grief

The Day My Babies Died

He was perfect. Yes, at fourteen and a half weeks, perfect. He had his Pawpaw’s feet and already looked so much like his big brother. At first, it was confusing. He didn’t look sick, he was beautifully formed. I kept thinking, “just put him back. He will be fine.” My mind just couldn’t wrap itself around the fact that one minute I was happily pregnant with triplets and the next minute I was holding a tiny, lifeless baby in my arms.

A few weeks later, I found myself living the nightmare once again. In the early hours of the morning, I once again held a tiny baby who no longer drew breath. This time there were two. Two more beautiful little boys who never got to run, play, or grow old. Just like that my womb was empty and my heart was shattered.

What I didn’t know then was that one in four women will experience the loss of their baby. While each story is unique, there is one thing we share. Those of us parenting after loss will so often be taken back to the day our baby died. A moment of joy or grief will sweep in and transport us back to that moment we lost everything.

I’ve come to realize that as hard as I try, I can’t go back to the day before my baby died. I search my memories for that naive happiness I once felt, but it is no where to be found. When your baby dies you experience things that will forever change you.

On the day my babies died…

Our son’s little brothers died. All of the snuggles, disagreements, wrestling matches, and hugs they would share disappeared.

I felt my babies kick inside my womb even though they had been gone for hours.

Milk leaked down the front of my hospital gown while I sobbed and begged for someone to make it stop.

I begged God to take my life instead.

My husband put aside his pain to comfort me. On the outside he was calm and steady, but on the inside he was flooded with rage and heartache.

I sang ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’ to each baby as I held them tight and committed every detail of their tiny faces to my memory.

A woman I’d never met covered my babies with a blanket and rolled them away for the last time as I stared in disbelief.

A thousand other memories from that day will stay with me for all my days.

You see, my babies weren’t all that died that summer. The “me” I was before died too. I’m not the mom, wife, or person I was before their lives were cut short. Ten years later I’m still not sure if I’d say something broke inside me or if the grief simply unleashed something that was there all along. The death of my babies forever changed me.

In a way, I am stronger. When facing challenges, big and small, I often channel the strength I used to pull myself out of that dark, lonely time. I remind myself that whatever I’m facing could never be as bad as losing my children. I literally survived the worst, so daily battles don’t discourage me.

I’m also grateful for every moment I have with my children. I don’t mean to imply that people who haven’t experienced loss aren’t, but I look at my four boys every day and know without a doubt that I am blessed beyond measure. On the days that being a mom seems to be just too much, I remind myself that it is a privilege to parent these sweet little people.

I share this now because it matters. It matters to the woman, who as I type, is sitting in a hospital bed as her baby draws his last breath. It matters to the woman who can’t get out of bed because the pain is too much. It matters to the man who is fighting for his marriage because he and his wife don’t know how to communicate with each other with the grief that is so raw and new. It matters to the older couple who wonder what their daughter might have been doing if she would have had the chance to grow into an adult.

As I held my boys those warm, summer mornings, I promised each of them I would share them with the world. Their impact in this life is different than I had hoped, but so very important. If sharing my story provides comfort to even one person experiencing pregnancy or infant loss, then it is a story that deserves to be told.

I want survivors of pregnancy and infant loss to know it is okay to be changed by the experience. It is okay to handle the grief any way that they see fit. Each story of loss is filled with unique twists and turns. There is no one-size-fits-all way to handle the loss of your child.

In short, I want them to know they are not alone.

When I Hear the Word “Abortion”

For weeks my social media feed has been swarmed with conversations surrounding abortion. I’ve read articles discussing the horrors of late-term abortion, angry pleas to legislators to reconsider new abortion laws, and stories of women who ended the life of their child for a host of different reasons.

I’ve often thought of what I might add to this conversation. For so long I thought it would be Johnny’s story I would use to share my thoughts on abortion. I would tell of the beautiful, perfectly formed baby boy that I held in my arms after a mere 14 weeks and 5 days gestation. Our first tiny triplet son that I delivered at home that warm summer morning was just that…perfect. His long fingers and toes reminded me of his Pawpaw. His sweet face looked as though he was merely taking a nap. Never mind the fact that he fit into the palm of my hand. I wanted everyone to see that he was already a baby in every sense of the word even at 14 weeks. How could anyone abort their baby if they could see how “human” they are so early on in pregnancy?

