Dreams Are Still Memories

There are some memories that never got a chance to be played in real-time . . . only thought up in my head in played in my heart.

There are those memories - real memories - of the morning we found out we were expecting for a second time and the shock and joy that surrounded.

There are those memories - real memories - of seeing two babies on the screen and the smiling and laughing that filled my soul as I watched Emmerson kick Vivienne and Vivi acting as if she could enjoy the rocking caused by her sisters kicks all day.

There are those memories - real memories - of planning the nursery, shopping for everything in twos, and shopping for mini-vans.

There are those memories - real memories - of my husband and I being in shock while basking in the glow of thankfulness.

There are those memories - dream memories - of coordinating outfits for two identical babies, a baby in each arm, and three girls playing together.

There are those memories - dream memories - of birthday parties, halloween costumes, and the first day of school.

There are those memories - dream memories - of first loves, broken hearts, proms, wedding days, and Father-Daughter dances.

There are those memories - dream memories - of my babies expecting life, seeing them hold their babies, witnessing the women they became.

All of these memories to be played while watching in amazement of the unique relationship between identical twins.

You see?

It wasn't just that my babies were born too soon. It wasn't just that there was something wrong.

I loved them with a Mother's Love before I ever got to hold them in my arms.

You see?

My babies died.


There are also those memories - real memories - of the air standing still and hushed, mumbled whispers while staring at a screen.

There are those memories - real memories - of a conference room, highly specialized doctors and words. So. Many. Words. Of shivering, uncontrollably and someone placing a blanket around my shoulders.

There are those memories - real memories - of a pain wanting to split my body in two, worried glances, an ambulance, more worried faces, no one looking me in the eye and me pleading with my God.

There are those memories - real memories - of "I'm so sorry . . . ", tiny fingers and toes, kisses and swaddles and snuggles and me still pleading with my God.

There are those memories - real memories - of flowers that were too beautiful and sweet, cemeteries, funeral homes, a casket and a too-big-hole in the ground.

You see?

It wasn't just that my babies were born too early. It wasn't just that there was something wrong.

I have memories and dreams and all of them are bittersweet. All of them carry the same weight because they all occupy a space in me.

You see?

It wasn't just that our babies were born too early. It wasn't just that there was something wrong.

We lost pieces of our hearts . . . members of our family.

It wasn't just that our babies were born too soon.

Our babies died. While holding them, they died.







Stephanie

It Is Okay

They say time heals all wounds.

It doesn't.

I don't know who they are but they have never been more wrong.

Some moments . . . some days it is unfathomable to me that this hurt is with me until my last breath. I don't know how to do it.

In a world of contradictions, in a place where two opposing emotions dance together, it is okay.

Well, not okay but okay because there is no other word to describe that it isn't okay.

It is okay because there are two names I can speak of.

It is okay because I got to hold them.

It is okay because I got to kiss them.

It is okay because I live in a world where they once were instead of never at all.

It is okay but it's not.

It is okay because I don't know how else to answer when someone asks - truly asks - how I am doing.

It is okay because I don't know how else I'm supposed to feel. I am extremely blessed because I have two littles to care for here and I am extremely blessed because I got to hold them. But at the same time, I am extremely angry that all four of my babies are not here, right now. I am extremely angry that all I got were moments and not years.

And so, I am just okay because I don't know another word to describe it. I am just okay because I don't know how else to balance two opposing emotions . . . two opposing extremes.








Stephanie

Grace Is Greater

I thought and was lead to believe that those who gave in and gave up didn't stand a chance.

We weigh sins and then we place them in order from least to greatest. When in reality, they all weigh the same. All great. All small in comparison of this Gift of Love.

They may be great but grace is bigger.

Source: juxtapost.com via Danielle on Pinterest

I used to believe that giving in and giving up meant you didn't stand a chance.

And then it touched close. Someone who loved deep and whole, someone who loved The Love that gave it all, gave in.

My world shifted and I started seeing differently. My belief changing. Is grace and forgiveness like a gold ring - strong and endless? Immeasurable? One from which there is no beginning or end?

How can my small mind try to box that in? Define it with my vocabulary?

And then . . . it touched even closer. The giving in and giving up grew deep within. Uncontrollable. Without conscious thought.

Thoughts and visions seared sharp and I did not know from which it came.

The pain was too acute to even take in a deep breath. The pain was too black and I couldn't see. I wanted to give in and to give up.

That seemed more beautiful than the ugly that surrounded.

But that grace that I can't contain and I can't define, saved me. I don't know how and I don't know why, but it saved me . . . here.

I don't know how those that give in and give up don't stand a chance. I don't know how blind they were, how much they did and didn't feel all at the same time.

They stand the same chance that any of us stands.

Because the grace that can save here, can save there too, can't it? Who am I to pretend I know anything about grace but other than what I have received?

If grace and forgiveness are like a gold band then we don't know from which it starts or from which it ends, then how are we to know from how it covers?

Life can be messy and life may hurt and sins may reap many and great but grace is bigger.

Grace is greater. 













Stephanie

I Am Not Hopeless

There is darkness that overcomes and overwhelms.

There is darkness that consumes.

Darkness can descend in many ways.

It can leave hopelessness and despair in its wake.

I have two little girls whom I will never hear giggle as the grass tickles their bare feet.

The despair of their death can cause the darkest of black to consume me.

But I am not hopeless.

I appreciate the death died on that cross and the empty grave like I never did before. I should have but I didn't.

Consuming the bread broken and the blood spilled causes the consuming darkness to flee.

Life can bring new perspectives. And for all the pain that was brought and remains, I wouldn't change what my heart can now see.

The mission. Those who followed. The disbelieving. The accusations. The denial. That kiss.

Darkness prevailed in the days that followed.

Unbelievable darkness.

Unbelievable hopelessness.

Unbelievable reality.

For those who loved and followed and believed, they battled with an overwhelming hopelessness.

But that grave stood empty.

I am not hopeless.

The pain in the persecution didn't persist. The grave couldn't contain. His death didn't define him.

His death didn't say this is the end.

There was more.

I am not hopeless.

That grave is empty. The earth stained offers promise. He suffered a death for life. He rose so Heaven wins.

The enemy who tries to win by threatening me with the death of my girls loses.

Heaven wins!

There is a cross consumed with the fibers of death and a vacant tomb. There are two pierced through hands that offer the promise of Heaven.

I am not hopeless.

He's alive! My girls are alive! Their feet are tickled by the blades of grass. They giggle. They delight in the joys of heaven.

I don't get the privilege of raising them and the joy of delighting in their giggles. I am sad but I am not hopeless. Their death doesn't mean never. It just means wait.

Wait . . . the best is yet to come.







Stephanie