War

I can't spend another day at war with myself.  I am surrendering.

First Ever Journals

I wanted to share my first ever journal entries with you.  The two journals that have started this whole crazy journey for me.  They are from my son's caring bridge page when I was updating family, but I could never repeat, with the same intensity, the love and need I felt for the Lord those nights I wrote those posts. 

Faith Restored
I was awakened tonight, for some reason, only to look over at my precious child and find him sleeping as I had left him.  He hadn't moved an inch.  Still sleeping ever so peacefully.  As I lay here trying to go back to sleep, this feeling of complete calmness came over me for the first time since this whole ordeal has started.  To be honest, it is the first time I've ever had this feeling.  I keep typing things to say here but I keep deleting them, knowing what I should say, but afraid to say it.  I am not what you call a "sharer".  As evidence by my lack of facebook postings over the last few years or my lack of telling even my closest family or friends what I am feeling or that I am in need.  But this experience has made me realize something and it has been so therapeutic in a way, but more than anything it has restored my faith in God and humanity.  I feel compelled tonight to share a little bit of my story, because, if for some reason tonight, you are struggling with your faith in God, I wanted you to know that you are not alone, but He truly is listening and has a plan.

Jason and I have been married almost 18 years and we struggled to have children.  But the worst was a little more than 9 years ago when we lost our twin girls at 20 weeks.  We had twin to twin transfusion syndrome and one of the amniotic sacs broke.  I stayed on bed rest for weeks hoping to make it far enough along to save them, but ending up going into septic shock and losing both girls and almost losing my own life.  My kidneys almost shut down completely.  I was in ICU for over 2 weeks and on IV meds for about 6 weeks total.  Needless to say, I had completely lost all faith in God at that time.  Why would He do something like this to me?  What had I done to deserve such a punishment?  This was pure torture.  It drove me into a deep depression and soon I was unrecognizable to myself.  It was testing our marriage as well, but after traveling overseas for work a few times, I decided to ask Jason to come with me to Australia.  We had the best time and it was there that I decided that I wanted to try one last time to have a baby.  If this didn't work, it wasn't meant to be for me.  In an instant, I was pregnant with Benjamin.  After all the miscarriages and the twins loss, I immediately went on bed rest.  This would be a very long 9 months, but what I needed to do to have this child.  I had lots of issues with preterm labor, which kept me in the hospital a lot, but Ben was strong and at 38 weeks was born.  He was the most perfect of all children I had ever seen.  We thanked God for giving us this child, but still I felt this disconnect with Him, this almost disgust for taking my girls.  I still wanted them back.  Having Ben was wonderful.  It filled the hole in my heart that had been left empty for so long, but it also reminded me of what could have been with my girls.  It was a battle in my head of happiness and sadness.  He was truly the best child anyone could ask for.  He is the most loving, caring, kind hearted boy in the world.  I have never met a boy more selfless than he is.  He is the child who gives up his brand new toy for the broken one to see another child smile.  Or try to get another boy to like the girl he does, because she likes him and it makes him sad that that boy doesn't like her back.  He has been giving his whole life.  He never meets a stranger either.  He has the best personality and will make instant friends with anyone.  We can't go anywhere without seeing someone who says "Ben Weathers!" no matter their age!  Kids of all ages at his elementary stand and talk to us for ages when we run into them at the store.  Teachers of his become life long friends of mine.  He is magnetic.  My life is going well for a year or so, until 2008, when my Dad suffers his aortic dissection.  My parents were separated at the time and things in my family were a little uneasy.  We came so close to losing him that day and I can remember praying again for the first time in a long time on the long drive up to Dallas.  He was in the hospital for so long and had a rough time, but made it through.  He suffered a stroke and was left with some permanent damage.  This further tested my faith in God.  My Dad didn't deserve this.  I flew home that morning and went straight to work.  After being there for an hour or so, a sharp pain tore through my back and I could not move.  I motioned to my office mate to get some help and next thing I know, paramedics are at my desk on the 13th floor to take me to the hospital.  After tests were run, it was determined that I had degenerative disc disease and had a severely herniated disc that would require surgery.  I opted not to have the surgery, but go the injection route, because Ben was so little.  I found a great doctor, that actually helped me for about a year.  During that time, Jason sweet talked me into having another baby and we were fortunate to get pregnant right away with our daughter Megan.  My pregnancy was easier at first but after a fall at 21 weeks, I began dilating and ended up at 3 centimeters.  I was crying again, begging God not to take this child too.  I couldn't bare another loss.  We did what was necessary to get her to 37 weeks and when she arrived, she was perfect.  