A Normal Evening

Sitting around the bridge table I inherited from Nana, playing cards: Mom, Dad, me and Bruno. We're cracking jokes and being silly, high on the adrenaline of competition, not to mention sugar from the ice-cream. Mom and I dip our spoons directly into the chocolate sauce. Mom has it all over her teeth and we all poke fun at her sloppy mouth.

I have a whisper of guilt, but just a whisper: we haven't mentioned the boys tonight. And I decide it's alright. Looking at my father's smiling face (he's losing, and he's not even being grouchy about it), looking at my husband's relaxed brow, my Mom's chocolatey smile, I decide it's alright to be normal for once. To have an evening where our grief isn't center stage, the main event. Where eggshells are abandoned, crunched on, even. My father tells a story and I start to laugh, really laugh, and I could almost cry with how nice it feels to catch a glimpse of our New Normal.

Free Floating Anxiety

Walking around this afternoon with the sensation of waiting for the other shoe to drop. A shakiness inside, as if I'm cold. Deep sighs that don't end in relief. My stomach is full with not much in it, but my mouth, my tongue want something they can't identify. Chocolate milk, usually a fail-safe, doesn't do the trick.

Waiting for the mail to arrive, the in-box to fill, the cell to buzz with messages. Dreading the phone to ring: direct contact, yikes! Picking up the phone to call: no answers anywhere. I don't leave messages.

Nervous like I've forgotten something. Nervous like there is something I was supposed to have done, supposed to be doing right now. Another sigh.

I'm supposed to be raising my boys. That's what I'm supposed to be doing right now.

Bawling all over the Neighbor

Yesterday, I was pulling out of the driveway to head to a yoga class, in a pretty foul mood. It seems that from around 4-6 each day, if I am not actively involved in something, my mood takes a pretty nasty dive. I was attempting to pull myself out by going to yoga, but as I am backing the car out of the driveway, my neighbor and her two kids on their Razor scooters appear and flag me down. Oy. I'm in such a bad mood, and she seems so nice. This isn't going to end well, I'm thinking. I roll down the window, and then decide that is downright rude, so I turn off the car and hop out. She tells me she has been meaning to stop by, she's sorry she's been so remiss. I mumble something about how we've been busy setting up the place. She comes closer and tells me if there is anything I need I should definitely come by, she'd be happy to help with whatever. Oft. Here it comes. I can feel it. She's being too nice to me. You can't be this nice to me when I only have a fingernail grip on propriety. And...I'm bawling. Bawling all over the neighbor. Bawling in front of her two kids. I manage to squeak out that we just lost our twin sons at six months into the pregnancy, and that I'm sorry for being such a public mess. And G-d bless her, without missing a beat, she steps toward me, gives me a hug and starts crying too. Wow. She says I must be so strong, and she's sorry this happened, and simultaneous to the move too. She invites me to come on a walk with her and her kids in the park. I tell her that apparently I really need this yoga class, but I'd love to take a raincheck. Then she invites me to come over later that evening: she and another neighbor always drink wine and watch Dancing with the Stars on Mondays. And I hear myself saying yes.

And I do go over. I leave Bruno enjoying the house to himself. I walk out our front door clutching a Trader Joe's Really Cool Wine Find, and, one door down, I approach a new front door. I meet the other neighbor. I ask questions about the show. I drink wine. I make jokes. I tell stories, and some of them make us laugh, and some of them make us somber. I ask questions and listen to their stories. I hear neighborhood gossip. Juicy gossip. I am relaxed. I am having fun. I am invited back for next week. I am walking through a new door.

-L

Mondays

Arrggh. Monday's are hard. My buddy goes back to work, and I'm left with all my feelings and only mundane "we've moved" tasks to occupy myself, like setting up new health insurance, new doctors, figuring out where the grocery stores are and how to DRIVE to them (I'm having a serious battle with this whole car culture thing. I am incredibly challenged in the "sense of direction" department. Like brain damaged challenged.) Bleah.

OK, feeling sorry for myself. Today I successfully set up Bruno's direct deposit, our new health insurance and FSA and all that jazz, arranged for old Dr's offices to fax things to new Dr's offices, got in a tax estimate to our accountant (we dropped out of the whole estimated taxes thing for a bit there: this could hurt now), planned meals for the week, went to Costco and TJ's (and only got lost once and didn't even cry and rant and rave in the car; instead I sent Bruno a whithering text about our AWOL GPS while stopped at a red light). It is all domestic garbage, but someone's got to do it, and atleast I'm getting some stuff done instead of sitting with my face in a tub of ice-cream like I'd like to (OK, I did take an ice-cream pig-out break, but I ate it with a spoon, and someone said full-fat milk products are good for fertility.)

Ok, this is better. I've made myself smile, and hopefully made anyone else reading this smile too. I'm off to a yoga class.

Peace,
Lisa

DD-Day: A Day of Miracles

What an amazing surprise. Today was a day full of miracles.

Last night was not a night full of miracles. Last night was a night of me behaving badly and Bruno being very patient, and then less patient, and then, thankfully, there was sleep.

But today.

