That Time of Year

I'm sure it hasn't escaped your notice that March 1st would have been Nicholas and Zachary's third birthday (had they been born on their due date, unlikely, of course, with twins). Last year and the year before I took note of the day and talked about how I was feeling about it. This year, while I noted the date to myself and Charlie, I found that I didn't have a strong urge to write a post about it. But I've spent the last ten days watching the early signs of spring arrive and being reminded of that spring after I'd lost the twins, how dead inside I felt, and I've wondered why I didn't feel much of a need to publicly mark the boy's birthday before now.

The grief is still there--of course--and it always will be. But now it's more like an arthritic ache rather than a sharp stabbing pain. And, frankly, with so much life around me in a the form of a frisky toddler, it is really difficult to spend a great deal of time on regret and sadness. Sometimes I see a little three year old boy and I feel a pang of what might of been, and other times... well, other times, like when Tori lies thrashing on the floor screaming because I made the mistake of singing along with Elmo during Sesame Street I must admit to feeling just a teeny, tiny, itsy bit of relief that I only have one toddler at time to cope with.

There, I said the terrible thought out loud. I'll admit it; as much as I loved the boys and wanted the boys desperately, I am very, very happy with how my life has turned out. Tori is perfect in every way, and exactly as much as I can manage.

But I still watch everyone's daffodils coming up and feel waves of sadness washing over me (for those that don't know, for Nicholas and Zachary's memorial service we had our friends plant daffodil bulbs since we lost them at the end of October but their due date was in March). I often wish things had turned out differently, that I'd had a normal pregnancy and things had gone just fine.

But then Tori runs to me and gives me a hug for no reason, and I can't imagine life without her. Life without Tori seems to me a life without sunshine. Maybe that was God's plan all along--a twisted, fucked up, demented plan, but one with a happy ending. Tori is the light of my life, and I'm lucky to have her.

Sleep safely, my little lost boys. Mommy misses you, but wishes you nothing but peace.

Comments

[Chickenpig]

I wish you peace, too. God knows, with a toddler running around, even just one, you need it :) I love daffodils, from now on when I see them I will think of your boys. As long as they are always in someone's thoughts, they are never completely gone. And thanks to your blog, they live on in many people's memory. You have my thoughts and support on this difficult day.

[kathleen999]

Every time you post about losing your Nick and Zack, it reminds me how lucky I am. And I think about how our experiences with losing babies is so opposite. My first pregnancy was with a little girl and I lost her very early, at 9 weeks. But we had tried for so long and it had never occurred to me that I could lose her. By the time we hit 9 weeks and lost her, we were completely devasted. Trying to get pregnant again completely consumed me for the next 2 years....I was in such pain...I had wanted a baby for so long and then we had one. And then she was gone and the void was terrible. I was broken.

And then my Nicky and Zacky came along. And now I have 3-year-old preschoolers and sometimes I think about how much easier it might have been if that first baby had lived...one baby seems to be so much more manageable. I know EXACTLY what you are talking about with the terrible thought you dared to say. I have thought it many times...one baby would be so much less stress. But apparently I was meant to be the mother of twins. And we have survived and they have thrived, and honestly, this is the way I am happy to be right now. I completely understand what you are saying about feeling your life has turned out the way it was supposed to, in terms of the child you have. Why we had to have losses and grief I don't really understand.

[Jenn]

My losses were different (earlier miscarriages) but as much as I miss those babies (and I do. God, I do), I realize that had I had either of those babies, my boys would not exist. Then you have the weird feeling of, well if i want them back, does that mean I don't want the ones I have? Of course the answer is no, I want all of them, alive, happy, and healthy. It's just not possible.

[Ally]

Thinking of you. I'm glad you have found some peace.

[Eliza]

I know exactly what you mean, and it's not a Terrible Thought. It's just a thought, and we can't control what we think or feel, only what we say and do. I didn't fess up on my blog, but yesterday amidst a family clusterfuck of caterwauling (my younger two are three and a half and two and a half, but the three-year-old is developmentally delayed so THEY'RE BOTH TWO INSIDE THEIR TINY MINDS), I lost it and swatted the baby. My BABY. The one I have literally almost killed myself moving heaven and earth and HMOs to keep alive, the one I am so very afraid for, the one who eats through a tube and is only the size of an eighteen-month-old. I have NEVER lost it like that with one of my children--don't worry, the baby wasn't hurt and we sat down on the floor and cried and I apologized and the baby said "It's otay, Mommy, I wuv you, stop CWYING!" but if you ever want to know exactly what two cents feels like? Drop me an e-mail. I cannot believe I did that, and it never would've happened if there hadn't been one of them on each leg doing that gutteral and utterly unreasonable tantrum screech and belaboring my arse with a Little Mermaid Special Edition DVD WHILE I HAD A MIGRAINE. GOD, two two-year-olds suck sometimes! There, feel better?
For the record, the baby was not harmed or knocked over or even really mad--I think the poor kid was screaming so hard that the swat went unnoticed at the time, but me? I feel HORRID. ABYSMAL. The guilt...I mean jeez, the three-year-old is healthy and strong and equally unreasonable, and could arguably have USED a swat at that moment (I don't use corporal punishment outside of dangerous acts of defiance like running into the street or acts of inter-sibling attempted murder, and then it's for humiliation value, not PAIN)--why the BABY?
Sigh. Because the baby was the one clinging to the leg on the side of my one free hand while I groped around in my box of drugs for a Relpax sample. Go and read yesterday's post over at my place if you ever want to feel good about yourself as a human being, because I was in FINE FORM. That's what two two-year-olds do to you. Their father wants to donate them to the CIA for counter-terror interrogations; they could crack Castro himself inside of an hour.

Oh and I hate March too. March 16th of last year was the last day I felt healthy in my life and possibly for the rest of it at this rate, and March 22nd was the day the geneticist dropped the bomb on us. I don't know if I'll even be able to write about it. FUCK MARCH IN THE ARSE!!! Go on, you know that made you smile a LITTLE...

[Beret]

My daughter had a twin we lost (very early on) and there have been many times in the throes of sickness and tantrums that I secretly thought (and felt ashamed of course, even though I shouldn't) that I was relieved we didn't have twins.

My son was born on March 1st 3 years ago, and I cannot imagine what you must go through this time of year thinking of your precious boys.

I'm always so exited to read about Tori's latest exploits. It's good to know you have her in your life.

[Marianne]

Cecily, your honestly is wonderful.
When we lost our first at 10 weeks, a friend who had also miscarried told me that if she hadn't miscarried she wouldn't have the son she conceived after, and she could not imagine life without him. I couldn't hear that at the time; my grief was too thick. But now, with two healthy beautiful girls in my life, I look at it the same way. If not for my loss, I would not have my beautiful 4 year old, and likely not her 2 year old sister, and now I cannot imagine life without them. I believe there is a gift in every painful experience, some buried deeper than others, and they were it for me.

[Aurelia]

It's not a terrible thought...I've thought the same thing many times. If six of my pregnancies, the ones that did not conflict on the dates, had all come to term, I'd be raising six kids, and let's get real, I'd never have kept trying this long.

Too hard. Too expensive, too difficult for my body. So yeah, we handle what we can, and we are grateful for what we got. And sometimes, when we are close to losing our minds, we wonder at god's sense of humour.

[Jen]

i think it's so effing awesome that so many people you've never met (including me) think of your boys when they see daffodils. just awesome.