I enjoyed my time off with her, but at my 6 weeks off was ready to return to work when I received a call from my boss.  I was being laid off.  This turned out to be a blessing in disguise because I was able to spend so much time with our children, more than I ever thought.  It wasn't long before my back was acting up again I was begging the doctor for surgery.  I was crying every day.  I could not dress my own kids in the morning.  I couldn't believe that God was doing this to me.  He had taken my children, given me these children, then robbed me of the joy of caring for them by riddling me with pain.  How could He do this to me?  By Christmas of 2010, my discs had collapsed and I was having surgery.  We had Christmas early that year, because the kids were old enough not to know any better and I spent Christmas in the hospital.  A lot of pain later, my back is in good shape.  Still never 100%, but so much better.  I feel good that I will be able to move on with my life and live normally finally.  A few months of feeling half way decent go by when I start to have pain elsewhere and develop some female issues.  I go to the doctor for tests and they can't figure out what is wrong.  A tumor in the brain, precancerous cells in my uterus, endometreosis covering my entire abdominal cavity, and much more.  Test after test after test I am put through again, then surgery after surgery.  All only to figure out what is wrong not fix it.  This is what is happening now.  I couldn't believe God was testing me AGAIN!   Haven't I proven that I am STRONG enough yet?  Haven't I proven my worth?  What more could He possibly want from me?  Then all of this happened.  My life was crushed.  I can take ANYTHING God can throw at me.  Anything.  I am stronger than strong.  I've had to be.  But the gloves are off now that He was attacking my child.  This wasn't fair.  He was hitting me below the belt.  I was so mad and had lost all of my faith completely.  How could there possibly be a God who would do this me?  Regardless of how I feel about God, one thing is for certain, I won't raise my kids without faith, so Ben has no idea that mine is wavering.  His is as strong as ever.  When he told Megan that day that God was in our hearts and he had a shield to protect us, that was the day, my faith began to turn around.  I had already started this blog as a way to let our extended family know about what was happening, but I had yet to share it with everyone on social media.  Ben was so thrilled to read all of the comments he was receiving, so that is when I decided what the heck, I'll post it.  Boy did those prayers start flowing.  Then when Ben wondered how many times God had heard his name that day, I literally went into the other room, got down on my knees, and prayed.  I had never done this before in my entire life.  I have prayed definitely, but I have never surrendered myself to prayer like this.  I have never allowed prayer to rush over me like that.  It was overwhelming, but also very necessary for me.  Sharing that experience with all of you felt good.  Hearing that all of you were praying for my baby felt great.  Knowing that God really was hearing Ben's name over and over felt amazing.  The power of prayer was starting to work it's magic.  That night before surgery, I barely slept, but I thought a lot about our girls in heaven.  I asked them to watch over their brother during his surgery and to please not let anything happen to them.  I told them that I loved them and that I would talk to them more often.  I had not done that in a long time because it caused me so much pain, but for the first time, I felt this joy and calmness.  There was a forgiveness about it all almost, from me, from them, from God.  Morning came and we headed into the hospital.  Ben was in good spirits, as usual, and when our cousin showed up and prayed over him, the feeling I had grew even stronger.  All of you prayed for us.  You left us comments, you donated to our family, you've visited us, you've called to check on us, you've helped us out so much.  The power of prayer is truly working it's magic.  When we were released today, rather than Monday, I was a little nervous at first, but felt ok going home because I knew Ben would be more comfortable.  So after waking and looking over at him, the first thought that popped into my head were my girls.  I laid here and thanked them for watching over their brother and told them that I loved them dearly.  That if I couldn't have them here with me, there was no better place for them than watching over us and protecting us from heaven.  As I lay here thinking about things, it all starts to make sense.  Everything that has happened to me has given me some experience to help me get through this time and to help my son get through this.  I used my back surgery as an example to explain how surgery was to Ben and that everything would be ok.  I used my experience with sepsis and kidney problems to make sure he got the care he needed.  I used my persistence to figure out what the problem is to help diagnose him.  I used my Dad's experience to be the first thing I shared on facebook in a long time opening the doors of communication for me.  But finally, I gave my children to God so that they could watch over my son and protect him from harm.  As I said, I can endure ANYTHING and I can.  If it means that my child does not have to feel pain, I will do it.  Well, right now Ben is sleeping.  He was able to come home two days early and he is asleep in my bed.  He hasn't moved.  He's been sleeping for 9 hours straight.  He is HEALING.  And its all a part of God's plan.  My faith has been restored.


