Anyone who has read my previous blog posts understands how much I love my therapist. She is insanely skilled, compassionate, and incredibly wise. One of my favorite parts of our weekly sessions together is her knowledge sharing. Instead of just hearing me out, letting me cry, giving me a generic psychoanalytic explanation for my emotional state – she will force me to give the answers and then will back me up with actual research and data. Last week I met with her a few days prior to our one year anniversary of Oliver and Greyson’s Memorial Service. I was oddly calm and comfortable and told her that I was handling the upcoming anniversary quite well. Since Mac’s birthday is one day before the anniversary (and last years birthday was pretty much overlooked) – my focus was making sure he felt loved and special and celebrated. In the same breath however, I admitted my fear in being able to so easily compartmentalize my emotions. In the past – my grief has consumed so many of our celebrations and I have to work so hard to truly enjoy the good. So why was this week so easy for me? Was I moving too fast through the stages of grief? Had I reached “acceptance”? With the launch of my new photography business – I am jam packed – but was that inhibiting me from connecting with my grief and the loss of our boys? It was unsettling to say the least. My therapist responded with the most fascinating information.
We have been told there are 5 stages to grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Before I ever had to endure any of my own real ‘grief’ I always imagined these stages as being laid out in a very straight path. Once you work through one stage, you move onto the next, and never look back. I’ve learned through my own journey that could not be more false – but what I didn’t know is that the 5 stages of grief were actually designed for terminally ill patients – not for the people who lose the loved one. It was originally intended to describe how people deal with their own impending deaths. Doesn’t that make so much sense? I watch my cousins who recently lost their father and have wondered ‘do they really just have to keep working towards accepting it’ and being okay with their father dying and missing out on so much life? Or families I know who have lost a toddler? Why is the end goal ‘acceptance’? It now makes sense that the theory of grief is not supposed to apply to ‘us’.
The conversation was eye opening for me because my therapist backed up that research with advice on not pressuring myself to analyze which ‘stage’ I’m in and that grief isn’t linear. One day I will feel closer to peace and the next I may be back to shock. The grief may strike hard in 5 years, 10 years, in less busy times of my life, or in moments I least expect it to. I left her office for the first time in months without tears in my eyes and truly excited to spend the weekend celebrating Mac’s birthday, father’s day, and enjoying family time.
Fast forward to exactly one week later – I found myself in her office sobbing uncontrollably. The most unexpected event triggered a complete meltdown and there I was, sitting on my therapists couch on Wednesday, blaming myself for the loss of Tommy’s triplet brothers. Back to resenting my body for being incapable of keeping my children healthy and alive. Pointing fingers at my own reflection and wondering why I was robbed of being an earthly mother to ALL of my children. She was right… grief is unexpected and I wasn’t just oddly ‘at peace’ with it all. I am still knee-deep in it.
Dr. N’s advice was to keep writing, keep re-telling my story, but try to include forgiveness in it. The boy’s memorial service is the perfect story to re-tell as it was filled with such deep sorrow but also moments of healing. And ultimately, my outloud cry for forgiveness from my sons.
Prior to delivering our triplet boys, Mac and I had decided to have Ollie and Grey cremated. This was a suggestion made by several counselors as it would allow us time to process and plan for their final resting place – and still be able to focus 100% of our energy on making sure Tommy survived his months in the NICU. We worked with an amazing funeral home in Downers Grove (run by a friend of my dad’s) and two days after we delivered our boys, we signed their death certificates and the director of the funeral home drove out to the hospital to pick up our children. A few weeks later we were notified that their remains were ready – but both Mac and I delayed that ‘pick up’ as long as possible. I searched endlessly for two matching urns that seemed beautiful enough to hold our twins and I eventually made the drive to Downers Grove. I drove home sobbing with two small cardboard boxes labeled with “Oliver McCarthy O’Brien” and “Greyson Alexander O’Brien” sat in the passenger seat next to me. Mac placed their remains in the urns and for a few months, their matching urns sat on our upstairs hallway console table.
Mac and I had always agreed on burying their remains as we feared how Tommy (and even Riley) would eventually process having the urns visible in our home. The struggle for me however was it felt right having their remains at home. I believe in Heaven and I know in my heart that ALL of our lost babies are there. But in a way that’s hard to explain – having their urns to say goodnight to – after kissing my living children goodnight – was easier than imagining them in a dark, lonely cemetery somewhere. It wasn’t until my therapist said loud and clear “Sara, your boys are not home with you. They are in Heaven” that I realized maybe it was time to proceed with our original plan and find them a permanent home. Thankfully we stumbled upon the most beautiful piece of earth possible in Wheaton, IL and came up with a plan that felt even more ‘right’. Our boys would be buried together in a single urn, in a single plot, at the Catholic cemetery in Wheaton where they have an angel garden called the “Holy Innocence”. It is an area of the cemetery for children and infants and it is breath-taking (literally). It’s filled with pinwheels, fresh flowers, toys, memorabilia, birthday balloons, and well manicured grave stones inscribed with sweet baby names and very short timelines. Mac and I chose a spot close to a monument that says “And Jesus said let the little ones come to me” and near a beautiful tree where we knew we would be able to spend time under. I designed the boys’ gravestone with matching angels in each corner and we set a date for the service: June 19th, 2015.