That’s the story I thought I would tell. But sitting here today, when this topic is weighing on so many people’s mind, I find myself finally ready to tell an entirely different story.

Over the years I have shared about our struggles with infertility, the loss of our triplets, parenting after loss, and our journey with adoption. I have chosen to be open about every detail of my walk through motherhood in hopes of supporting someone else that might be navigating a similar path. There is one story I’ve never shared, though. I’ve never shared Asher’s story. Not the whole story anyway.

There are four words I have always left out of his story. Four words that I’ve never spoken out loud or so much as typed onto my computer screen.

I had an abortion.

Saying it, even now, sounds strange. I argue that he was one of the most wanted little boys in the entire world. I had been flat on my back fighting for his life for 16 days before making the decision. The decision that ended his life.

I had made it to 17 weeks pregnant with our remaining two triplet sons after Johnny’s passing. I had never wanted something as badly as I wanted them to survive. But in the early hours of the morning, Jaxsen couldn’t be held inside any longer, even through the stitches placed carefully to prevent his birth. I was sick. Horribly sick. An infection coursed through my body, and the babies and I wouldn’t all be able to survive the cards we had been dealt.

I’m often taken back to the moment when the doctor stood over my bed telling my husband and I that I needed to be rushed into surgery, but that our final baby would likely not survive. It plays back in slow motion now eight years later. I can still see my husband’s head solemnly nod in agreement before I blacked out.

I woke up hours later after surgery and knew my womb was empty. I wasn’t conscious when Asher was taken from my body. He is my only baby I don’t remember delivering. One minute he was safe inside my belly, and then he was gone. The weeks and months that followed were gut-wrenching, empty, and numb.

It wasn’t until months later that I even thought about what really happened that day. I was sifting through a pile of mail, when I ripped open yet another medical bill. As I read through the insane charges, I realized what I was being billed for. My abortion. I trembled in horror as I read the words. It must be some mistake. Who was playing this cruel joke on me?

You see I never really thought about the fact that my husband and I had chosen my life over our son’s. It’s true that he just could not have survived at such a young gestation, yet he wasn’t born under his own terms. A doctor removed him from my womb to save me. He was still alive and well until the procedure. Medically what I had done was just that, an abortion.

I bet that when my friends share articles about abortion online they don’t imagine the range of emotions someone like me might be feeling. When I read the word “abortion” my head starts to swirl. I question the decision we made in the hospital that morning. I know that no one looks at me, the mom of four, as someone who has been affected by abortion. Strangers could never see the pain and devastation that I carry with me always.

I know those close to me would never judge me, but I worry for women that do not have a support system. What message do these accusatory, no room for discussion articles send to women who have no choice about their child’s future. What do they say to the young woman who truly feels like abortion is her only choice?

I guess I’m confused with my feelings about abortion. I’ve never been one to judge someone for such a deeply personal decision, but I am also horrified at the thought of terminating a pregnancy without medical necessity. Am I pro-life? Am I pro-choice? My thoughts start to blur when I think about where I stand on such an important issue.

I do know that no two abortion stories are the same. I know that some might say I don’t have the right to share my story because it “isn’t that bad.” But my baby died because of a decision I made. Whether I had an option or not, I will carry that choice with me forever.

I share this story now because I think it is important. I share it for the fact that it might matter to even one other person. Maybe a mother out there can relate to my feelings of regret about the decision I made. Maybe a woman needs to know that there is life after abortion. I will carry the hurt with me always, but I have found a way to have peace and happiness in my life once again. Maybe they can too.

Most importantly, I hope to illustrate the point that maybe abortion isn’t as black and white as we wish to make it. Perhaps it is a debate with no resolution in sight. What I do know is that if we navigate the conversation while keeping our hearts open and full of love for the very people that are connected to the tiny humans we wish to save, we might just help more than we hurt.

A Rainbow After the Storm

In honor of National Rainbow Baby Day today, I want to share the story of my rainbows. I want to tell the world about the babies that healed my shattered heart. The little boys who saved a woman from sinking into a grief so deep that there might have been no return. I want to tell you how I’m still standing after the storm.