A Mother's Love
You always hear everyone say how you won't understand what your mother has gone through until you become a mother yourself.  And how true it is.  You don't understand the joy a child brings, or the struggle of raising them wondering if you're doing the right thing, until you have your own.  Once you become a mother, your bond with your own mother becomes that much stronger, as there is an instantly deeper connection and an understanding in her eyes that tells you she's been there too.  All of us have called our mothers when we have questions or stories to tell about our babies.  Whether its something funny, or its an emergency, they are always just a phone call away.  My mother has been there for me through thick and thin.  She has moved into our home to care for me at times, she has taken care of my children, she has stayed at the hospital countless hours, without complaint.  I have always been grateful for her and her help.  She helped us do what was necessary to bring our children into the world.  There are no words that could ever express how grateful I am for that.  I've always known that she's worried about me, but being an adult while all this has gone on, I guess I never stopped to think that I am still her child.  While the last 13 years have been so very hard for me, these last few weeks have been the hardest of my life.  To watch your child in this much pain is the ultimate torture.  Even though you know it is necessary, it is so very hard.  Last night I started to think about my mom and how she must have felt all these years.  That even though I was going through all of that, she must have felt that she was being tortured as well, because she was having to helplessly watch it.  I've worried that Ben will have such horrible memories of this time.  I've only dwelled on the memories of my own for so long.  And to think now, what my mother must have been going through all those years, just breaks my heart.  I can't thank you enough Mom, for everything you've done for me.  I don't know what I would do without you.  I love you to the moon and back. 

