish I had some kernel of wisdom or something I could suggest that would help. I'd like to think your boys are angels in heaven looking out after your family.

I hope you didn't watch House this evening - it would have been too close to home for you. Between your post and watching that I spent a lot time welling up.

Your strength is inspiring.

[Angela]

53.

I think in that situation we all want something more...

more time, more pictures, more something...

we never get it, but it doesn't stop that guilt and the thought that "*if* I'd thought to ask, or do, or something, I'd have had that *more* that I so desperately need now"

I have never heard of prenatal hospice, but it sounds like an amazing thing to help people suffering...I'm sure it would be a blessing to many women and families.

It would take a person with strong will and heart...and someone who knew desperately what these families will need or want later...

Anyway, thinking of you, and sending hugs... I know you will be dealing with the loss of your boys for a long time to come...no one just "gets over" losing a baby. My husband's grandmother lost 3/4 children. She still mourns her 3 sons...and she is 92 years old (she lost her daughter, my husband's mother, in 2001).

[z]

54.

first, i have to say i'm so sorry for your loss and for the pain and grief you have to live with today.

second, i agree, i do believe i am one of the lucky ones that got to hold my child. i got to dress her, give her her first/last bath and rock her in my arms. i got to meet her and see her eyes open. i got to feel her squeeze my finger and respond to my touch. it was an amazing time for both beautiful and heart wrenching.

but even though i got all of that it was not enough. i want more. i want my daughter here. i remember my mother and husband leaning over me telling me it was time to go. i was angry with them. how could they just leave? how could they expect me to just get up and leave.

i can clearly understand how you feel and why. you have the right to feel the pain and express it. you have the right and are totally justified. you lost your children...children you loved from even before the start.

and even though i have a lot of those memories i still feel like i could have had more. and i blame the medical community for a lot of my anger.

like you, they weren't thinking of my daugther as a living human being and she lived 6 days!! i feel like they looked at her and treated her as a "lost cause" as "nothing more to do" and just gave up on helping. they didn't go into detail unless i asked for it and at that time i was too out of it to know what to ask. they didn't show me xrays or tests or consider other options. i just feel like they didn't give it all they got.

i think our medical community has failed parents in high risk pregnancies or parents of children with birth defects. and we, the parents, are left to deal with their sorry excuse for a bedside manner and their lack of empathy and their lack of optimism and their lack of consideration in the aftermath. we're left to deal with it for years to come.

yes, i do see Mia in Naima especially when she was first born. and now i wonder...i wonder if Mia would have looked like Naima today...if Mia would have done the same things as Naima does now...if Mia would have had the same character and disposition as Naima has. every day i wonder...because every day i think of the child i don't get to hold in my arms.

{{{HUGS}}} to you my friend and to your precious daughter Tori

~Z

[z]

55.

sorry, i meant to say as in your case they weren't thinking of my child. in your case they only thought of you and getting you through the speedy delivery. the same with us, they were just thinking of getting us to agree to terminate life support.

[Gretchen]

56.

I'm sad for you. Your feelings make sense to me.Sending my love to you.....

[Joy]

57.

No, you never get over it. Losing your boys as you did changed you forever. I know I feel that way. I look back to the two days we lost our triplets and there are so many things I would do different if...if...if...if I had had time, if I wasn't zoned out on mag sulfate, if I had thought about these things ahead of time. I saw them briefly, but long with every passing year to know what they would look like now. It never goes away.

[Elaine]

58.

I'm so sorry you're going through this. I second the idea of your possibly doing a memorial service of some kind.

In Japan, there's a god who takes care of children -- Jizo -- and then there's a variation, the Mizuko Jizo, who takes care of children who died before they could be born. There are many shrines to Mizuko Jizo around Japan. People come to offer candles, water, sometimes food, little knitted caps or coats for the Jizo statues, and pinwheels. I don't know what the reason is for the pinwheels, but the Mizuko Jizo corners of temples are always very bright with the pinwheels, the red hats and bright coats. People come to make offerings, and grieve. The Jizo statues are either cute and smiling, or grave but wise, and more often than not smiling. The shrines look lighthearted, but they're not really, and the sight of lighted candles is always poignant.

[JK]

59.

I am so sorry. Your words are amazing and they will help others--if only to help them feel less alone. You are incredible.

I wish I could say something to make it all better, but I can't, so I'll stop rambling.

[Liz]

60.

Beautifully written. If I had the grace in words as you, this is everything I felt and was (still am) afraid of saying and feeling of my own losses. Mine were earlier than yours, but I still greive those babies too small to swaddle and hold. I did go on to deliver healthy babies, but the loss of those little ones is still with me. Thank you, Cec, for writing so openly from a place in your heart that is still so raw. Bless you, Charlie and your little ones.