Eight years ago I was early in my motherhood journey with a beautiful two-year-old that we finally had after facing infertility. We had battled infertility a second time and by the grace of God I was carrying a set of triplet boys. The sun was warm on my face as I breathed in the summer air.

One day a storm started brewing in the distance. It brought with it the death of one of our triplet sons. The storm raged for sixteen long days and nights before it claimed the second and third triplet. I was strong and steady in the storm, but in the end was no match for it’s destruction.

My husband and I clung desperately to the only sunshine we could see, our two-year-old son. I’ve written before about the amazing ability he had to make me want to stay on this Earth when I thought of nothing but going to be with my angels. He was the baby that gave me a worry free pregnancy and delivery. I was naive to the hurt and pain of losing a child when I carried him. I refer to those first two years of parenting as the “before.” In the “after” he has continued to be one of the most beautiful parts of my life.

However, this isn’t his story I share today. This story is about the babies that came after the storm. The three little boys who put the color back in our lives.

Two years after losing our triplets I was in a hospital bed hearing the long awaited first cry of our first rainbow baby. We had once again faced infertility, but also a scary surgery, and nine long months of wondering if he would survive. Every morning that he was inside my womb, I put my hands on my belly and asked God to save him. I begged for a chance to deliver a living baby. In those days I would have traded anything to give my first son a sibling.

The moment I realized that our rainbow baby was drawing breath.

Our amazing rainbow baby began to heal my heart in those first moments of his life. My body hadn’t failed me this time. I had protected this baby and he was going to live. And live he has. He has continued to be a light in our lives for the past six years. He is his big brother’s best friend, and a ball of energy that keeps our house full of loud noises and excitement.

Amazingly, I gave birth to our second rainbow three years later. And guess what? Four weeks ago today, we adopted our third rainbow baby to complete our family. A woman came into our lives unexpectedly and just knew we were suppose to be Mom and Dad to her baby. So here we are with four perfect boys in our arms, and three angel boys in Heaven.

I would be lying if I said that I came out of the storm as strong as I went in, but here I am living my best life. Four little boys get to be loved by a woman who was once broken and lost, but is now standing in the sunlight once again.

Our sunshine baby, as we call our first son, and these three rainbows have put the color back into our world. You can find my husband and I shaking our heads and wondering how all this happened in just ten short years. How did we come so close to losing it all and end up with cups overflowing?

The only answer I have is that we survive the storm one day at a time. We allow ourselves to feel the pain of loss while also giving ourselves permission to feel the joy.

Our rainbows don’t negate the storm, but add hope and beauty to a story that is still being written.

Why the New Movie “A Quiet Place” Made Me Cry

Warning…significant spoilers ahead for the movie A Quiet Place, so if you haven’t seen it, go get a ticket today!

My husband and I decided to get a sitter and go see A Quiet Place last night. I had no clue what the movie was going to be about because my husband heard that it was best to see it without knowing too much. Of course I was up for any excuse to eat an entire bucket of popcorn, so off we went.

The movie is about a family that must be silent in order to survive. The evil creatures in the movie hunt and kill anything that makes sound. You can imagine the implications this has for a family with three children. This part of the plot alone made me sick. I’ve tried to keep three boys silent…it isn’t possible. My first thought was that our entire family would have met our demise in about two minutes. Anyway….

In the first few minutes of the movie, their youngest child is killed because the toy he is playing with makes a loud sound. I feel like the writers of the movie did a commendable job portraying the grief and guilt the rest of the family felt. As a mother who has lost a child (three in my case), I am obviously always super sensitive to child loss. I was pretty much mush from the beginning of the movie to the end, as the death of their son was a driving-force in the movie.

The couple conceives another baby, and ultimately the mom delivers a healthy baby boy. She goes to great lengths to keep the baby quiet and undetected by the creatures.

The scene that left me audibly sobbing in the theater occurred just after she delivered the baby. Her husband finally made it to her side, and she instantly started reliving the death of her son.

I’m sure the group of teenagers surrounding my husband and I in the theater probably thought I was ridiculous. I would guess that most people would have been thinking about the impending return of the murderous creatures, but not me. I sat there and choked back sobs because I had been where this woman in the movie was right then.

Emily Blunt and John Krasinski star in the Paramount Pictures production.

