Lies, the subconscious, love, and hope

You're alone, they whisper.

It's oh, so quiet, and the very fact that I can hear their whisper seems to confirm that what they speak is truth.

You're alone, they whisper, though there are people all around me, though I'm talking and smiling, and working with all I have to keep it together enough that no one notices.

They get more bold, You're a failure.

Tell me something I don't already know.

You should be doing more for your husband, for your kids, for your friends, for your work, for your community.

Yeah, yeah, I know.  I know!

Tears well up as they seep from my aching heart.

You can't even keep it together in public for pete's sake.  You're a failure.  You fail everyone around you.  It's probably why you lost Thomas.  Failing a husband and 5 kids is enough - you couldn't handle a 6th anyway.  You would've just failed him too.

They're lies.  Lies straight from the pit of Hell.  I've come to recognize them for what they are, but somehow that doesn't always mean that they cease their whispering.

The Subconscious

It's less than a month until our baby girl is due, and I am so very thankful.  I am so grateful for her, for the hope that we've had through this really hard season of life.  Her wiggly self is the very embodiment of joy and hope.  And I can't wait to cradle her in my arms, to snuggle her sweet self, and whisper truths in her ear like, "We've always wanted you," and, "You are just who you are supposed to be," and, "You're enough, just like you are," and, "I'll always love you no matter what may come." 

But as the day approaches (whenever that will be), I find myself in the midst, again, of an intense emotional struggle.  Consciously, I've know for months that my due date is Nov. 15.  And I've been telling people that, out loud, for months.  Yet somehow I realized this week as I hit 36 weeks, that subconsciously I was still planning for a due date between now and Nov. 1, because at some subconscious level I have believed all this time that I'm supposed to have twins.

You see, twins are full-term between 36 and 38 weeks.  Literally, God made it so twins' lungs develop quicker, and their little bodies are ready for the outside world anywhere from 2-4 weeks ahead of what it takes for singletons to be full-term.  And after 38 weeks, twins' placentas start to break down and can cease providing the support twins need.  Thus, when I found out I was having twins, I was told they would be delivered, one way or another, by Nov. 1, which is 38 weeks for me.  Two weeks less of pregnancy?  Hallelujah!

When we lost Thomas at 15 weeks, they told me that the pregnancy would now be considered a singleton pregnancy, and that everything adjusts back that way.  No extra appointments or ultrasounds were needed (unless other complications popped up, which blessedly they haven't), and my due date returned to Nov. 15, which is 40 weeks.  As if losing a twin wasn't punishment enough, I now have an additional 2 weeks of pregnancy tacked back on.  It was 20 weeks ago that the specialist told us that, so I've had 20 weeks to plan on a Nov. 15 due date.

Yet somehow, my subconscious or whatever never believed it.  And as I look around now, I see it in things like the nursery being 100% ready last week and 95% ready 2 weeks before that; hospital bags all packed and ready to go 3 weeks ago; all of my house projects (that I can complete) done, save for a last deep cleaning of bathrooms (because who really wants to do that anyway?); considerations I made weeks ago for NICU time if I delivered that early; meals tucked away in the freezer, and a lack of planning anything for November because I'd have just delivered. 

As I look back, I realize that somehow, deep down, I really believed I'd be in labor this week.  And if we still had our Thomas, I very likely would be.  Or at least I'd be seeing my doctor every few days to assess when we'd get to see the twins' sweet little faces.

I don't think there are words for how harsh the reality is that I don't actually get to live that beautiful moment.  It scrapes my soul raw when I let myself think about it.

Don't get me wrong.  I was scared stiff from the second I learned it was twins - how would they get out?  How would I handle a delivery different from the ones I've experienced before where, largely, I was in control and told people what I wanted when, and what I was going to do when. 

But damn.  What I wouldn't give to be told I don't have any control in how they come, but I'm having them both...

Love

As it is, I get to look forward to meeting our daughter, I hope, in a very similar way to how I've met all our other children.  The hell that is labor, the brink of death that is actually delivering, and the instant euphoria of cradling my child in my arms instead of my belly.  That is a road to dread longingly.

I am looking forward to it.  I even beg for it to come sometimes, though I know how hard it is.  That instant she's in my arms, those initial moments of meeting and studying each other, the first fresh hours of new and perfect and in love...  These will also be the moments I don't have that same thing with Thomas.  What will that be like? 

Praise the Lord for the wild concoction of hormones He sends coursing through the body of a woman after labor and delivery.  It's a euphoria unlike any other I've ever experienced, a high that can't be beat for me.  Will it be enough to help me joyfully face my single twin without the one we lost? 

Within a month, I guess I'll know.

Can I do labor and delivery again?  It was horrible the first time.  To quote myself the moment Lily was born, "That was the worst experience of my life!"  Then going into it the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th times, I knew what was coming, and "awful" doesn't begin to encompass how hard it is.  Will I be able to face it all again, this time with added layers of struggle and emotional angst? 

The obvious answer is yes.  It's what we do, we moms.  No child comes easily into this world, no matter how they come.  It is sacrifice.  It is submission.  It is love that gets children here.  Love and God's grace. 

So I guess I'll do it again, and wouldn't we all do it all over again if it somehow meant protecting or saving our children from some horrible hurt or death?  In a book I'm reading with my kids, a mom says, as her son is lead away to horrible punishment, "I wish it was me who was going!"  And one of my boys stopped me to ask if I would ever do that.  He was shocked when I answered without skipping a beat, "Of course." 

It's not that my son doesn't know that I love him, but somehow that story gave him new insight into exactly how much I love him and each of his siblings.  Honestly, I didn't know how much I would love my kids till I had them.  Crazy how the heart learns to love infinitely more in that moment of new parenthood.

And that's, in some ways, the struggle.  I love Thomas just that much too.  I knew him so little, but in as much as I had the privilege of knowing him, I have loved him as completely and fully as each of my other children.  When I weep for his loss, I weep because of the value of that which was lost - that of immeasurable worth. 

Hope

The days come and go, as they have since time immemorial, and I'm grateful in this hard season that they do pass.  Most are mostly good days, but every now and then I run up against one that's just almost too much to bear.  The weight of the moments and hours crush in on me, and I can barely press on.  Sometimes I don't.  My pillow dampened, my soul poured out, I simply beg the day to end.

But usually after dark days like this, the sun rises and hope is renewed with the morning's light. 

One day soon, the sun will rise on our 2nd daughter, all fresh and new.  And in that day there will be great joy and hope for her, and also the blush of sorrow for her brother who we look forward to knowing someday beyond the great divide.