Hope for the Future

My brother and his family were in town last week and we had so much fun going on lots of little adventures with them. About a week before they arrived my brother sent me an email with a short list of some of the activities they wanted to do while in town. One of those was visiting the grave site of our twin daughters.

I'm always touched by the extra thought that others give to those sweet girls of mine. I was happy to share that experience with them, but there was part of me that wasn't sure how it was going to go with their kids. I mean, going to a cemetery isn't exactly the most comfortable, happy place for most people, right? I didn't want them to feel uncomfortable or sad, so I kept things pretty light-hearted and made a couple of awkward jokes here and there to keep the mood from getting too somber.

But, now that a couple of days have passed and now that I'm facing the five year mark tomorrow, I wish I could go back to last Thursday, surrounded by my family, my parents, my brother and his crew. There are a few things I'd want them to know.

First of all, I'd tell them how I love visiting the cemetery. I love the quiet, peaceful place that it is. I love the deer who have made the place their home, who fearlessly wander through the grass with their baby fawns. I love remembering the dedicatory prayer that Marc offered on the day our girls were buried - specifically the promise that it would be a place of peace and perspective. Over the years, it most definitely has. Whenever life gets too stressful, too heavy, too scary, it is my quick escape, my go-to place to re-focus and remember what really matters in life.

Two years ago, as the third anniversary was approaching I decided I needed a new way to approach July 16th. It just came so natural to watch the calendar and the clock and relive every moment of sorrow, every feeling of shock and disbelief, every pain and heartache, that led up to the twins' early arrival. I was still healing and I knew that was okay, but I felt ready to move my thoughts from the pain of the past to the hope of the future.

Even though there will always be sadness associated with losing them, I also feel an unquenchable hope and reassurance that I'll see them again. I know they're safe and in a happy place. I know they haven't been taken from me and that one day I'll get to be their mother (and hopefully be much better at it than I am right now).

So, two years ago, with those desires to shift my focus to the hope of the future, I felt inspired to paint the picture I had of them in my mind - the carefree spirits of my two girls, happy in heaven, waiting with the same joyful anticipation to our eventual reunion. That's my painting, displayed on the left.

I want to be clear that the pain of loss is real and every year when the anniversary comes around, I feel it all over again and it hurts. Lumps form in my throat for days, until finally the tears just flow effortlessly. But, I also have to admit just as readily that healing is just as real. With every passing year, I feel it more and more. There is a phrase in a song by Mindy Gledhill that says "time is set to heal all wounds." It's true. And, I give all credit to a loving Savior who willingly suffered the pains of life and overcame the sting of death, whose sacrifice makes my hope a reality. He is the reason for my hope and my healing.

As hard as it was to lose my girls, I wouldn't have it any other way. The things I learned from walking through my own valley of sorrow, the undeniable feeling I had that I wasn't walking alone, the closeness I felt to God in the darkest period of my life... I treasure it all so much. I feel an overwhelming gratitude for the miracles that I've witnessed in my own life, evidence (if ever I needed it) that God lives and loves me.

Ten Years of Genuine

Marc and I celebrated ten years of marriage a couple of weeks ago - August 23rd to be exact. With it feeling like a big milestone, we had talked about options of big ways to celebrate it together. But, with a newborn in the mix and other family things keeping our month pretty busy, we opted for making plans for a getaway to happen in the near future (like, hopefully within a month or two).

So, this year on our actual anniversary we kept things pretty low-key. Marc worked during the day, like normal, while I took care of the three little ones, like normal. Since my parents were away on a special getaway to celebrate their 50th anniversary (the day before ours), we got take-out for dinner from one of our favorite little joints in town - sharing the chicken/avocado sandwich and the chicken/avocado salad. It was delicious and a nice break from slaving in the kitchen.

