11:27 and 11:43. Who will you be when I see you again?

Friday, January 10th, 2014. 11:27 a.m. Conner Timothy is born, handed to me wrapped up in hospital blankets and wearing a little blue hat.  He is baptized and I melt under his presence.
Friday, January 10th, 2014. 11:43 a.m. Benjamin Michael is born, wrapped just like his brother and wearing a blue and white striped hat.  He is also baptized, and for the first time ever, the four of us are a family.

Dear Conner and Benjamin,

Saturday was your first birthday.  I anxioulsy prepared for this day, and I didn't know what to expect. I had two times engraved in my mind: 11:27 and 11:43.  I made a note to make sure I knew what I was doing at those times so that I could wish you both a happy birthday.

I missed it.

Like any normal parent, I was too busy running around picking up your birthday cake and the 40 balloons that we would release for you that day. We did a minion theme.  I was watching Despicable Me 2 the night I went into labor. I always imagined you two getting into shenanigans with each other just like the little yellow minions. Your daddy noted the times, though.  I wish he would have told me. I missed it, like I am going to miss so many things in your life. Your first steps, your first day of school, your graduations, your weddings, your own babies. I have so little that I can do for you, and I missed it.

But I do know what I was doing.  One of your daddy's friends from the fire department and his wife stopped by and surprised us with balloons and elephants for your birthday.  The elephants had your names on it and pins that said "I am ONE."  I got caught up in their kindness, and I missed your birth times.  But please know, I was thinking of you regardless.

I didn't shed one tear on your first birthday.  There were times when I thought I might, but the day was so filled with love that it was difficult to be upset.  Friends and family messaged us all day, telling us they were thinking us and of you.  We had close family and friends over for cake and a balloon release, and you even got presents (books, of course!).  Daddy and I went to Lovell's that night  - owned by Jim Lovell's family. He was an Apollo 8 and Apollo 13 astronaut, and the restaurant is filed with NASA memoribilia - perfectly fitting with your "love you to the moon and back" theme.

People sent us messages and emails about their random acts of kindness that they did, and I couldn't believe the response.  You are both making such a huge difference in the world.  As your mom, one of my goals is for you to be remembered, always.  I do not want your legacy to be grief.  I want people to remember you and smile. The RAOKs are still rolling in, and I will write more about that later.

Today, January 12th, marks exactly one year from the last time I saw you, held you, kissed your little heads.  The last thing I told you both was to take care of each other. I hope that you are best buddies in heaven, like I so hoped you would be here on earth. I sobbed, and the nurse and women from the funeral home cried with me. I couldn't believe I would never get to hold you again in this lifetime.

I cannot help but wonder: who will you be when I see you next?  Will you be the little babies, swaddled in blankets, with your blue knitted hats?  Will you be toddlers, running around playing with toy trucks?  Will you be teenagers, anxious to see me but scared at the same time? Will you be adults, and will I have missed a big portion of your life in heaven?  I hope that you are little... whether that be infants or toddlers... please stay little. I want to gather you up in my arms and snuggle you and all the things that we got robbed of when you passed away. Stay little, stay little, stay little.

I hope you recognize me when we see each other again.  I hope my voice is familiar and you know that I am your mommy. I can't wait to finally see your eyes, hold onto your hands, and kiss your little foreheads and cheeks.

I went the whole weekend without crying and I definitely am now.

One year closer to seeing you again, boys. My grief does not get easier, but I have managed to find ways to think of you with love and joy instead of tears and sorrow. Until we meet again, know that I will love you and think of you every second of every day. I will never be complete until I can hold you again.

Love you - to the moon and back,
Mommy

Happy First Birthday, Baby Boys

"I am ONE" elephants

Candles for our boys

Miranda of course joined in (I also have a feeling she thought she was turning one and the party was for her)

Bottom layer: banana with strawberry preserves (because minions love bananas!) 