[Journeywoman]

61.

There are no words except I am so sorry.

I wish there was a magic wand to somehow make it all right.

[Adina]

62.

You should never apologize for expressing your feelings or sharing your emotions - you are an incredible woman with so much to share and I think we, as your readers, appreciate and want nothing more!

I know that even the dark days you have filled with emotion and frustration will soon be followed by the grace of your beautiful little girl's smile or laugh.

Even though I don't know you I appreciate your voice and say a prayer for you that you will find peace. {{Hugs}}

[sheilah]

63.

I will join the chorus in saying how very sad I am for the loss of the boys. Your grief will never go away. Anyone who tells you differently has never lost someone they love intensely. Grief only changes and varies in tone and intensity. Some days you will be fine and then other days you will weep. Some picture or scent...something will bring on a memory and then your grief will descend on you like fog.

Hold on to your beautiful Tori and love her with all your heart. You have a wonderful family and wonderful friends IRL and all of us here in cyberspace who love you and want you to be happy.

[Renee]

64.

My great-grandmother gave birth to 17 children. My grandmother was number two. Not long ago, my grandmother told me about the twins that were born between number four and number five. My grandmother was eight years old. She said that my great-grandmother went into labor when she was less than six months pregnant, and because it was 1938, there was nothing anyone could do about it. The twins, a boy and a girl, were born at home. The girl lived less than an hour and the boy lived almost a day. My grandmother said she can vividly remember that the babies didn't really look like babies at all. They were buried together in the same small casket that sat on the dining room table for the wake. The really heartwrenching part of the story is that although my great-grandmother went on to have many more children, she visited the grave of those babies every single week until she died. She never got over it. I just don't think you ever get over the loss of a child, no matter how they go.

[Gigi]

65.

After 3 years of treatments I got pregnant with quads, it was a big surprise since we had only transfer 3 embryos, one of them had split into an identical twin. We were so happy, then on a routine chekup at 31 weeks we found out one of the (identical) twins had died, cord accident. Our doctor did give us the choice of what to do but we felt it would have been unfair to the birth of the other three, so we let the hospital handle it. I never got to see him, but my husband did and not a day goes by that we don´t remember him, in a way or another and more often than not I still cry...
Thank you for being so honest and sharing your grief with us, it makes it easier for us to bear our own loss.

[Shazamama]

66.

Wondering if the "Lives" article from the NYTimes Magazine about Japanese customs surrounding miscarriage and abortion has made it's way to you. It was in the magazine a few years ago. If not, I'd be happy to find it and send it your way. You might hate it, might love it.

A friend who suffered multiple miscarriages found it very helpful in processing her grief as the Japanese have rituals and customs akin to a funeral after a birth. I haven't read it again since having a twin "vanish" at 11 weeks back in the summer, but know that once I get through the newborn baby haze, I'll pick it up again.

Your insights into your own feelings are so helpful - thank you for being willing to put it out there.

[Felica]

67.

I feel aweful sometimes when I read of your pain, becuase well, we didn't have that. We said lets have a baby and a month later we were pregnant. Nine months after that we have a healthy baby girl. But when I read about your pain and your suffering. I pick up my little one and give her a big ol hug. Thank you for sharing your life with us internet people. I am sure you reach someone who has been through the same thing and they find some comfort in your words and then there are other like me who relize that the gifts in their lives are just that gift and should never be taken for granted.

I think the idea of a memorial service is a great one! You are a very strong women and I am glad that you are here with us.

Hugs,
Felicia

[Lauren]

68.

And now I'm the one crying.
I had a stillborn baby girl in May '06, Cecilia. We were so incredibly fortunate that we were given options, asked what we wanted done with her body. Her little urn sits on my dresser.
But know this... what's more precious to me than that little urn is the time she spent inside of me- those memories. So I hope you'll think back on your time when you were pregnant with the boys and hold that close to your heart. I know that doesn't make up for what you went through, but maybe it will help you feel a little less cheated.
That being said, I'd really encourage you to have a memorial service for the boys. That hard awful truth is that two little people died and perhaps doing for them what we do for alll other "real people" (don't you hate that term?) would help.
Lots of hugs and best wishes for healing...
Lauren

[Kim]

69.

Cecily,

I just wanted to say I am so sorry for this new area of loss you are having to grieve. I don't think you'll ever be done grieving, but I think that's also a way of keeping the boys with you. I know that the boys must have known, for the time they were in your womb, that they were very, very loved.

Peace to you.