Release

I have been awake most of the night, researching God, looking for other bloggers out there that may share my need for redemption.  I've found them in some of the most unique ways and I have found more than I ever thought possible.  I want to start this entry with a story about a friend of mine I recently met at my son's school.  She has a daughter in the same class as my son.  They had been going through this sort of love/hate relationship and, without knowing, each of us were giving the our children tips on how to help diffuse the situation between them.  She and I came together on field day.  We were the only two moms to show up and for the first time that year, we both spoke to each other.  I had been in a funk for over a year and had no desire to make new friends.  I had a hard enough time keeping up with the friends I already had.  We talked about our kids and how they "loved" each other at the age of 6 and laughed.  We quickly realized we had a few things in common, one included trouble conceiving.  We giggled about our similarities and led the kids outside to the playground.  While working our station, I asked her if she had any other children.  She said she had a 3 year old boy.  I laughed as I told her I had a three year old girl.  Then she said something that I will never forget.  She said she had two other children, but they were no longer with us.  I looked at her in shock.  I said, I also had two children that were no longer with us, twins.  She said she had twins too, boys.  I tell her mine were girls.  We start talking about them.  I start to tear up, because I NEVER talk about them, to anyone.  I tell her how it happened, she says she has a similar story, but what is the most amazing piece of the story is that I tell her it happened to me in 2004.  She says hers were also 2004, in March.  I say mine were in March too.  She says hers were March 21.  My heart sank.  I didn't know what to say.  I didn't even think I could speak to her anymore.  How could it be that we both lost our twins, the same exact day and here we were talking about it 9 years later.  We started to talk about our babies and how we hoped they held hands up to heaven.  Then I started to really think.  My son, loved her daughter.  They were the same age and he was determined to make her a part of his life, even at age 6.  Maybe her sons were taking care of my daughters in heaven.  Maybe they are forever playmates.  In the days that followed, we stayed on the phone, texting and talking about all of our similarities.  Her faith was stronger than mine, it seemed.  I envied that about her.  Over the next few weeks, we would create a friendship that will last a lifetime.  Meeting her has started this revolution in my brain.  It has made me believe God is still on my side.  So now I've spent all night following different people, for some reason or another, mostly on Instagram.  I didn't read much about any of them, just that they were strong in faith and I loved the pictures of their family.  So far this morning, two have posted pics with very long narratives about the struggles they are going through right now.  I didn't see that on their pics before.  Was God speaking to me through them?  I believe He is.  I was afraid to share this blog with the world, but I feel such an amazing release right now, that I my life has finally all come together and I can move forward without such sadness and hate in my heart for myself.  It's exhilarating!  I am wide awake and I haven't slept.  I could run 10 miles and I don't run, lol!  I want to join every church in the area, just to share my story.  I have signed up to volunteer at numerous children's homes and hospitals and at the Ronald McDonald House.  I am laying in bed with my sweet kids and am finally truly happy.  I am not afraid to be judged.  I have been released.

Faith

I've spent the last few days pouring my soul out, explaining my reality to those who have wanted to read it.  I wanted people to understand how that it's ok to talk about what you have done or felt in your past.  I was living in a world where I could not forgive myself for having the thoughts I was having.  I've faced a lot of trials since the loss of the girls and all the while have cursed God, blaming Him for what was happening to me.  I didn't want to believe anymore, but I also couldn't imagine a world where my girls were not living on, waiting for me to join them one day. It wasn't until recently that I realized how much of a hold satan had on me.  I have felt like my life was ok.  I'm not a complainer, even though I've been thrown more than my fair share of struggles.  I am strong and I can handle it.  The hits have always come at me.  But not this time.  This time, He came for my son.  I was so mad.  The gloves were now off and He was hitting below the belt.  He had already taken two of my children and now he is going to make my son sick.  How can this be?  With everyone worried about B, I decided to create a caring bridge site.  This was a HUGE milestone for me, because I never share anything publicly.  EVER.  To my surprise, B loved it!  He loved all the comments he was getting and all the well wishes.  This gave me an idea.  I decided to share it on Facebook.  I know, revolutionary, but for me it was huge.  I haven't posted on Facebook in years.  I especially never posted anything about my kids being sick and needing prayers.  As the comments came in, my son's face started to cheer up.  He was so happy that all of these people he didn't know were talking with God about him.  One night, he asked me "how many times do you think God has heard my name?" and I said "a lot."  At that very moment, I got up from our bed and walked into the other room.  I felt this overwhelming urge to pray.  I sat on the bed and bowed my head and started to pray, with tears flowing down my face.  Within seconds, I hit the floor and was on my knees.  Not long after that, I was completely doubled over, prayer rushing over me like never before.  I could hear God speaking to me.  Actually speaking to me.  I couldn't believe my own ears were hearing this, my heart was feeling this, my body was surrendering to this.  I have never had an experience like that in my life.  It was one of the most exhilarating, but unsettling things I have ever been through.  As I stood up, I wiped the tears from my face.  I knew God's hand was placed on my son that night and He would be protecting him during his surgery. 