Top layer: chocolate with strawberry preserves (to appease the general public)

Mommy and Miranda's ballloons got caught in the tress the first time, so this is take two

They got caught in the trees again! But miracles happen, boys - and the balloons somehow untangled themselves and flew away.  I think maybe you had something to do with that :)

Jum Lovell with the cast of Apollo 13

The longest blog post ever: weekend review and capture your grief catch up!

My blog posts are slowly becoming recaps of a bunch of things all at once (sometimes unrelated), and I apologize for that.  I would really love it if my life were more simple and the categories of my life were more clean cut, but nah, that will never be me.

First of all – I THINK my mom had her last chemo treatment!  She is being tested again in a few weeks to make sure everything looks good, and if it does (please God), then we can focus on her recovery.  I spoke to her on Thursday and she said she was already feeling better and was just happier thinking that the end was in sight. Thank you all for your support and prayers.  I don’t know most of you, but believe me when I say that you have all touched me so much with your encouragement.

After the bad news from the ultrasound on Thursday, I wrote my blog post and went to make dinner.  As I was walking down the stairs, I saw Tim pulling into the driveway.  He could tell that he couldn’t make me feel better on the phone, so he took a full sick day at the fire department (even though he only had 12 hours left on his shift) to spend the night with me.  We didn’t talk much about the ultrasound, but just having him home made me feel so much better. I love this man.

Saturday was my cousin’s wedding.  It was great to catch up with some family who were in town from Georgia.  Plus, I’m realizing as I get older that it is an increasingly small world – we got sat at a table with Tim’s old friend from high school and one of the other firefighters was there (his girlfriend is my cousin’s new sister in law).  It turned out to be a great night.  Afterwards, we stopped by my best friend’s house for her surprise 30^th birthday party.  Are we really getting that old?  I guess it never really hit me how close I was to 30 until I hugged her and told her happy birthday.  I’ve been best friends with her since the 2^nd grade. I’d love to say we have changed a lot, but we’re still kids at heart. I’m learning to embrace 30 as it draws closer. Besides, 29 has been kind of a shitty year.

Gotta love the photobooth!

We were on our way home Saturday night when we witnessed a huge crash right next to us.  The car next to us was turning left on a green arrow, and some other driver in an SUV (clearly drunk), rammed on his gas, blew the red light, and slammed right into that car turning left.  The car was clearly banged up (not sure if it is even repairable), and the SUV lost his freaking tire. The driver of the car got out to survey the damage, thankfully and surprisingly unhurt.  I should have written down what kind of car that was, I should get one.  It clearly saves lives. I watched the SUV continue to drive – at least 50 mph – and I was like – OH GOD, he can’t stop!  But then after about 5 seconds, I realized that he was choosing not to stop. He was fleeing the scene.  So naturally, Tim and I followed him.  I say naturally because Tim is a sucker for adrenaline.  It was pretty easy. We were in my hometown so I knew the streets backwards and forwards and knew which streets to take in order to catch up with him or cut him off.  Plus, he only had three freaking wheels so we were basically just following the car with the fireworks coming out of it. He pulled over (finally) and we were able to get his license plate number and phone it into the police.  Two parties and a good deed in one day.  Not too shabby.  We didn’t go to bed until about 12:30 am and we both woke up around 3 am… and never really went back to sleep. 

Which caused a problem, because today was the Walk to Remember in honor of Infant Loss Awareness Month that our hospital was hosting.  Luckily, after church and a huge breakfast, we felt ready for take on the day.  I was disappointed from the start, though.  I had sent a message to our family and close friends to see if they wanted to come with us, and almost everyone said no or chose to ignore the message completely. In the end, Tim’s sister, mom, brother, niece, and two of our friends came. It really makes me grateful for the people in our life who truly care, and who don’t think of the loss of our boys as old news.  It was a windy day, but it was perfectly autumn out. Luckily, being bundled up hid my pregnant belly pretty well. 

