This Side of Heaven

It was two days before Christmas.  I'm sure of this because I specifically remember thinking that Jeff and I were either going to have an especially merry holiday, or a Christmas we'd rather forget.

Exactly one month before, on our two-year wedding anniversary, I had surprised Jeff with two things - a book filled with date ideas, and a positive pregnancy test.  When he saw that our little family of three was growing into a perfect family of four, his eyes began to tear and he reached from the couch to the coffee table where I sat, and wrapped his arms around me.  I smiled as he did, but warned that, yes, of course, I was SO excited too, but I had a gut feeling that something was wrong.  Though it was early, this pregnancy felt different than when I was expecting Jake...

As any good husband would do, he assured me that everything was fine, but did support me when I immediately scheduled an appointment with an OB/GYN.  I met with Dr. Evans whose practice was located just down the road from our beautiful home in Morganton, NC.  I wasn't shy about expressing my concern and Dr. Evans reminded me that to worry about the viability of one's pregnancy is perfectly normal.  Despite my fears he recommended that we schedule an ultrasound for the end of December and I ultimately agreed to wait for what was sure to be an excruciatingly long four weeks.

Fortunately, we had a Thanksgiving trip to Texas and a Disney trip to Florida to help pass the time.  Both sides of our family were thrilled at the announcement of our upcoming arrival - (we had Jake tell the family that he wanted to show them something, we left the room to change his clothes, and then sent him running back to our families to show them his new shirt that read "Big Brother").  Everyone was so excited that I opted against sharing my fears with our family, but did ask that they please pray for a healthy pregnancy.

Almost immediately I was stricken with morning/noon/night sickness.  I had only ever felt sick with Jake twice, so to lose my lunch- for lack of better words- all day long, strengthened my fears that something was off.  FINALLY, after what seemed like years of waiting, the time had come for the ultrasound.

I don't remember the specific events that led up to the sonogram, but I do remember lying on the table, Jeff holding my left hand, and the nice blonde ultrasound tech who entered the room. Before she started, she asked if I had symptoms that would lead me to believe that something was wrong with the baby- a fair and obvious question to someone who was having an ultrasound so early.  I told her that other than morning sickness, I just had a really strong, almost palpable instinct that something was wrong- different.

Within seconds of pouring the warm gel on my tummy and moving around the ultrasound transducer she paused and put her hand on my knee as she looked down at the ground.  I wanted to ask what was wrong, but the lump in my throat prevented me from doing so.  The split-second hesitation seemed to last a lifetime.  The tech, recognizing my anxiety, turned the screen towards Jeff and I and said, "There are two babies.  You're having twins."

Jeff and I looked at each other and simultaneously burst into laughter and then into tears.  We took turn rattling off the things in our lives that were inevitably going to change.  "We're going to need two cribs."  "Can we afford daycare?"  "We're going to need a van!"  The tech allowed us to have our little moment, but finally asked me to please stop giggling, she couldn't complete the ultrasound with my belly bouncing around.  I took a deep breath, wiped the happy tears from my eyes, smiled once more at Jeff, then turned back to look at my baby, no - BABIES- on the monitor.

The rest of the afternoon was filled with phone calls to our family and friends across the country.  My friend Stef instantly guessed what I was calling to tell her.  My mom was in complete shock and said, "You're lying" at least 15 times before the news finally sank in and she started to cry, and my sister-in-law, Melanie, on speakerphone mind you, said, "Shut the F up!" I love you, Melanie.


It was the happiest day of my life...


We were in shock ourselves, but head-over-heels, over-the-moon, cloud #9, blissfully happy.  So many people made comments like, "Are you... happy?" or "Better you than me."  I never took offense to the questions and comments that could've been perceived as negative.  Of course I knew that we were about to have a lot on our hands, our world would never be the same.  I didn't care.  I couldn't have been happier.  In fact, Dr. Evans encouraged that morning sickness was actually a sign of a healthy pregnancy, so everytime I would throw up, whether it was on the side of Interstate 40, in the bathroom at Lowe's, or in the Chick-fil-A drive-through (not one of my finer moments, I admit) I would pause and thank God for what I referred to as my "blessing times two."  That, my friends, is a special kind of happy.

"Two" quickly became a theme around our house.  Jake was going to turn two in just a couple of months (which meant that we were going to have three kids under the age of three), everything "baby" whether it was carriers, cribs or car seats was going to double.  Jeff and I, seriously still in shock, would sometimes just look at each other, unable to find words, and hold up two fingers symbolizing the two new additions that were coming our way.

And while our gesture mimicked a peace sign, there wasn't even a small fraction of my mind that was the least bit at peace.  I couldn't shake the haunting, terrible, keep-you-up-at-night kind of feeling that having twins, something I had wanted for as long as I could remember, would never really happen.