I didn't expect what would happen next and what has been happening since.  I barely slept that night, but was up for the surgery bright and early.  My family was there with us as we waited for them to take B back.  It wasn't long before there was a knock at the door.  When the door opened, it was though an angel had appeared.  Our cousin, whom we haven't seen in a while, was there to pray with us.  He is a preacher.  He traveled about 2 hours to be there and he didn't know how much we needed him.  The next 3 hours we spent in the waiting room reminiscing with him and telling great stories about our children.  We had the entire waiting room listening to us.  God was definitely there.  As the hours passed, I was reminded of how fragile life is.  I have never been a parent in the waiting room.  I have always been a child being cared for, whether I was a child or an adult.  A selflessness was born that I've never had before.  We were given the good news that surgery went well and were sent to a room.  As we watched our child struggle with coming out of anesthesia, my heart broke.  I had promised him so long ago that I would never let anything happen to him.  I was breaking that promise.  He was in pain and he was confused.  It was so hard to watch.  The real break-through for me came the night we came home.  We were supposed to stay in the hospital for 3 days, but were sent home after 1 night.  We were skeptical but knew B wanted to go home.  As he lay there helpless in my bed, the first thought that came to my mind was my girls.  In an instant it all made sense to me.  13 years of pain and suffering all made sense.  I had been led down this path for so many different reasons, but all of which were coming together to make this one moment.  I felt that my girls had a purpose and that they were the ones guiding the surgeons and helping B through all of this pain.  For the first time in 9 years, I actually spoke to them out loud.  I told them that I loved them and that I was sorry for what I had done.  I felt free, finally of the guilt and burden that had haunted me all those years.  I knew they would always watch over our family, but I knew especially that they would always watch over their brother and sister.  My heart was full of love for the first time in a long time.  There was no hole left in the space that they should be.  They were finally real to me.  I have acknowledged that.  I have come to terms with what happened and I can't help but share my story.  I can only imagine how many other mothers are out there feeling the same way.  I knew that I had a purpose in life.  That purpose was to be the best mother to my two living children that I possibly could be and to find my way with God again.  I can't stop thinking of all the things I am going to do with this new found faith.  All of the places I will volunteer.  All of the people I might help.  I just want to spread the word, to shout it from the mountain tops that God is always listening to you.  Never give up hope and never lose your faith.  I only wish I hadn't. 

Darkness

The days that followed losing the girls were long, but the nights haunted me and seemed never ending.  I was in ICU, so there were no visitors allowed after visiting hours and I was left in a large room with all of these tubes coming out of me everywhere.  The only sounds were of the IV pump alarm, and the suction of those horrible leg things they make you wear to keep from getting blood clots.  I can remember laying there each night thinking what have I done.  People would come in and out and I would hear them and respond, but the only thing I can remember ever thinking was what have I done.  If I happen to fall asleep, even for one moment, I would quickly awaken to the sounds of babies crying in my head or the phantom kicks I was still feeling in my uterus even though it was empty.  Once I was well enough to move up to the next level of ICU, it was my mission to get out of the hospital.  I was put on the geriatric floor and the screams coming from the very old at night were unsettling, but comforting, because I knew I wasn't the only one losing my mind.  Once I made it home, the real pain hit.  The pain of being at home without kids.  The fear of never having that experience.  The hate for doing what I had done to my children.  I longed to know what they looked like.  Because I was so sick, and Baby A was already gone, we were not able to see them after they were born.  Everyone said it was for the best, but in my mind, it wasn't.  Even the worst image would have been better than nothing.  I could live with myself with at least one glimpse, but nothing?  I was left to stare at ultrasound pictures trying to visualize what they would have looked like.  I have a pretty clear picture of Baby A and can make out her face so well.  And a great profile of Baby B that is just stunning.  They were little babies.  I would scour the internet looking for any picture of a baby born at 21 weeks to try to piece together the images in my head.  This brought me to a lot of anti-abortion sites, which made it even harder to live with myself.  Our doctor had sent our babies off to be genetically tested straight from the hospital to try to find out if there was something that was going wrong genetically that was causing me to miscarry.  This bothered me even more as I didn't know what was happening to them or where they would end up.  They would never be given a proper burial.  They would probably just be dumped in the trash.  I hated myself even more.  I couldn't make anyone understand my dilemma.  There is no support group for grieving mothers who don't know what their kids look like.  I would have nightmares about autopsies and I would wake every night to babies crying.  Even to this day, I still wake up and hear them.  Especially, when the kids aren't here.  I finally decided to give them names and hoped that that would help me heal.  I had always known that Baby A would be Audrey Danielle, and we were torn on a name for Baby B, so I just decided that I would name Baby A, Audrey and Baby B, Danielle.  I never spoke of this, but it made them more real to me.  Everyone around had moved on, like it was a bad dream.  It was something that I could not forget.  Even though it had all happened, I needed something there to solidify that it was real, that they were real.  Every child that had passed before had been but a ball of cells, an empty sac, but these were actual babies.  Not that that made it any easier to deal with, but I had seen these children on ultrasound.  And I was just to pretend that they don't exist.  That they were not still my children.  To just carry on with life. 