[nycphoenix]

70.

you write beautifully about a very painful subject. I haven't experienced what you have but I have felt the mix of joy and sorrow of cursing God while praying for Him to take the pain away.

[Rach]

71.

First of all, I don't think there is a hierarchy of pain, where what some people suffer is more real or more valid than what others go through. Pain is pain, and no one can tell you if your pain is more than or less than anything else.

Secondly, I think these invisible losses are so hard because most people we come in to contact with have no idea. I often wonder how to answer the question "How many children do you have?" Well, how much time do you have?

All to say, your grieving process is yours and whatever way you do it is the right way. I agree with what others have said - I don't think it ever goes away. Sometimes I find myself drawn to blogs with recent losses because it helps me connect with my pain and remember that it is real - even though it was more than four years (and two live, healthy babies) ago.

[Claudia]

72.

My heart aches, again, for you and Charlie, and your loss. It sounds odd, but thank you for sharing your pain.

[Janis]

73.

Having that time to say goodbye is invaluable.

When we lost our daughter, many people were shocked that I was the one who went to the mortuary to prepare and dress her for burial. I did her nails, smoothed lotion on her, did her hair and makeup.

To some, it seems morbid or as one put it, disgusting.

I saw at as one final way to honor the child I loved.

You did not have the chance to say goodbye, to do anything to honor the lives of your sons that you love so very much.

Grieving the loss of your sons as well as the rituals of grief is normal.

No, it never goes away. It may soften around the edges but it stays with us always.

There will be days where it isn't ripping you apart and there will be days where it sneaks up on you on knocks you on your ass.

When you are ready to deal with it all, you will. But it has to be in your time, not someone else's.

My heart aches for you hun... I'm so very sorry.

[Kerry]

74.

I have found that even though these past 3 years have been truly horrible at times, the last 8 1/2 months with Zachary have been equally amazing. Amazing at how much I thought I had worked through losing Matthew, and how so very far my heart had (and probably still has) to go to be healed with the birth of his little brother.

[AmyElle]

75.

Coming out of hiding for this.

My mom went through something very similar to you with b/g twins when I was about 4. When I lost Bella 6 years ago, I asked her how she survived, how she managed to go on, and when it stopped hurting. She told me never. She said it got easier, that you learned to wake up every morning and you kept breathing.

When my twins, b/g were born 4 years ago, I cried for her. As she stood there looking at them, tears ran down her face. Without her telling me, I knew that while she was overjoyed to be a grandmother to these babies, her heart ached for her own that she never got to touch or hold or see.

I eventually asked how she does with it. We discussed the irony that I too lost a child, and that I went on to have the twins she didn't have. She admitted it was a bittersweet joy that she felt. She admitted to jealousy, even now, some 20 years later.

Had I not experienced my own loss, I don't know that I could have understood those feelings. I don't know that I ever would have reached out to her about them. Having lost my own child, I did understand.

Even now, 6 years later, I find myself angry over not having done certain things, over having not known certain things I could have done. But I too was too sick, and didn't get as much choice in the decisions.

At some point, you really do end up having to deal with these things. And to some extent, the longer you wait, the harder it is. Just know, you aren't alone, and that many of us (too damned many if you ask me) do understand what you are going through.

[Catherine]

76.

I've read this several times since you posted it, and you know I am so crap with knowing what to say. But all I can say is, I would do ANYTHING that would help, so just ask. Love you.

[Rachel]

77.

You are such a strong woman and I respect your honesty so much. I cannot imagine the pain.

[JuliaKB]

78.

Oh Cecily... I am so sorry for this new hurt.

I am glad we got to hold my son. I am glad I know what he looked like. I am glad I have the pictures.

The things that hurt immensely are not knowing what color his eyes would be, what his smile would look like, how he would get along with his sister, and a million other things we will never know. And that no one can see him. That for most people in the world, he never existed. That to look at us no one would know that we should be four.

And this other thing. I am a bit jealous of those who got to hold their babies while they were alive. But I am also glad my son was never cold, or in pain, or hurt, that if he had to die, that he died in the warmth and comfort of my womb. Cecily, I hope I don't bring more hurt with this, but I remember a long time ago you had written something much the same. I hope that thought can still bring you a measure of comfort.

One last thing. Many have reminded you of this, but you wrote at the time that you were too sick for either induction or c-section. Cecily, you were at death's door. You had no choice. Please, please, please believe you have nothing to feel guilty about.

[Amy]

79.

I'm so sorry for your loss. Part of the problem is that you're picturing a five month old fetus as a baby, and sadly your boys never got to be babies. They were so far from being considered a living being, grieve their potential yes- but it's not the same as losing a living baby, unless you turn it into that.