I so clearly remember looking down at my precious Gavin in the minutes after his birth. He was born two years after my triplet sons passed away. I had prayed every day of my pregnancy for Gavin to live, and when he came out breathing it was a surreal moment. I was overwhelmed with thankfulness and joy. However, I was also overcome by grief and longing for his older brothers. Just like the mom in the movie, I was blindsided by my feelings of failure to protect my children.

The character in the movie mentions that her hands were free at the time of her son’s death. She blamed herself for not holding him and keeping him safe. She agonized over what she could have done differently to save him. I too have done the same. For years I have recounted the events surrounding my sons’ death and tried to think of how I could have saved them. There is no greater pain I will survive in my life than knowing I just couldn’t make them live.

My husband and I talked on the way home about the way we “saw” the movie. We wondered if anyone else was sitting in that theater feeling the kind of gut-wrenching pain we were while watching the scene unfold onscreen. Were there any other people in that theater that are also parenting after loss? We’ll never know for sure. What we do know is that we aren’t alone. There will be thousands of parents who will sit in a theater and see this movie. Some, like us, will be taken back to the grief of losing their child. They will shed silent (or in my case not entirely silent) tears as they feel that pain deep inside.

I’ve come to understand that people like us are forever changed by the loss of our children. We will never be truly whole again. No matter the age of their child, or the circumstances surrounding their death, a parent becomes something entirely different after their loss.

I am so pleased that a Hollywood movie tackled this delicate situation with transparency and raw emotion. It is important that parents who are grieving the loss of their child know that they are not alone. Simply seeing a character go through this on screen made me feel a little more normal. Like maybe I’m not the only Mom in the world who still feels broken years after her children’s death. My grief is part of my story, and oddly enough I wouldn’t change it for the world. As long as I still feel the pain from time to time, my boys will live on in my heart.

What ‘This is Us’ Got Right About Pregnancy Loss

I have to admit that the when I first heard about NBC’s hit show ‘This is Us’ I had no intention of watching it. When a friend told me that there were triplets involved, and one of them passed away in the first episode, I knew it would just be too close to home for me.

After all, I’ve been the woman who had three babies growing inside of her at one time. I’ve been the woman saying goodbye to one of my triplet sons all while fighting to keep the other two babies safe inside.

However, this is where my story took a different turn. In the show the family has two surviving triplets and ends up adopting a third baby as well. My husband and I walked out of the hospital with nothing but three little memory boxes. We went home with no babies to care for, no joy in our hearts, and not much to say to one another. To say we were shells of our former selves just wouldn’t do that pain the justice it deserves.

I have now watched every single episode of ‘This is Us’ and I have to say that I am pleasantly surprised with the way they have portrayed pregnancy loss. This week one of the main characters suffered the loss of her baby early on in pregnancy. The episode carefully illustrated the pain of both the mother and father of the baby. Since my loss over seven years ago, I haven’t found many television shows or movies that have done a great job of even scraping the surface of the emotions and experiences surrounding pregnancy loss. I am so thankful for a hit show that is not only willing to tackle this tough topic, but one that didn’t shy away from the depth of the situation.

I firmly believe that every single pregnancy loss is different. There are no two stories that are the same. No two people feel the exact same emotions or deal with their pain in the same way. However, there are a few things that I think the show manged to portray in the most beautiful and accurate way.

Sometimes telling your family and friends is just too much. When Kate loses her baby in this week’s episode, she avoids calls from her mother. For me, the love of my family and friends became the thing that truly rescued me from the most devastating experience of my life. Seeing the pain in my family members’ eyes was at times the hardest part though. I just wasn’t strong enough to see them or help them through their pain. I was often left feeling devastated with the pain I had caused my family. They would probably tell me I’m crazy for ever thinking that, but at the time they couldn’t have convinced me otherwise.

The guilt is heavy. Kate verbalized her belief that she did something to cause her baby’s death. I too have wrestled with the responsibility of my children’s passing. I often replay the events surrounding losing my triplets. Did I walk too much at the store the day before? Was it because I was slightly overweight? Did God think I couldn’t handle three? The self-blame is a very deep and dangerous place for a mother to go after the loss of her child. The thoughts are often irrational, but grief knows no logic.