I don’t remember a ton of specifics – mostly because as soon as everyone started reciting prayers, I lost my mind and bawled my eyes out.  I think as soon as someone with a microphone said, “I think of you everyday”  that pretty much did me in.  There was a short walk around the forest preserve, some parents had readings devoted to their babies, and then there was a balloon release. Conner and Ben’s balloons were stuck together as soon as we got them, and they stayed together until we were no longer able to see them.

See the two balloons in the middle, stuck together?

One of our friends turned to us and said, “I never met them, and I still miss them.  And those pictures you have of them have got to be some of the most beautiful pictures I’ve ever seen.”

Cue my heart breaking. 

Tim’s sister and mom made more hats for the micropreemies and blankets. Of course, the nurses were so grateful to have them.  But I do remember our family and friends commenting on how small they were – they were modeled after Conner and Ben’s hats, and I could feel myself getting hot.  I hate it when people comment on how small they were.  I obviously know they were small.  No shit. But I already feel like a failure of a mother, so I hate when people comment on how small they are – it makes me feel like I didn’t do my job even more.  I know that the boys came out bigger – in weight and in length – than anyone expected, but still hearing that they were small was like a dagger.  If my kids died of cancer, I wouldn’t want someone saying something like “they just looked so sick. SO SICK.  I mean, SICK.”  You get the point.

I also need to catch up with Capture Your Grief, which seems very fitting after writing about the Walk to Remember.  I’ll make this short and sweet (am I losing you yet?).

Day 3: BEFORE

On our honeymoon cruise

Who was I before I lost my kids?  I think I was stupid.  Honestly.  Book smart, maybe, but stupid.  I remember holding my boys and feeling so guilty in getting caught up in all the baby shopping and money spending on the hottest new baby gear.  I remember thinking, “They don’t care what kind of crib I put them in.  They just want to breathe.”

I had fun.  I laughed more.  I stayed out later.  I thought that I was invincible.  I shouldn’t have.  I’m a little too old to believe in personal fables. But God, I miss that girl.  So naïve. So dumb.  You should have known better than to think your luck would never run out, stupid girl. 

I obviously still have anger at my past self for not preparing for what was about to happen to us. 

Day 4: NOW

We put the dimes we find in Conner and Ben's owl bank.  I find myself more open to what life has to show me. 

Maybe someday, I’ll be able to say I am truly a better person because of what has been taken from me (from US).  My boys have made me live in the moment when I used to live for a future that was never a given.  They have made me more grateful for what I have.  I hold some people closer and have pushed people away who didn’t give our boys the time of day.  Tim and I fight over not much of anything anymore.  I am, in some circumstances, more forgiving and patient.  I am more sensitive.  

But I’m still angry, I still feel robbed, and I still proceed with caution in life.  At any given second, I feel like throwing the temper tantrum of a monster two year old.  IT’S NOT FAIR, IT’S NOT FAIR, IT’S NOT FAIR! The optimism I might have had before has all but disappeared.  But none of those negative traits are the fault of my boys.  Those traits will disappear with time, or so I hope.  So, I’m not really sure who or what I am.  Better in some ways, broken in others.  

Day 5: JOURNAL

Dear Benjamin and Conner,

I haven’t written a letter to you in so long.  This blog has become a letter to you in many ways.  It chronicles my feelings about having you and losing you, it captures the grief and happiness that I feel whenever we do something special for you, and it helps me to remember everyday how you both have changed me to be a more contemplative and sentimental person. Some days I feel like there isn’t anything else to say – everything that can be said has already been said.  Other days I feel like I could write an entire book on things I would love to be able to say to you.

For your baby shower, everyone was going to fill out a “wishes for babies” card. I never got around to filling it out, because you came so quickly after the cards were ordered.  But I want you to know all the wishes that I had for your lives, and how I hope you are living in heaven.

I hope you learn how to ride a bike fearlessly, your alphabet with silly rhymes, and how life is always beautiful, even in the worst of times.  If you hurt, it is because you loved.

