Tomorrow

Well, it's almost here. Tomorrow is my due date. As with the rest of our journey, it comes with a lot of mixed feelings. Cohen will be 102 days old, which is almost unbelieveable. Tomorrow is the day that all of our hopes and dreams should have come through. We would have welcomed our two healthy baby boys into the world. We would have counted their fingers and toes and held them next to each other so we could see if they really did look alike. We would have had our family there to share in our joy. We would have passed the boys around so everybody could ooh and ahh over them. We would have put them in their matching "wombmates" onesies. We would have heard them cry when they were born. There would have been tears of joy. The day your children are born is supposed to be one of the happiest days of your life.

Honestly, the night the boys were born was one of the hardest days of my life. We were so afraid. And our worst fears came true. Our hearts were very heavy and full of pain as we said hello and goodbye to Carter and worried about whether Cohen would make it through the night. There were lots and lots of tears, tears of pain and sorrow. I didn't even know it was possible to hurt so much
I haven't talked about the night the boys were born very much. It's just too...fresh? Painful? Private? Heartbreaking? Blurry? I'm not quite sure. I didn't get to see either of my boys immediately after they were born. They were both whisked away to a separate room where they each had a team of people working on them. I didn't see them, I didn't hear them cry, I had no idea what was going on with them.

After about 20 minutes I remember a face coming in and peering at me as I lay on the operating room table and telling me that they had been working on Carter and it didn't look like he was going to make it. We haven't talked much about what happened with Carter that night until recently. There are things that I just haven't thought to ask until now. I think my mind couldn't take dealing with any more emotions until recently. In some ways, I think I was spared some trauma in not having to see them working on Carter. Danny says it is the worst thing he has ever seen in his life. He says that he is glad that I didn't have to see it. That he doesn't know if it would have made things easier or harder for me.

I never got to see my son alive. I didn't get to hold him or be with him when he died. I desperately wish I could have been there for him. It breaks my heart that I didn't get to be with him as he passed from this life into the next.

I think one of the most difficult things about losing a child is losing dreams. We had so many hopes and dreams for our boys. When I lost my Gramma almost 4 years ago, I was devastated. But, I was able to celebrate the memories that I had with her. She lived a good life and I am so thankful for the time I got to spend with her. When a baby dies, especially shortly after birth or before they are born, there just aren't those memories to hold onto. My memories of Carter consist of 5 months of pregnancy, the day of, and the day following his birth. All I have left of my son is a notebook of his pictures and a small box filled with little things from the night he was born. His hand and footprints. A few tiny hairs from his head. A little shirt that they put on him. The tape measure they used to measure his length and his head.

I remember someone bringing Carter to me and putting him in my arms just as they were about to wheel me from the OR to my room. I remember sobbing. I didn't care who was watching or what was going on. All I knew was that I had lost my son. I didn't even know it was possible to feel so much pain or to cry so hard. It felt like my heart was being torn out of my chest. It felt like an awful dream that I would have given anything to wake up from. As I looked at my perfect, tiny baby boy I was sure he was just sleeping. He looked like he was taking a nap and that at any moment he would wake up. We stroked his fingers, admired his toes, and looked at his scant amount of hair. He never woke up. I would have given anything in the world to see my baby wiggle his fingers, open his eyes, yawn and stretch or to hear him cry. Parents aren't supposed to outlive their children. Losing a baby sucks.

Having a baby is wonderful. Having a miracle baby who has fought through tons of terrible things makes him even more special. Cohen makes me smile. When I hold him, I just can't believe how much I love him. I love his fluffy hair when I brush it. I love the dimple on his right cheek. I love that he always smiles at the appropriate times as if he knows exactly what we are talking about. I love when his daddy falls asleep holding him. I love his chubby hands and feet. I love his kissy lips face that he makes. I love that he is a fighter. I love that he is a twin and that we get to tell him about his brother. I love both of his chins. I love him so, so much and I hope we can be the parents that he deserves.