Once the kids were all asleep, we sat on the couch and read love notes we'd each written for each other. One of my favorite parts of Marc's letter to me was how he appreciated the struggles we've gone through as they've only helped make our marriage feel less fake. And, I realized I agreed. Our struggles have made our relationship so much stronger and genuine. And, I really like genuine... even with all of its messy, imperfect parts.

After our love-letter-reading we perused furniture stores online - wanting to buy new couches as a gift to ourselves. And, then we pulled up a map and started making plans for our upcoming little getaway. We still haven't finalized the couch purchase nor our plans to get away, but hopefully we'll get to them both before #11 rolls around next year!

Blanket of Peace

Earlier this week there were a few moments of great sadness that left my heart aching and me sobbing, but yesterday - on my girls' birthday - my heart felt comforted in a way it hasn't before.

Friday night I was feeling hesitant about my decision to start the day off with the 10K race I had signed up for. I had trained for it and was ready physically, but emotionally and mentally I wasn't sure if I was up to snuff, and I don't think I'm alone in my assessment that running requires just as much mental energy and discipline as physical. But, once I paid my twenty-six fifty, there was no turning back. So, I went and I did it. And, much to my surprise, I finished fourth among the women and first in my age division. But, even better than that was the hour and seven seconds I had completely to myself to think about my girls, about my first experience with motherhood, and what the last three years have taught me.

As I was approaching the final stretch and wrapping up my unfinished thoughts for later, it was like music to my ears to be brought back to my present reality with the sounds of Hugh's very loud and distinct crying at the finish line, which I first heard at least a block away. A smile stretched across my face and I couldn't help but feel full and complete with my life as it is. For it is just as it should be, at least for right now.

(Please, someone, reassure me that there is hope for un-awkward family photos in the foreseeable future. Ha!)

A little later in the day we released some balloons at the cemetery with my parents.

We decided to save the two that Ben and Hugh would have released to bring home for them to play with, which was probably a good decision once we saw the looks on their faces as they watched the other four balloons float out of sight.

And, the boys clearly thought the grave site with the flags and flamingos (just up from the twins) was the happenin' place to gather. It didn't convince me enough to change anything about our own little site, much to their dismay.

Before they did too much damage, we relocated to the lake, where we walked along the dam and watched the boats and some ducks doing their thing. And, later, after the boys were down for the night, Marc and I had some quiet time to reflect and remember. Overall it was a beautiful day blanketed with the warmest feeling of comfort and peace.

Three years ago I witnessed things I'm still trying to process and understand, but among those things the greatest by far is a mother's love in its purest form. That love has only grown with time and separation, and I am anxiously awaiting the chance to be with my sweet baby girls again someday.

And, before I close this down for the night, I have to add a note of gratitude to my blogging friends:

I have appreciated your thoughts, your prayers, your kindness in so many forms through so many things we've been through. I was re-reading some of the comments left for us, particularly after we first lost our twins, and was brought to tears by the sweet messages we received from so many of you - some of whom we've never met in person. To each of you, we thank you with all our hearts. Your love has eased our burdens on so many occasions and we are grateful. Surely your prayers and thoughts for us added to the blanket of peace we felt this past weekend. Thank you. Thank you!

Two Years

Today we marked the second anniversary of losing our twin daughters.

Today was a lot harder than I thought it was going to be.

But it wasn't hard for the reasons I would have expected.

It was hard because I was trying to convince myself it shouldn't be hard.

It turns out that sadness ends up being greater when you try to convince yourself not to be sad.

Had I allowed myself today to feel whatever I needed to feel without guilt or shame or insecurity, I think the overall feeling today would have been one of marginal sadness and overwhelming peace.

Silly me... I worked so hard all day to keep my emotions bottled up that once dusk fell, so did the tears.

Now, I'm just plain exhausted. And reminded of the fact that grief is hard, hard work. (And, so is taking care of two babies, especially one who is going to be awake shortly for his next feeding....)

Before I turn out the light for the night, a heartfelt thank you for the prayers and thoughts for us and our girls on this their birthday.