I hope you are not afraid to challenge what is wrong with the world, even if they are beliefs held by the majority.  Do the right thing, and you will have peace in your heart.

I hope you love each other.  I always wished for twins, and when I heard we were having them, I wished that you would be the same gender and be best friends. Take care of each other.  There is a reason you were born together.

I hope you get to live life fully.  I cannot guarantee a long life, or even a happy one (although I would have done everything I could to give you both).  But I hope that you take the good with the bad and face each day with determination.

I hope you laugh at stupid things.  Your dad and I laugh at movies and jokes that quite frankly probably aren’t that great, and we have inside jokes that no one will ever really get. But those little opportunities at happiness everyday are sometimes what make each day fun.

I hope you never forget how much I love you.  When you go off to high school and feel like an outsider, or move away to college and crave your independence, or get married (per my approval) to the girl of your dreams – I hope you make your choices each day knowing that I will support you and love you no matter what.  You will never be alone.

I hope you always are grateful for the people who care about you.  So often, we lose track of friends and family and get caught up in ourselves.  Be sure to check in on people.  They will never forget you for it. 

I hope you dream about trains, cars, dirt bikes, and dogs. I hope you wake up in the mornings eager to play outside in the mud because of some great dream you had, or get new ideas of games to play with each other because of some creative wanderings your mind took in the middle of the night. Be little boys.  Be dirty and muddy and loud.  I promise I won’t mind. Your dad is always tracking dirt in the house and Miranda loves the smell of her own poop.  I haven’t kicked either one of them out yet, and I’m not even sure I know how to handle other clean people in the house.

I hope you become a person your children can be proud of.  You’ll know soon enough that the only opinions that matter are God’s, your mom’s, and your kid’s. If your kids grow up and think, I want to be just like my daddy, well then you’ve done a great job.

I hope you respect other people’s beliefs and cultures.  Some of them may seem completely different from yours, but it is not enough to simply tolerate.  You have to learn how to accept, and then to appreciate.  I am glad you are being born at a time where minority populations are gaining rights every day.  You represent two different cultures, being born from a white father and a Filipino mother.  People have opened the doors for you; keep opening it for others.

I hope you grow up. And at the same time, always stay young.  You’ll always be my baby boys.

With love,

Mom

Team Conner and Ben

Today was the big MOD March for Babies in Chicago!  We were prepared for rain, wind, and cold (and this girl packed some extra ponchos, just in case).  Thankfully, we only experienced a few drops of rain. The wind and the cold sucked, though. I wore five layers today.  People bundled up with coats and blankets, which flew around in the wind. Well, except my husband who gave me his jacket (what a guy). As soon as we crossed the finish line - I kid you not - the clouds parted, the sun came out, and you would think it was the most gorgeous spring day.

 Tim and I before the walk

The back of our team shirts

My nails for the walk

We had about 50 people on our team.  We were told we were the largest family team at the Chicago walk this year!  Last night and this morning, last minute donations came pouring in.  Tim and I made one last donation ourselves while we were standing around waiting for the walk to start.  We bumped ourselves up to the third place family team in the Chicago walk, raising over $12, 425!!!  We had cash and checks turned in this morning, so I am guessing our final total is around $13,000.  We are so blessed to have so many supportive friends and family.

There is a big "but" here, though (and no, not mine. Although, possibly).  Before the walk started, a couple of guest speakers went up there and asked everyone to raise their hands if their baby spent time in the NICU. Then they started talking about how one of their babies was born early - AT 38 FUCKING WEEKS. That's one week past full term, asshole. And then, the big blow: "We are walking for the babies in the NICU. That is why we are all here - for them."  Blah, blah more talking about the miracle babies who do make it home thanks to MOD.

No, that's definitely not why I was there.  I understand that the money we were raising was to help fund research to prevent prematurity.  But I was walking for my babies who never saw the NICU.  I looked around at other team shirts and saw that many of them were also walking for their babies who passed away. I was so offended.  Had the MOD forgotten that so many of us were walking in memory of our babies?