Reminders are everywhere. In the show, Kate associates the shower curtain with her baby’s passing. Her fiance throws it away hoping to avoid seeing the painful reminder every day. Sometimes the strangest things trigger these painful memories. For months I couldn’t walk into our bedroom without remembering every detail of the morning I delivered my son right there by the bed. In the months that followed there was always something to remind me of my loss. The crying baby at the store, the pregnancy announcement on my social media feed, and the empty crib sitting in the corner often made it feel like my heart was breaking in two all over again. Even though my boys have been gone for years, I still experience reminders that cause the pain to come flooding back in an instant.

The struggle between the couple in the show really hit home. Kate disregards her fiance’s pain in a seemingly uncaring way. I love that Toby stood up to her and expressed the depth of his grief. His words were firm, but loving. Probably one of the hardest parts of losing our boys was the fact that my husband and I processed our grief very differently. He threw himself back into work and trying to provide for our family. Often I felt as though he didn’t care or hadn’t experienced the same loss as myself. It took him actually saying the words “I know you lost your babies, but I lost my babies too” to actually make me understand that he was in just as much pain as me. I suddenly felt less alone and way more understood. A man cannot experience the physical side of losing a baby, but they very much feel every other aspect of the grief.

One of the most important parts of pregnancy loss that the show touched on was the impact of connecting with someone who has “been there.” Kate is able to talk with her mother who also lost a baby. Their conversation illustrates the importance of feeling understood. My mother also suffered pregnancy loss and I found her to be the best person to talk to about my loss. I knew that the advice and words of comfort she had to offer came from a place of experience. Somehow knowing that someone managed to survive the grief gave me hope. When I didn’t know how to put one foot in front of the other, her story reassured me that I could go on.

I applaud the writers and actors of ‘This is Us.’ They began an important conversation that will help increase the community of support for parents experiencing loss. I hope they will continue to address this topic in an open, honest way. Pregnancy loss is not something to be ashamed of or to be avoided in conversation.

If you have been affected by pregnancy loss I urge you to tell your story. It is often difficult to know what and when to share, but if your story provides comfort to even one grieving parent it’s worth it. I like to think that my babies lives, no matter how brief, will have a lasting impact in the lives of many others.

Jaxsen and Asher’s Story

It has been seven years since I held them in my arms and said goodbye. The pain still stings like it did that day, but our lives have continued with their memory always in our hearts. Losing our triplets fundamentally changed who I am. They taught me more in their short lives than I would have learned in a lifetime without them. I live my life trying to honor their memory by being the kind of Mom and person that they would be proud of.

I originally posted this on my family blog website on August 8, 2010.

I absolutely cannot believe I am writing about another loss. I am so hurt, confused, and devastated. Our third and fourth born sons were born on August 5th, 2010. Jaxsen Troby at around 7ish and Asher Jo somewhere around 8-8:30.
I woke up August 4th at 5 am with cramping. Throughout the day I called the Dr. and nurses several times as my contractions became closer together, about 3 minutes apart most of the day. Of course with the “nothing we can do” thing, they told me drink lots of water, absolutely flat with feet up, take tylenol to sleep. I told myself all day that the worst was not happening. At 1:30 in the morning I accepted that it was.

Mike drove me to the hospital, both of us begging God for it to be something else. We waited in the ER room for pain medicine for over an hour and then I proceeded to lay there waiting for almost three hours to be moved to OB. My contractions were less than a minute apart for over two hours. The worst pain I have ever experienced in my life. My cervix had been sewn shut and was literally ripping open with the babies trying to come out. I have no idea why they did not get me to an OR sooner to remove the stitches in the cervix. Finally we got upstairs to OB and the Dr. on call realized I was in unbearable pain and decided to take me to an OR to take out the stitches.

About that time Jaxsen decided he couldn’t wait and he was born, nothing could stop him not even “unbreakable” stitches. I was in and out of awareness for a while but still in extreme pain. I was moved to the OR and our Dr. came in to do the surgery. The last thing I heard was, because the cervix ripped we may have to do a complete hysterectomy. Terrifying. I woke up not knowing what the outcome had been. Thank God they were able to deliver Asher and get everything out and save my fertility for now. I had gotten a major uterine infection, the worst that we had prayed would not happen. The babies had to come out. I tried SO HARD for my babies. I have no idea why we were blessed with these three miracles just to have it all taken away. My heart is broken.

We were able to spend about an hour holding the babies after I recovered from surgery.