Loss

One of the worst things in life to deal with is loss.  Loss of a loved one, loss of a pet, loss of a job, loss of hope, loss of happiness, loss of faith, loss of yourself.  When one happens, we tend to lose another.  Life becomes too hard to focus on the good.  The loss consumes you.  Never is this more true, than when you lose a child.  It is the struggle that trumps all struggles.  The only wound that time itself, will never heal.  Some losses are harder than others physically, but emotionally, we are all feeling the same thing.  I've known a lot of women in my life who have lost children at different stages of their lives.  Some have struggled with infertility, never making it past the first trimester, some have struggled with late term loss and still birth, and some have lost their children in early life or as a teen.  While we all have a story, our struggle is still the same.  We are mothers, who would do anything for their children, and we have failed.  We have failed ourselves as mothers, but most of all, we have failed to protect our children from harm.  For me, this was one of the hardest things I had to face in life.  When J and I started to consider a family, we never once thought it would be difficult.  I couldn't have been more wrong.  Years of struggling with infertility treatments, trying to get pregnant and never getting there.  The thought of getting pregnant consumes you.  It takes over your life.  I can tell you I had every tracker imaginable (and this was before apps or iphones).  I had created spreadsheets to help me figure out my cycle.  I was going through horribly painful tests, to see if there was an actual reason I could not get pregnant.  When I finally got pregnant, I could never stay that way.  I would go to my first doctor visit with my heart in my stomach, knowing deep inside that it wasn't meant to be this time, but too afraid to say it.  I can honestly say that every time I had a miscarriage, I knew, before the doctor told me, what he was going to say.  I lied to myself over and over and over trying to believe that I could do this, but my inner voice always telling me that I was a failure.....I wasn't meant to be a mother.  I would watch these people around me have babies, people that I felt didn't deserve them, as if I had some special quality that made me more deserving to be a mother than the next woman.  The thing that got me the most was the news.  I hated the news and all it brought into my mind.  People killing their babies, beating their babies, dumping their babies, and here I was empty handed.  Why was this so hard for me?  When I became pregnant with the twins, I had this feeling of pregnancy that I hadn't had before.  It was the hormones of both babies taking over my body, but it was definitely different.  At first, I thought, this one is going to work.  When we went to the doctor for our ultrasound, and saw two sacs, my doctor was not exactly thrilled.  I could see the worry in his face.  I knew then that it wasn't going to last.  Little did I know how easy things would be as the 12 weeks flew by.  I was amazed that this was going well.  Had I doubted myself so much that I was accustomed to it?  We knew the twins were growing at different rates, but they both seemed to be doing so well and thriving that we began to actually let ourselves believe we were finally going to be parents.  I started to allow myself to buy things here and there and for once, I was truly excited about being pregnant.  At 17 weeks, the bad news came.   I had some pains at work and my friend drove me to the doctor.  J met me there where I went right into ultrasound.  It showed that so far everything was ok, but I went straight to strict bed rest.  It wasn't long before I started to leak fluid.  The next ultrasound showed Baby A's sac had a small tear and was leaking.  She was the stronger of the two, so we were somewhat hopeful that I could make it.  I was at 19 weeks then.  Baby B was doing well, but very small compared to A.  The plan was to get me to 21 weeks, where I would then be hospitalized for the duration until they were born.  We knew they would be premature, but we weren't willing to give up.  I spent the next 2 weeks on the couch or in bed, doing what I needed to get through.  