My feelings were hurt.  I just wanted to run up there and scream, "WE ARE ALSO WALKING FOR THE BABIES WHO NEVER MADE IT HOME." We were marching for our babies who never got to take their first steps. I'm sure there were more words spoken on that stage before we started the walk, but I blocked them out.  No need to hear any of this crap anymore.

I do want to make sure I say this though - I truly had a good time with our team, who has been so supportive of us.  I support the March of Dimes mission, totally and completely.  It was a great tribute to our boys, and a wonderful way to contribute to a great cause. We spent the three miles catching up with old friends, laughing, talking, and just being together.  I had an empty place in my heart all day because my boys were not there with us, but I feel like I am slowly starting to feel like myself again. I thanked everyone for coming, and they in turn all thanked me for letting them be a part of the day.

 Team picture take 1.  We're holding up a picture of Benjamin and Conner so they could be in the picture, too!

Team picture take 2.  My trying to get my hair out of my face turned into my head being cocked to the side like an idiot, lol.

I think we may do something different for Benjamin and Conner next year.  I'm not sure what though.  I would like to do the March for Babies every other year, and fill the years in between with other activities for them.  I'll think of something to do.  There are different ways to fund raise for premature babies, and one of them was to donate to the hospital our boys were born at.

We went to the Butterflies of Hope Memorial that the hospital has every spring for the babies who have gone to heaven. It was just hours after the MOD March for Babies.  The nurse who handles the NICU donations is also the same nurse who coordinates the memorials for the babies who passed away. My mother-in-law made blankets for the micro-preemies and my sister-in-law made knitted hats for them as well.  Tim and I donated money so that they could buy more memory boxes for the families who don't get to take their babies home.  Our nurses said that they have so many donations for the full term babies, but no one needs hats or blankets for them  - obviously, parents bring their own.  But the micro preemies hardly have anything that fits them, because no one makes anything that small.  Thankfully, my in-laws are very crafty when it comes to sewing and making baby clothes, so they got right on it as soon as Conner and Benjamin were born.   We were so grateful to the people who donated the blankets and hats for our boys, and it was so touching that our family was working to give back to the hospital.

We delivered our babies at a very large and very well-funded hospital.  It is consistently ranked top 100 in the nation in various specialties.  It has a level 3 NICU, so many micro-preemies from other hospital are constantly being taken to this hospital.  And that is probably why, when we walked into the main entrance, we were ticked off when the lady at the front desk didn't know what memorial we were talking about, which auditorium it was in, and gave us attitude about asking her anything about it.  My husband just wanted to say, "listen, lady, its a memorial for dead babies, so spare me your attitude."  He didn't.  I wish he had.

We got to the auditorium after walking down long and winding hallways.  The hospital does two memorials a year.  The memorial in the fall is a walk in the forest preserve with a balloon release at the end.  Last year, about 500-600 people attended.  The coordinator told me that the spring memorial is the smaller memorial they have.  I figured maybe there would be 100-200 people there.

There were 28.

Our well-funded hospital, in their brand new auditorium with a state of the art sound system, was playing depressing music from a boom box.  Remember those?  Yeah.  Obviously, the hospital could give two shits about this memorial.  One of the nurses came up to the podium, explaining that she would call us each up there to share our experiences with our babies.

Um, excuse me?  Isn't this a memorial?  When, exactly, did this become a grief support group? And if they were going to ask us to tell a story about our babies, they could have given us a heads up.  I wasn't prepared for this. Then more sad music played.  I sat in agony while a woman sang about what she wondered her baby would be like and how she will never hold her baby again. A prayer was said.  More sad words. Nothing was positive.  It was like they didn't want to remember our babies with happiness.  They only wanted to grieve.  I understand this is what many people wanted, but it was not for us. Another emo song played (remember emo?  Yeah I'm just evoking tons of memories of the 90's/2000's, aren't I?).