Jaxsen was beautiful, he looked a lot like Johnny. He was 5 oz. and 6 3/4 inches long. He had a perfect little face and adorable feet that looked like his Daddy’s. He reminded me a lot of Josey too. His middle name is Troby to honor my Dad and our family name. There is nothing more important than my family to me. The hospital put them in little outfits and they were just precious wrapped in their little blankets. I will miss Jaxsen forever and a part of us will always be missing. We will cherish him in our hearts.

Asher was also amazingly beautiful. He had different features than our other boys. A slighly turned up nose (so cute), and long feet like his PawPaw. He was 4 oz and 6 1/4 inches long. We had just come across the name Asher and it means happy and blessed, so I knew it was perfect. His middle name is Jo because it is mike’s mom and my sister Laura’s middle name. The two people who we felt like we couldn’t have made it through this without. Of course all of our family and friends have been amazing too. Asher will forever be loved an missed. Our fourth born son will always be in our hearts.

The hospital took pictures of the babies in their outfits and gave us memory boxes for the babies. They had the pictures inside along with the outfits, blankets, teddy bears they had put in their arms, and baby name bracelets. They were so kind and made one for Johnny although we do not have pictures or an outfit that he wore. Not sure why they didn’t do that when he was born. We will cherish the boxes forever. When I look at them I feel like I am still holding the boys in my arms, and my body aches for them.

I am writing this still in the hospital. We are hoping the infection is gone and we will go home today or tomorrow, so far we’ve been here 4 days this time. I don’t know why my two little boys held on for 16 more days than Johnny, but I will forever cherish that time with them. I don’t know how I will go home, except for the fact that I have a sweet little boy waiting for his Mommy to come back. One day I will tell him about his three little brothers and how hard they fought to be with him. Mommy and Daddy love our little guys so much.

Johnny’s Story

I originally posted this on July 31, 2010 on my family blog website. It is so hard to read this knowing that I would fight for our other two sweet babies for 16 days and ultimately lose them as well. Some days it feels like just yesterday that I held our sweet Johnny in my arms, and other times it feels like a lifetime ago.

At 8:39 am on July 20, 2010 our son Johnny Louis Smith was born at home. As I write this it still doesn’t seem real.
I woke up with some discomfort at 14 weeks 4 days along with our precious triplets. I called the doctor’s office and waited for a call back. I delivered Johnny at home about 30 minutes later. We were transported by ambulance to the hospital. I cannot describe the emotions I felt as I rode in the ambulance thinking I was losing all of my babies. In the ER due to a nurse’s confusion, I actually thought I lost two of them. Our Dr. met us there. He gently took care of me and the baby. He then did an ultrasound and found two heartbeats safe inside. After about an hour I was sent to an OB room to wait, not knowing if the others would be able to survive such a traumatic event. I was given lots of antibiotics and other medicine. Mike and I chose to hold our sweet little boy and spent about 30 minutes with him in my arms. So glad we chose to do that. He was perfect, yes at 14 and a half weeks…perfect. My first thought was that he had Josey’s feet.

We hadn’t really decided on any names but Johnny just seemed right. Louis was my grandfather’s name so Mike thought it would be the best middle name. Letting go of him was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I know he is in Heaven and I know God had a bigger plan for our second born son.

I spent the next 48 hours worrying and waiting to see what would happen. The placenta did not deliver with Johnny and never did. We were unsure for almost a week as to whether the babies shared a placenta or had separate ones. The Dr. is fairly confident that they each have their own, which is the best case scenario. I had severe labor pains the second night and they sedated me to calm my body. I have never prayed as I did that night. Begging God to let me keep my babies. When I woke up, we still had two little miracles safe inside.

I ended up having a procedure the following Tuesday (a week later) and surgery on Wednesday the 28th to help keep the babies inside. We had two ultrasounds a day to check on the babies and so far they seem unaffected. Very high in the uterus and strong heartbeats. I was in the hospital a total of 10 days. I am very happy to be home but we have a long road ahead. I am on complete bedrest indefinitely. Only able to get up to use the restroom and go to Dr. appointments.

We go on Aug. 9th to see how things are going. I pray for the strength to mentally and physically come through this for my babies. My heart is broken, but I must be strong. I have good moments and bad, but I know God will guide me through this. We love you baby Johnny, and you will be loved and missed forever.