My mom moved in for the time being, to care for me.  I can remember it like it was yesterday.  We were watching a movie, when I decided I wanted to take a shower.  My back hurt so bad, but I never attributed it to labor.  While in the shower, I began to feel faint.  I opened the door and called out for someone and I vaguely remember getting to the bed.  I started to convulse and my temperature started to rise.  I began vomiting.  My mom and J got me to the car and drove me as fast as they could to the hospital, calling the doctor along the way.  I knew in the car ride that this was really bad.  They were able to get me stabilized, but after an ultrasound, told us that we had lost Baby A.  This was my strong girl.  I had seen her face so clearly on ultrasound just the week before.  I spent hours looking at it and watching my belly move with excitement.  How could it be?  I was so close.  20 weeks and 5 days.  Baby B was still alive, but I was going down hill fast.  This next decision is perhaps the biggest turning point in my whole life.  We were told that I would not be able to carry on with the pregnancy as I would lose my own life if we did, and Baby B was not far enough along to live outside of the womb.  As I write those last two sentences I know they are contradictory.  I was "told" I would not be able to carry on, but in my mind it was a "decision".  It was a horrible decision.  I was whisked away into an operating room and strapped down, I remember waking up to a blood transfusion and my family standing around.  It wasn't long before I was sent through to ICU.  I had sepsis, an infection of the blood, and my body was in shock.  I spent a long two weeks in ICU, struggling to live, but wanting to die.  I could only think of one thing.  What kind of mother am I that I am willing to choose my life over the life of my child's?  This was and still is irrational, but is still one of the hardest questions I struggle with today, even nine years later.  To say that I had lost all hope was an understatement.  To say I had lost faith, was the unbearable truth.  What had I done to deserve such a horrible punishment?  I couldn't help but see it that way.  If there was a god, why was he doing this to me?  Did I not pick the path he chose for me?  What was his plan, to hurt me until I decided I would no longer procreate?  There must be some horrible flaw inside of me that he doesn't want to let out.  He is willing to give babies to crack addicted mothers or to families that beat them, but not to me.  Dealing with that loss was so incredibly painful, that I began to shut everyone out.  No matter what was said, it was not right.  Some made worse comments than others, but overall, no one could make me feel any better about what I had done.  I wasn't talking, and no one was talking to me.  Everyone was and still is so afraid to say anything to me.  It is the only subject that I can not elaborate on with someone who hasn't lived it.  The hard part is, for those people who haven't lived it, they have no idea how it feels.  They have no idea that their words still stab you every time they speak.  They are just trying to help you.  To understand you.  This feeling of failure only grew once I had my son.  I'm sure everyone thinks that once you have a baby, you move on.  It would be like replacing your mother with someone else.  It's not the same.  Driving home from the hospital with him only reminded me of how many times I had left that hospital empty handed.  And how horrible I was for leaving my children there when they died.  I did not deserve this baby.  God was right.  How I managed to talk Him into letting me have a child was beyond me, especially since I had done nothing but curse Him for what He had made me become.  Maybe I'd made a deal with the devil in my dreams, because I had not restored my faith enough believe my son was given to me.  While B was the light of my life, he was also the ache in my heart.  I longed to hold my girls.  To have these moments with them.  Every milestone was a reminder, every touch was both loving and painful.  I have spent the last 9 years of my life, wondering what they would be doing now, how they would look.  I've also wondered how they could ever love me after what I had done. 