I turned to my husband and told him we had to go.  He looked relieved.  I could tell he was miserable.  We left the donated blankets, hats, and our cash donation for memory boxes with a woman who looked like she was coordinating the event. We told her to give them to Renee, the nurse I had talked to.  And then we left the world's most depressing memorial ever.

My babies' legacy will not be grief.  Every second I held them was the happiest I had ever been, even knowing that soon they would be taken from me.  They brought more happiness into my life in 22.5 weeks than a lifetime with anyone else could.  When I talk about them and when others talk about them, I think we will be sad because we were robbed of precious moments with them.  But I would rather look at Conner and Ben, talk about them, and think about them with happiness and be thankful that they ever existed at all. Even though they are no longer on this earth, they are mine and I am theirs.  Nothing will change that.

Why Fish Bite Moonbeams?

via pinterest

So, some of you might be wondering what the title Fish Bite Moonbeams is about.  When I was planning the boys' memorial, I wanted a song played.  I didn't want songs that are normally played at memorials or funerals, like "Amazing Grace."  Um, no, we were not going to refer to my baby boys as "wretches," thanks. Years ago, I played the song "Godspeed, Sweet Dreams" by the Dixie Chicks to my husband.  I had told him that I loved this song, and I couldn't quite pinpoint why.  He remembers me playing this song for him. Fast forward to January 2014, and I was searching and searching for songs for the boys' memorial.  I only wanted ONE song; almost like a trademark for them.  This one was perfect.  I cried when I thought of it, and played it again for Tim (who cried as soon as it started playing).  It was Conner and Benjamin's song.  I imagined I would have played it to them as a lullaby if I had been able to bring them home.  I told Tim's dad about it and asked him if his church band would play it for the memorial.  He said he was so emotional when he heard the song, and had to listen to it over and over again so that he would get used to it and be able to play it for everyone.

Radney Foster wrote this song for his young son, whom he lost in a custody battle when his ex-wife decided to move to France with her new husband.  Desperate to give his son something to listen to at night, he recorded this song for him.  The Dixie Chicks heard it, and loved it.

There is a line in the song that sings, "Fish bite moonbeams every night, and I love you."  Tim had no idea what that meant.  I imagined little boys eating their dinner - fish sticks shaped into moons.  Tim actually loved fish sticks when he was little (which I still give him a hard time over - that is NOT real fish).  But the thought of little boys eating these moon-shaped fish bites was so adorable to  me.  And so... Fish Bite Moonbeams.

"Godspeed (Sweet Dreams)"

Dragon tales and the "water is wide"

Pirate's sail and lost boys fly

Fish bite moonbeams every night

And I love you

Godspeed, little man

Sweet dreams, little man

Oh my love will fly to you each night on angels wings

Godspeed

Sweet dreams

The rocket racer's all tuckered out

Superman's in pajamas on the couch

Goodnight moon, will find the mouse

And I love you

Godspeed, little man

Sweet dreams, little man

Oh my love will fly to you each night on angels wings

Godspeed

Sweet dreams

God bless mommy and match box cars

God bless dad and thanks for the stars

God hears "Amen," wherever we are

And I love you

Godspeed, little man

Sweet dreams, little man

Oh my love will fly to you each night on angels wings

Godspeed

Godspeed

Godspeed

Sweet dreams

A letter to my baby boys

I wanted something special for Conner and Benjamin's memorial, so I decided to write a few key points to our pastor. What resulted was a letter to my boys, which poured out of me uncontrollably. I ask the pastor to take what he wanted from it and incorporate it into their memorial. He called me and told me that the letter was difficult (emotionally) to read, but he wanted to read the whole thing in its entirety at their memorial. Their letter is below:

Tim and I have wanted babies before we were even married. We picked out Conner's name when we were still dating (Benjamin's name just spoke to me one day while searching for baby names during pregnancy). Everything we have done has been in preparation for them, and when we were finally blessed with a pregnancy it was the happiest we had ever been. We had wanted twins, and God gave them to us.

