The Madness Between

Tomorrow is so close.  Too close.  I don’t know how it’s already been a year but I don’t feel anymore ready for it than I did last year.  It’s the triplets birthday… Tommy is turning two.

I explained to my doctor yesterday that at night when I finally lay down and my mind begins to race faster than my body has – I feel my world colliding.  I have the deepest ache in my heart and my gut.  And it’s something that weekly therapy, journaling, prescription drugs, wine, exercise, meditation can’t fix.  It’s a constant ache – that I feel come and go on a daily basis – but its hurts the most on this day.  When I begin preparing the ultimate balance of sadness and joy.

Last year was rough.  I didn’t know what I was doing.  I have taken ‘first birthdays’ for granted in the past – Riley was a healthy baby so her 1st birthday was more so a chance to throw a big bash and show her off.  I cared more about checking off the to do list – perfect cake, cute theme, plenty of booze for the adults, adorable outfit, yadda yadda.  Besides feeling emotional about how quickly time flies by – I really didn’t shed too many tears.  So then my next ‘go’ at a first birthday party was Tommys.. and I was a hot mess.  The emotions were out of control because I was celebrating just ONE one year old, instead of three.  At the same time I was overwhelmed with joy that we even had ONE baby to celebrate – that Tommy had overcome so many hurdles and was present, healthy, and happy.  I exhausted myself through therapy – learning how to cope with the day – how to balance my emotions – how to compartmentalize.  I jumped into the birthday with so many tools and tricks – that I surprised myself with the ability to survive.  We threw a big party for Tommy – we visited the cemetery – we sang to both Heaven and home – and I even conquered one of my biggest fears in tribute to my three boys and their first birthday.  I drove back to the hospital they were born and visited my team of doctors.  The only 3 people who view me as a ‘triplet mom’ even if I’m just walking around this earth with two children.  The 3 people who could recognize my babies individually via ultrasound – based on their moves, their position, their faces.  The 3 people who held my 3 sons in the flesh, who tried to save them, who cried when they couldn’t, and supported me every second of the way.  I made each doctor a jar of homemade cookies – I introduced them to Tommy for the first time in a year – and we chatted about our journey together.  They comforted me in ways I wasn’t expecting.  They told me that I am the story they talk about when they go to round tables with other physicians – when they talk about loss, high risk pregnancy, twin to twin transfusion.  They commended me on Mac’s and my ability to be kind, have a sense of humor, and trust them throughout the process.  And most importantly, they reassured me that we made all the right decisions.  That we tried our best – as parents, and as a medical team.  I hugged them each goodbye and thanked them over and over for gifting us with Tommy.

That day was such a focus and goal for me – that I think it helped me get through the anniversary.  What I struggle with so much today – is not having an overwhelming goal in sight.  The reality is tomorrow when we wake up – Tommy will be two, we will spend the day celebrating the most perfect creature we know – we will go the cemetery and send our wishes to the sky -and then wait for the next year.  And the next.  And the next.  It’s our reality and our life, yet I still don’t feel like it’s mine.

For anyone that hasn’t met Tommy – there is something so special about him.  Minus his story.  Minus how he was created.  Minus how he survived the odds.  Minus the fact that he’s a triplet.  He is just unique.  He stops people dead in their tracks when we’re shopping.  His eyes are mesmerizing and his smile is infectious.  He wakes up laughing and goes to sleep on his pillow each night with the silliest grin on his face.  He follows Riley around the house – kisses every single toy / object / stuffed animal that he accidentally drops to make sure they’re “okay” – he talks to himself and has full conversations to an empty room – and when the room is filled, he will sing Let it Go to whoever listens.  I get butterflies every time I look at him because he is perfect – and I’m finally accepting that he is ours to keep.

I could write 20 more blog entries about Tommy and the endless reasons why we are obsessed with him.  My love for him has reached an all-time high and it’s the exact reason why his birthday is so incredibly painful for me.  I want to full heartedly celebrate him in the way I do Riley.  To devote every second of that day to just loving, honoring, remembering where he’s been and imagining where he’ll go.  I cannot fully escape the pain though and it overwhelms me.  My heart is split in two – but physically feels like it cracks in half on January 19th.

I wrote a blog entry last year in preparation of this day.  You can read it here.  When I met with my therapist this past week and we talked about where my head is at – and she recommended I re-tell the story.  Pick two friends and tell the story from beginning to end.  Sit down with Mac and run through every detail of the day we delivered the boys.  I haven’t picked two friends, and I haven’t yet sat down with Mac.  I am literally scared.  I am scared of the images that come up.  I am scared of the feelings attached.  I am scared of it continuing to overshadow what is supposed to be such a special day tomorrow.

Tomorrow will be two full  years since our three boys were together.  Mac and I were given a hat the day they were born – the kind that most dads wear proudly around the Mother & Child ward once they’re first child has been delivered.  I don’t even remember if Mac was given one when we had Riley… but this hat is one of our most prized possessions.  It has all three of our sons footprints on it – taken right after they were delivered.  Besides ultrasound pictures when the techs would try to get a ‘family shot’ of the triplets… this is the only physical evidence I have of my three boys together – during their few moments together on Earth.  Because shortly after they were delivered, Tommy was taken to the NICU and Oliver & Greyson were rushed off to a room – where they were bathed and kept warm (in order to hopefully prevent further deterioration).

5 hours after delivery, Oliver and Greyson were wheeled into my room, in a small white basinett – wrapped in the two blue knit blankets we picked out for them.  After we had them baptized and we had the chance to hold, cry, kiss them – we said our goodbye and they were wheeled away to the funeral home director who was waiting for them downstairs.  I signed their birth and death certificates and sat with Mac in a very quiet and empty room.

It wasn’t until 6pm that evening (the triplets were born at 3am) that I was wheeled down to meet Tommy.  I don’t remember anticipating what he looked like – because part of me felt it would be too hard to look at him.  Both for the reason that he would look sickly and fragile – but also because it was the most obvious reminder of his two brothers I just sent off to be cremated.  Yet – when I held him… he was the spark my heart needed.  I remember sending this picture to my dad and him replying “I’ve missed your smile”.

This shit does not get easier.  But what I’m attempting to tell myself is that if I could muster up a genuine smile on the worst day of my life – I am capable of continuing to find the joy.  To celebrate what I have and what I don’t.  To pour my heart and soul into tomorrow and each year to come – in hopes that all three of my boys know how much I love them and cherish being their mom.