We woke, and decided, yes, we would drive to Mendocino but, no, we weren't yet sure whether we would scatter the boys' ashes. We brought the beautiful green urn that currently holds them and our pictures of them, and headed up the coastal route.

We were met with a stunningly beautiful day, and that awe-inspiring California Pacific Coast scenery. We talked together, and were quiet together (and bickered together: whaddaya gonna do?) while the mountains and the redwoods and the cliffs and the waves and the blue sky rolled by. We talked about what the ashes meant to us, and where and how we currently experience the boys. I no longer think of them as infants; they feel like wise old souls to me. I don't think I believe in an after-life or reincarnation, and yet I see Pedro and Archer everywhere, including in the two squirrels who frolic daily in our backyard . It's a paradox I'm willing to live with. (The black squirrel is Pedro Squirrel and the gray one is Archer Squirrel: don't ask me why, but it just feels right)

We arrived at the botanical garden in Mendocino four and a half hours later having made no decisions. As we started down the garden path, Bruno turned to me and asked: are you scared? Yes. We walked straight through to the part we were aiming for: the place where the gardens become cliffs that end in the Pacific Ocean. It is a truly gorgeous vista: forest and garden behind you, cliffs, waves, rocks, spray and sun ahead. The noise of nature muffles everything else. We sat for a bit and thought some more, and then arrived at this decision: no, we weren't ready to part with everything we had physically left of our first children. And we also wanted to start to let go, not of them, but of this pain, this grief. To start to give them back to the Universe. So we scattered some of the ashes on this lovely spot and watched the wind return our boys to the air and the earth and the sea. And we will scatter some ashes in a different lovely spot each year to commemorate their brief existence in this world. And it felt right. It felt like an opening up, a loosening of grip, a sharing with the Universe.

We were walking back toward the garden exit, when into our sight swooped two dragonflies. They hovered for a second together, then flew off into a side section of the garden. I immediately burst into tears: we carry two dragonfly charms on our car keys to symbolize P+A. Bruno held me (and whispered gently into my ear that I should try to stop making a scene!) We followed the dragonflies, and ended up in a corner filled with hydrangeas, blue hydrangeas: our wedding flower. Miracles.

As we left the garden, we were seeing twos everywhere: two doves took off from in front of our feet, two birds separated from a pack winging overhead. We drove to the town center of Mendocino to have dinner, walked down to the waterfront and arrived at the exact moment the sun was slipping down behind the mighty Pacific. And we walked back up the street, a single hummingbird stopped and hovered right in front of our noses before heading on her way. A whisper of the future? Miracles.

After a lovely dinner and a cozy nap all the way home (thanks, B!) I am left with a surprising sense of gratitude, something I NEVER expected to feel on this day. I am grateful I got to carry Pedro and Archer and know them for the time that I did. I am grateful for my beloved husband, who is so full of integrity and honesty and compassion. I am grateful for every one of our fantastic family and friends who have helped us face this tragedy and give us daily the courage to keep walking through it. And I am grateful to the Universe for giving us a day of miracles today.

More soon, and love always,
Lisa

The Night Before DD-Day

DD-Day: due date day.

Tomorrow, Nov 15th, was our due date for Pedro and Archer. We've been out of the hospital for three months now. In addition to all our apprehension and grief about tomorrow, we are also blown away by how long pregnancy is. We feel like it was forever ago that we held Pedro and Archer in our hands, and yet only now are we reaching the date at which they would have been full term. Wow.

Our thought for how to spend tomorrow was to scatter the boys' ashes: to send them out into the world on the day they were due to enter it. In reality, I'm not sure we're ready. We've been trying to land on the right location; we both like the idea of a botanical garden in Mendocino that looks out over the Pacific Ocean. But it is a 3 hour drive, and it feels really far away if we want to "visit" the boys. And the finality of it: once those ashes are out there, there is no getting them back. We're not sure we're ready to commit to a place, ready to say another kind of goodbye. So we may spend the day in nature but keep they boys' ashes with us for a while longer. Forgive me if this is too much information. If it is, feel free to skip to the next paragraph. Actually, maybe I will too.

I think the last time I wrote, Bruno and I were about the launch out of the family nest into a nest of our own. So much has happened since then. We camped out in our empty new house for about a week, and then our stuff arrived, tattered and torn and minus the legs to our dining room table, but let's call that water under the bridge at this point. (We received so many creative ideas about what to use in place of the missing legs that we were almost disappointed when they finally arrived) We are now unpacked and rattling around this big California house with our small NYC furniture, calling to each other from different wings of the house and smiling at each faint echoing. The tiki room is shaping up spectacularly, and was recently the host to a fire-lit, sweet and savoury pancake breakfast put on in honor of our friend Michelle's visit. Maybe some time I'll post the recipe!

Bruno and I both started working again: I have my first tutoring student, a lovely guy preparing to take the GMAT. Bruno did a phenomenal job with his job search and ultimately chose to work as the vice president for a start-up. He is really excited about the company and the people he'll be working with. I'm so proud of him: in addition to everything we are going through, this was a really scary time to be out of work, but he hung in there and found the next right thing for him. So far, we are both finding that being back at work now (three months later) feels right: it is helpful to have concrete things to focus on and prepare for.