How I love them.

Seven years...

"...went under the bridge, like time was standing still... ." Gotta love this song from the 80's.

Seven years ago, two lives merged into one. Sacred promises were made. Our family unit was formed.

I was so clueless.

As a naive 24-year old I know I didn't fully appreciate the meaning behind our marriage covenants. Looking through a window of pain this last year has revealed a clearer perspective and a much deeper appreciation for the sacred events of that day, seven years ago. This year, especially, I've felt comforted with the assurance of relationships bound, here and there.  

I've been reflective this week, thinking about something we were told last year by my doctor, after we lost our girls. Eighty percent of couples that experience losing a child will end up getting divorced.

Eighty percent. Sobering. Sad.

In those early months, though, I definitely understood why. Grief is experienced and expressed in such different ways. It's confusing to face the chaos in one's own heart, making it totally overwhelming to then try to make sense of the unspoken chaos weighing down the love you share your life with. I took her words as a sort of warning. It put me on guard, determining to do my part in defending my marriage from the negative effects of grief. 

Last year as we marked our sixth anniversary, for the most part the day felt dreary and heavy. No matter how I looked at it, all I could see was the representation of six years of heartache, disappointment, pain. 

Today was different. Today we celebrated. We survived a very difficult year. Together. We are stronger, we are closer. And, that is something to celebrate. We ate warm, homemade peach pie, ala mode. We beat the odds. But, just because we made it through a really hard year (and the six before that) doesn't mean by any means that the fight is over. While I know good things lie ahead, I'm also aware of probable mountains yet to climb. Through the peaks and valleys of life, I feel inexpressibly grateful to have Marc by my side.

In Good Hands

It's been a long, long year. I'm pretty sure the longest of my life. We've gone to some dark, scary places that have caused my heart to {almost} faint with fear and where the burden of pain has pushed me to the very edge of despair. For the most part I haven't taken anyone to those dark places of grief. It feels uncomfortable to expose people to it. I'm mostly afraid that rather than holding my hand down that path they might try to convince me not ever to go back there. But, they don't understand that going there isn't a choice for me.

Working on healing my broken heart has reminded me of Dante's Inferno - the deeper you go down the rings of hell, the more awful and scary it gets. I haven't enjoyed going to those heavy places. I dread it, in fact. I put it off, I avoid it. But, I went there this week. I had to. And, maybe for the first time I wanted to. As hard as it is to go deep into the painful crevasses of my heart and relive the births and deaths of our daughters, I want to be flooded also with the reminders of the sacred, the beautiful, the perfect moments we had with them. To remember one part is to remember it all. For now, at least. Maybe that will change with time.

For the last three days my heart has felt heavy, I would almost dare say more broken than it did this time last year. I wasn't expecting that. I thought I had been feeling stronger, I thought the healing I'd found felt more permanent. Revisiting my heart, going a little deeper than normal, I see the wounds are healing... and while that is something to rejoice in, it's clear that the gaping holes remain. Evidence of my two little girls. Their absence is felt. Daily. The burden of losing them is ours to carry. Daily.

{I wonder sometimes if the empty holes are only magnified by our childless state. I wonder if it would be different if we had other kids to focus on. Maybe or maybe not? Not that it really matters anyway.}

People of all different levels of expertise have offered to fix me; in most cases that has just meant a shortcut of some sort through grief. I'm sincerely touched to know there are people who love me enough to want to take away my sorrow. Feeling such love, even from some who don't even know me, has strengthened my assurance of one very important fact - if some imperfect human being feels that desire so strongly, then how much greater that feeling must be for one who is perfect.