These boys gave us the best 22 (almost 23) weeks of our entire lives. Tim showed off every ultrasound we had of them (and there were A LOT). Every detail of their nursery and their arrival, I planned daily. Every pregnancy symptom I had was worth just having them for this short time. I am their mama and even at this young age, I know their personalities. Benjamin was our active little one, and Conner more laid back. Both of them loved orange juice (as proved by my only pregnancy craving). They were best friends, even in the womb. They reacted to each other's movements, slept and woke at the same times, and very often were scrunched up as time allowed them to be together.

I tried everything I could to avoid delivery. Multiple days of labor was the least of my pain. But when the time came, I knew it had to be. Neither one of us wanted our boys to suffer. If we had made it another two weeks, we would have had to decide whether to take extreme measures to fight for their lives, which would most likely include severe handicaps and impairments or choose to just make them comfortable. If we had made it to 24 weeks, I would have never been able to make the right decision. How do you choose to fight for your babies, but watch them suffer, or give up on them to let them go in peace?

When we delivered at 22.5 weeks, we had the obvious but difficult choice to just make them comfortable and enjoy our time with them. Both of them were fighters. Both came out breathing. I will never, ever forget watching their chests rise and fall with their little hearts beating and little lungs fighting. Conner made little hiccupping noises - the most beautiful sound I will ever hear in my life. The nurses said we could expect anything between a few minutes with them and a few hours.

Our baby boys gave us hours.

They showed us more strength and bravery than I will ever see another human being show in my life. When I held each of them for the first time, I even stopped crying. They gave me a sense of calmness in the middle of absolute chaos. Each of them were baptized in my arms right after they were born. Tim and I told them how happy they made us, how proud we were, how much we loved them, and how sorry we were. They both passed quietly, Benjamin in Tim's arms and Conner in mine. But their impact on our lives will be felt forever. They have changed us and will continue to change who we are for eternity.

I have overwhelming and extreme guilt over what has happened to them. I have apologized to them over and over and over again. I may have said "I'm sorry" almost as much as "I love you." I am their mother, and I am supposed to take care of them. I have no idea what happened. Did the infection cause pre-term labor, or did the long labor cause the infection? Does it even matter? All I know is that they owe me nothing, and I owe them everything. I will never be able to give them what was taken from them or from Tim and I, and for that I will never fully be at peace with.

I made promises to them that I will never break. First, that I would make sure their cremation was taken care of properly and quickly, and that their daddy and I would come back for their remains and not to be scared. Second, that their daddy and I would read to them from their bibles every night until the day I died no matter what the circumstance. Third and most importantly, that they will always have a mama and they will always have a daddy. If they ever, ever feel like they need anything, please show me some kind of sign to let me know and I will die trying to give them what they need. I am, after all, their mother.

The last words I told them before we left the hospital was that I loved them, and to take care of each other. I know that they will. Although our heartache is a million times deeper because we have lost not one but two sons, we are comforted knowing that they are always with each other and never alone. I asked Tim if we could use his first name for Conner's middle name, and Tim's middle name as Benjamin's middle name. I wanted them to be just like their father. And, God willing if they are, they are strong, self-less, and positive. They are every mother's dream. I like to think that they take these traits with them into heaven, and use them to support each other.

My precious baby boys, do not worry about your daddy and I. We love each other and will support each other through this. Your daddy said that he thinks your hearts might be breaking for us, but I hope that they are not. We will grieve forever, but only because we love you both so much. Every nurse that had come into our room told us that they felt how connected your father and I were and how much we loved each other, and they knew we would get each other through this. I believe that because it is true. The night you were born, your father gave a prayer and asked God that you never, ever go a day without knowing our love for each of you. Please do not ever feel like you are alone. We are always with you, and you with us.