Fear

I must be honest and say that I am scared to share my story with "the world".  I know it's not really "the world" but once it's out there, there is no taking it back.  Anyone can find it and read it.  Everyone will know my feelings, my struggles, my secrets.  I keep going back and forth on whether or not I should do this.  I'm getting encouragement and discouragement from all sides.  I know that everyone goes through hardships in their lives, some harder than others, so why am I so much different?  What makes my story any more "inspirational" or "encouraging" than the next?  Or will I become the "over-sharer" that everyone talks about wondering why they share such personal feelings with anyone willing to read it?  I'm confused and at stand still with myself for now.  Since adulthood, people have sort of gravitated toward me with their problems.  I'm not exactly sure why, but in every job I've had I was always known as "the counselor".  It didn't matter what the problem was, whether it was boy or girl trouble, job trouble, kid trouble, you name it, they were coming to me.  I never understood it.  Still to this day, even after I've been out of work for so long, I've seemed to somehow become the fixer of the family.  I can always see both sides of an argument and I guess people appreciate that.  Over the last couple of years, I've built some really strong bonds with some of my family, helping them through their problems.  I'm very frank and honest when needed, but also very sensitive.  I guess that why people talk to me so freely.  These people have always opened up to me and told me how they were feeling and I basically encouraged them through and helped them rationalize the situation until they could come to terms with it themselves.  The thing is, I was never opening up to them.  I have built these bonds, but it's a one way bond.  My friends and family have trusted me with their emotions and I have not given that trust back.  I've opened up some, with a select few, especially in the past year, but I have never just unleashed all of my pent up anxiety, anger, sadness, and fear.  Why?  These are people I trust, right?  I love them dearly.  Why would I be so afraid to open up?  I think I've figured it out.  There is a layer of emotion that we all have, that we all feel safe sharing, whether we share it with everyone on facebook or our one closest friend.  I think when we've tried to explain the deeper layers, we've been shocked by people's reactions or worried about what people might think.  I've heard many people tell me that they've written journals when they've gone through things, and if someone read them, they would think they were crazy.  The thing is, you are not crazy.  Every single person has those feelings.  We all hide them from each other like it is some big dark secret and think that we must be the only one in the whole world who has ever felt this way.  I have been scared and ashamed of my thoughts and feelings for so long now, that I can't see myself holding them in any longer.  If it means that you judge me, based on what you read, then that is fine.  I am willing to be judged.  If it means that you talk about me after you read this, then that is fine too, because maybe, just maybe, that conversation will stir something up inside of you that makes you want to share your secrets too.  And if it inspires you or touches you, then all I can say is I love you.  For you have heard me and my story and you have not judged, only listened.  If it helps you at all, even if it's only to understand me more, then I have accomplished something.  Because if you understand me, you will understand a lot of women out there, struggling with their inner voice and so afraid to share it. 

A New Beginning for Me

I hesitate to start this blog, as it is not something that is comfortable to me, but since Ben's illness and surgery, it has almost become a necessary part of my life.  I have always been an extremely private person.  Never speaking of my feelings even to my close family or friends.  I have been through a lot in my life time.  More than most, but not as much as some, I guess you could say.  I never shared any of my experiences with anyone really.  I have always held on tightly to my feelings, afraid of what people might think or worse, what I might think of myself if I uttered them out loud.  I was afraid to forgive myself and afraid to believe in God again, after all that kept happening to me.  I never believed people when they said they had a moment with God, until I had my own.  It is something amazingly beautiful, but almost unsettling at the same time.  My stomach has been in knots since it happened.  Every time I think about it, I have that anxious feeling, but at the same time, I feel mended.  I feel whole.  I feel compelled to share everything I am feeling and going through with anyone who wants to hear it or read it.  I can't stop thinking and I can't stop writing.  So this blog is going to be a journey.  A journey of my past, of all the difficulties I have been dealt, but most importantly a journey of faith.  My hope is that if you or someone you know is going through or has gone through some of the harder struggles in life, that my experience might help you come to peace with yourself too.