There is a certain Head Physician I've come to know a little bit better in recent months. Not only does He accept all patients with all different maladies, He knows each one perfectly. He knows me perfectly and He loves me perfectly. I sense that of everyone who is pained at my pain, it is He who feels it most. I feel confident in His hands, knowing that He is the only one who can truly heal me and fix the hurt I feel. I trust He knows how {and when} to best fix me. I've learned that He is always available... for me. Even in those dark, scary places I've had to go through, I've found Him there. I've recognized that He has gone much deeper than I have or ever will, He has carried a burden much heavier than my little bundle of pain, He knows the loneliness of the path much more poignantly than I can ever imagine.

Because of all of that, even on my smaller scale, He knows how much I need Him in those scary, lonely moments. And, even though I sometimes question if I'll ever find Him there again, I have learned of His consistency. He always is. For me. It's as if I'm the only one He's there for, and yet I know there are throngs of others seeking the same healing from His hands. Still, I feel His concern and awareness of me on such an intimate level.

I've wondered lately how it would be possible to know Him, to really know Him, if I didn't have to pass through any heartache. It's that precise heartache that makes Him available on a more personal level, and more importantly makes me aware of my need to make myself available to Him. How can I be disappointed by my broken heart and shattered dreams, when the result is the chance to walk with Him? I don't want to miss that opportunity, even if it means I have to meet Him along the painful path that leads to true healing. 

I have my heart bundled and bandaged, handing it over and trusting in the care of an omniscent God who loves me as His daughter. If His love is anything like the love I have for my girls {which I'm convinced it is and then some}, then I have nothing to worry about. I'm in good hands.

Elder Maxwell said it best: "To go to the very edge is possible, of course, only when we believe in an omniscient and omnipotent God. When we understand that all things are present before His eyes and that He knows all things past, present, and future, then we can trust ourselves to Him as we clearly could not to a less than omniscient god who is off somewhere in the firmament doing further research."

Lucky

On August 23, 2002 we began our journey of life together. I remember so clearly the joy and excitement I felt. 

The only down side to the day was that the Mt. Timpanogos temple spire was covered in scaffolding, to repair some cracks that had formed underneath Angel Moroni, which were caused by some lightning storms a few weeks before. So, we didn't bother getting many full shots of the temple since it was under construction. Besides that... oh, and the small fire that started at our reception that night... but, besides those two things, the day was perfect!

Yesterday afternoon I came across an old journal and read something I wrote on December 31, 2001. We hadn't been dating very long at that point, but we were already talking about our future together. Here's part of that entry:

"As far as my wish for my future with Marc... I don't really know. I know that I just want to take one day at a time - suck the marrow out of each day, enjoy our time together, learn to trust him more and more, and prove that he can trust me completely. I guess my wish is to build a friendship so strong that we'll always be each other's best friend and that through everything that comes our way, we'll only be strengthened even more and bonded together."

I found that entry to echo so much of what I feel now. Six years ago, I had no idea we would be where we are today... but, I am more grateful than I've ever been to have my best friend by my side to go through life with. Our marriage and our friendship have definitely been strengthened through all that we've been through. I'm beyond grateful for our temple sealing - it has come to mean even more to me, knowing that our sealing extends to our girls. They are ours forever. There isn't anything that brings more joy and peace than that knowledge.

We will be together forever.

Marc, I love you! I'm so lucky to be married to my best friend!

Fifth Anniversary

Megan and I celebrated our fifth anniversary yesterday. It's amazing to me that we've been married for only five years, yet we've gone through so many wonderful experiences together.

One day when I was in college, I received a letter from my Dad in which he listed several of the girls he dated before he met my Mom. Reading his short descriptions, I gather he would have been a different man had he married any of them. It was clear that he knew when he found a good match in my Mother.

When I met Megan in 2001, things unfolded the same way. My life seemed to be crumbling like the World Trade Center, and from within my thick dust cloud of emotions I found it hard to trust that Megan was...well, real. She helped lift me out of my trials and I hesitated to ask her to marry me because I was sure that no positive experience that significant could last a lifetime.

And of course, it has lasted. Thank you, Megan, for marrying me. I love you.

-Marc