[Stephanie]

80.

No hun, it's NEVER over...even when you go thru a successful subsequent pregnancy, and have that beautiful lil sweet thing in your arms, you still think about the ones you lost....and yes, I see reflections of Amanda's face in Hope's....and some days it just tears me apart. Other days it's sweet.....but mostly just hard. You will always have places on your heart that are scarred....but eventually, someday the deepness of the hurt fades a bit, and you are able to go a day, a week, without breaking down, then someday you'll be able to talk about your loss(es) with someone, and be calm and rational, and be the one offering support.....but it may take awhile....
I think that the grief that you suffer must be overwhelmingly more than that of ours...we had no choice, our baby was just dead. Where as you, think you had a choice....and that must just weigh on you.
You did what had to be done, they saved you, and you ARE surviving!! It's hard as hell, but you are!
Many many hugs to you mamma!!

[shelli]

81.

It's never over.

I'm SO sorry.

[R]

82.

I couldn't presume to say anything about a grief like this, but what I can say is that your loss and your honesty about it not only teaches us, your readers, but it creates the opportunity for people to learn from your experience and advocate for others--or themselves--to have the opportunity to fully grieve. Parents should definitely have access to whatever might help bring some kind of...I hesitate to say closure, but I can't think of what else to say.

I know I have learned so much from reading your honest words about your experiences, and I hope it has made me a more compassionate person.

[Fidget]

83.

These wounds cut so deep, down to our soul... they make us who we are.

I am so sorry for your loss. I am humbled that you put it out here for others to read and learn from.

Sharing is the only way I can make sense of my deepest pains.

[Rach]

84.

Yes, you always will. I wonder what happened to the "medical waste" that was Lucy's twin. I just don't let myself go there. Maybe it's good to, I don't know. I just wrote about grief. It's so strange. If I had had twins then Asher wouldn't be here, but a different baby would. It is so, so strange.

[zarqa]

85.

Yes, we will. I got to hold my little boy, my finger on his oh-so-soft peachy skin. I was crying the whole time, struggling to focus my eyes so I would remember every detail. He was 21 inches, 4 lbs, 9 ozs but that didn't seem small at all. He fit into my hands perfectly. And into his father's hands. He had a little bit of hair on his shoulders. His eyes were shaped like mine and he had his father's mouth.

No matter how many details I accumulated, the persistent thought I have now is that I wish I'd seen the color of his eyes. I don't think it would have been possible even if I had thought to look. I'll always wonder if they were lightish brown like mine or darker brown like his father's or some other shade entirely.

So, yes, no matter how much you do get, it's never enough.

[Mandy]

86.

I know nothing I say can ease the hurt or do what we'd all like and bring them back.

I just want you to know that I'm here, that I've cried along with you many times, and while I know it would be foolish to say I understand, I know I can never understand, I'm trying as best I can and I'm here for you.

[Chas]

87.

I'm a sporadic reader of your blog, at best, and I'm sure this comment will be lost among the many others, but I do feel driven to leave my thoughts. I really don't think it's ever meant to be over. I wasn't even as far along as you, but I still think about my lost little one daily. I can't help it; I can't get over it, and I truly can't understand it. I guess I'm not supposed to. I wonder the same things...would the baby have looked like my Lila? Would Lila and that baby have been "identical" twins? Would they have looked so different that no one would know they were twins? I'll never know the answers, and I suppose just thinking about it is part of the healing process...I'll heal, but I'll never get over it.

88.

Cecily.....god.....I guess I wish I didn't read your post because it dredged up all kind of awful memories for me of my medical termination (yes....I know you forewarned.....). But....on the other hand, I'm glad I read it because I no longer feel alone in the grief, (and shame and guilt as awful as it feels to me to admit it....) ---even though my decision was different than yours (my life wasn't in danger but my daughter had very severe defects) my feelings are very similar. It's strange, this grief, how it comes in waves and when you think you've moved on, it will sometimes clobber you. My horrendous day was more than 5 years ago...and I've since added an enchanting little son to my family but, still, the pain at times it's so alive.

I love your blog.....and I'm thrilled you now have Tori. You will never forget your boys --- just ride your grief and deal with each feeling as it surfaces. You will survive.
Much love,
Jill A.

[spacemom]

89.

Please know that I am thinking of you... odd to read this the day after I was looking at my friend's son's hand prints...He was still born with T18 at 32 weeks.

[jody]

90.

Hi Cecily,

THank you for being so honest with your life. What an amazing and touching post.

I awarded this post the Thinking Blogger award. http://jody2ms.com/archives/648

Hugs to you!