We still attend HAND meetings, and they are still incredibly helpful. Since we started with the group, new couples have started attending, so we are now able both to learn from and take comfort from those further along the path than we, and give comfort and hope to couples just starting. It is amazing how sharing one's thoughts and feelings and hearing those of other people going through the same thing is so helpful. I guess that's why I get so much out of writing these updates. Thanks again for reading and, when you feel moved, for responding.

This is probably enough for a first post. We are beginning to find our "new normal". I still cry pretty much daily, but the feelings are much less violent. The near-constant rage, self-loathing, disgust, grief and despair of the early days has mellowed into individual moments of sadness, of profound loss, of missing my sweet boys, and of fear. Fear about whether I'll be able to achieve and hold on to another pregnancy, fear of infection in general, fear of infection specifically from the California menace: the ants that traipse across my kitchen counter and make me dream of toxoplasmosis (the previous owners had a cat that I'm sure pooped in the yard which the ants walk through...). I think one of the long lasting remnants of this tragedy for me will be an obsession with infection. Ah well. I'll find a way to make it funny and put it on the stage.

All love and more soon,
Lisa

Reentry Update (September 23rd)

(This is an e-mail I sent before I started this blog)

Hi folks,

I'm imagining this might be the last "update" in this sort of mass form: I think we're about ready to start answering your wonderful e-mails of support individually. Progress.

We are safely home from Croatia, where we had an emotional, but ultimately restful time. It was great to see Bruno's parents, although I found the language barrier particularly challenging this time. My brain just didn't have enough juice to find my Croatian. The island was beautiful as ever, and we spent our days swimming in the sea, working on the house and walking to and from town. At first, I think both of us were challenged by how lovely and lazy slow everything is there. Sort of a "how can beauty still exist in the world", combined with an "I don't like the thoughts that come in my head when I have time to think" sort of thing. But as we let that go, I think we did find our way into allowing ourselves to fall apart a bit and then be buoyed by the sea and bronzed by the sun and come back a bit more into both physical and emotional health. Certainly swimming every day and doing yoga on the porch did wonders for my feet, which I think I complained about in the last update.

We have been back now for two weeks, and are living with my parents, who moved from MD to CA while we were overseas. They have a fabulous house where we are totally underfoot and they are being very very gracious about it. Can you imagine housing two bereaved people who are basically walking emotional time bombs while you are in the middle of moving for the first time in 30-something years? Kudos to us all for still liking each other two weeks later.

Bruno has done something which I think is a miracle: he has re-started his job search. I can barely leave the house some days, and he is out there contacting people, going for meetings and interviews. And he had contacted many of these people before all of this fell out, so they ask how my pregnancy is going, and during the interview he has to explain our sad story, and then somehow help them to feel it is OK to continue: I don't know how he is doing it, and I am so proud of him I could burst (I didn't show him this part of the e-mail: he wouldn't have let me send it if he had seen it!)

I spend my days right now exercising like mad and cooking healthy food for everyone. I've regained a lot of my strength, if not my balance (physical and mental), and I've dropped 20 pounds in the 8 weeks its been since their births. 20 more to go. When not exercising, I like to throw myself into someone else's problems, like say, my parents' unpacking. Last week, I marched into their office/guestroom, opened each and every box and dumped their contents onto the floor, got rid of all the boxes and then called my parents into the room and told them to put all the stuff away. I don't know how my father didn't kill me.....

Oh, and I found us a place to live (how traditional of us: Bruno is taking care of work while I take care of the home). It is a sweet 3br/2ba house on a tree-lined street. It has a front and backyard filled with rosebushes and hydrangeas, an orange tree and a fig tree, a raised platform on which I plan to make a potted garden, and The Tiki Room, a three-quarter enclosed outdoor space with a brick fireplace, and walls lined with bamboo, hence our nickname. It is very tacky and very us. Inside, the place is lovely with a tiled entryway, an L shaped living room/dining room with hardwood floors, an entirely white, country kitchen with plenty of room and a pantry my niece Sophia is going to love to hide in (she's into hiding in dark closets just to be alone with her thoughts), a large master bedroom with a really grown up master bathroom (marble and dark wood and a fancy shower: they even hung a chandelier in there, which cracks us up), a guest room/future baby room, bathroom number two complete with 1950's pink and yellow tile, and then, the prize of the house: the third bedroom is separated from the rest of the house (built out of the garage), painted avocado green, with a beautiful round window: the sound-proof studio Bruno promised me when I agreed to move to California. I think we can find happiness here.

Thoughts like the one above are beginning to poke through, which is just great. Then other moments, each of us weep, overwhelmed by the reality of losing our children, our hopes and dreams for them. We have been attending HAND meetings (healing after neo-natal death) and they help. It is still a roller coaster, moment to moment (not even day to day yet). But we are keeping on, and grateful to each other and to our friends and families for the love and the belief that we can heal that they keep sending our way.

Love to you all, and please keep staying in touch. -Lisa and Bruno