One of the most challenging parts of planning the memorial service was knowing that this was the only public opportunity we had to show our love for these two boys. But how do you make a service personal, meaningful and special when not more than 3 people attending the service had the opportunity to meet our angels and even us, as their parents, had less than 2 hours holding them in their flesh? Who do we invite and how do we ensure they’ll be comfortable attending? Our first step was trying to find someone to lead the service and that was an easy choice. Mac and I have such a strong connect with St. Vincent de Paul Parish in Chicago.. it’s where I received my adult communion / confirmation.. it’s where we were married… it’s where Riley was baptized… and eventually where Tommy was as well. I always had a strong bond with Father Chris Robinson and his ability to relate, his gentle and kind demeanor, and his goofy sense of humor. I reached out to the parish, explained our situation, and received the most touching response that they would be more than happy to be involved in the service and were honored to do so. Mac and I met with Fr. Chris several times before the memorial service – talked about our journey, cried over the loss, and spoke of how much this one occassion would mean to us. We decided to only invite very close family who were directly involved in our pregnancy, who helped us survive our journey, my best friend who stood by my side in my darkest days, and Riley’s previous nanny / now close friend who fed our family meals, prayed for us and showed us more love than we could ever possibly return. The tactical side of planning the memorial service was easy. The emotional part was impossible.
Days leading up to the service were horrific. I had a maximum number of anxiety attacks and was finally prescribed a low-dose anti-depressant to ensure I would actually live through the service. My therapist taught me some very important coping skills to use during the event – how to allow myself to feel deeply, yet to stay grounded and catch my breath in the case I felt myself spiraling. I picked out a blue dress symbolic of my sweet ‘boys’ (and wanted to cry every time a sales associate would ask what ‘fun event I had planned’). I found a coordinated blue and white dress for Riley. I had several long preparatory conversations with Riley (instructed by Dr. N.) about what to expect – that she ‘might see mommy, daddy, grandma, grandpa, Laurie, Aunt Kiki crying but that it’s good to show we miss Ollie and Grey and that we will still be okay’. Mac and I picked out readings and asked my dad and Mac’s mom if they would read them as the role of ‘grandparents’. I designed the memorial program and included a few of my favorite images and poems. We picked out a new urn to place both boys in to (so that we could keep their original urns in our home) and we signed a contract with the cemetery that states when I pass away someday – their urn will be removed from angel garden and buried with me (I have a hard time even writing that sentence without crying). I ordered balloons to be sent off by Riley and Tommy – and Riley drew the most random pictures that tied around each string. Lastly and by far the most touching, I reached out to a dear friend to see if she would do the utmost favor and perform a special song during their service. A few days before, she told me that not only had she been practicing the song but she had also gathered two other friends and would be performing the song with a violinist and guitarist. I cried for hours just hearing of this kind gesture – and as you will watch in the video – their performance is breath-taking and continues to make me cry every single time I watch it.
There aren’t many words to write to describe the feeling of sitting front row at your own babies funeral (thankfully we chose to record it because I was afraid my emotions would force me to forget it). In the matter of a half hour – I felt devastated, loved, proud, empty, fulfilled, weak, strong, supported, and alone. I couldn’t look at Tommy during the service because his face made the situation all too visual for me. I will never forget the feeling of my sister putting her arms around me when I needed it the most. I remember every single persons’ face and embrace that day. I have never felt more proud of my husband for openly sharing his emotions and deepest feelings. And I couldn’t have felt more touched by Fr. Chris’ words in saying that our story, our children have changed his life and the students who are praying for us endlessly.
The day was perfect in that I felt I did every single thing I could possibly do to show my babies how much I love them. It’s a day I would never want to relive but I know I could not have lived without.
Below is the link to the memorial service… some beautiful photographs that were taken.. and the letters Mac and I shared. My heart feels 1,000 pounds heavy as I relive some of these moments, words, emotions.
Grief is real and a total bitch.
Our letters to Ollie & Grey:
Memorial Program:
Memorial Program_Oliver and Greyson
The Madness Between 