When I was able to rest and slip off to sleep, I had a recurring dream.  A dream about a field of white flowers where far away in the distance there sat a little girl in a white dress.  In my dream, I would walk to her, the tall white flowers caressing my knees while I moved closer and closer to my destination.  I don't know why, but my dream never allowed me closer than probably five feet away.  From this distance I could see that the little girl was sitting on a white blanket.  She had long brown hair and though my view was of her back, I could see that she was playing, though with what I have no idea.  I was so intrigued and had so many questions.  Despite all of the uncertainties, of three things I was sure: She was beautiful.  She was happy.  And I loved her.

I shared my dream with Jeff and found that he too, had dreamed that we had a little girl.  News of this would have made most people feel certain that our little Jakey was going to have a sister- I feared it meant just the opposite. 

After midnight on the night of Sunday, January 3, I woke up with incredibly intense pains in my lower back.  I lay in bed, silent, for a while, but finally sat up and tried to make my way to the bathroom.  My shuffling around woke Jeff and he asked what was wrong.  I told him that I felt like I was having contractions and to grab my phone so I could call the hospital.  As I knew he would, the on-call doctor told me that it sounded like I was having a miscarriage, but to wait it out until morning, and then call my OB for further instructions.

At exactly 8:00 a.m., I called Dr. Evans' office and scheduled an appointment for 8:30.  Dr. Evans did a couple of tests and said that everything looked perfectly fine, but just to give me peace of mind, he set up an emergency ultrasound at the hospital.

We were probably only in the waiting room for half an hour, but it seemed like an eternity- fortunately we had "The Price is Right" with the recently added host, Drew Carey, to help pass the time.  I remember the radioligist walking through the double doors and calling my name.  I said a silent prayer, "Please, God, let her have good news."  Jeff stood and took my hand, because we both assumed that he could be a part of the process, but he was told that I had to go back there alone - something I really wasn't prepared to do.

The radiologist and I walked down the cold, quiet, beige hallway and I tried to seem friendly, to make small talk, but I honestly just couldn't find any words to convince either one of us that I was doing OK.  Once I was on the table she started the ultrasound and was completely quiet, which was seriously driving me crazy.  I asked a quick series of questions, "Are they OK?"  "Can you see heartbeats?"  "Are they moving?"

She then explained that she wasn't at liberty to tell me anything, only that she would give the results to Dr. Evans and he would call me as soon as he could.  I honestly wasn't trying to make her feel bad, but I started to cry.  I apologized and said that I was just so worried and had hoped that she would be able to tell me something so I wouldn't have to wait any longer.  She hesitated, said, "Promise you won't tell..." and she turned the screen so I could see.

I've done a lot of traveling in my life and I have lived in and visited some of the most beautiful places in our country, but I have never, not once, seen anything more magical than what I saw on that cold winter morning.  On the left side of the screen was "Baby A," looking face-on, floating up and down; to the right was "Baby B" doing somersaults over and over.  I was completely entranced and found that now I was crying harder than before.  Just before the tech moved the screen back to its starting position, "Baby A" appeared to flash a peace sign (ironic I know) and "Baby B" lay on her back.  "It's looks like "Baby B" tuckered herself out.  I think she's sucking her thumb," the tech smiled and patted my shoulder.

I probably thanked her 50 times on the walk back to the waiting room and even hugged her just before I stepped through the doors.  I was so sincerely grateful that she had broken the rules.  Not only did I have confirmation that both babies were perfectly healthy, but I was able to see the babies on the screen at the same time - something that the tech wasn't able to do on our first sonogram visit.  It was the first and last time I would see my babies side-by-side.


I spent the next few months doing extensive research on the best strollers for twins, tandem or side-by-side, whether the twins should share a crib or have a space of their own, and the best nursing schedule to feed two hungry babies.  We also test drove several vehicles because there was absolutely no way that we could fit three carseats in the back of my Ford Edge.  I really had my heart set on a Jeep Commander, but found that there wasn't enough room in the back for Jake's stroller as well as one for the twins.  And really, all third-row vehicles were going to prove difficult because either way I was going to have to crawl into the back to strap one of three kiddos in.  As much as I hated it, I knew that buying a van was inevitable.

And though there was the need to purchase a new car and other huge financial investments, not to mention so many other drastic life changes, I amazingly, never felt like I couldn't handle it.  Maybe I was just too excited to feel overwhelmed by all that having twins would entail;  then again, maybe I was just so incredibly thankful that I truly believed that God wouldn't give me more than I could handle.

The night of March second was a long one.  It was the eve of our next sonogram and I was so ridiculously excited I had a hard time sleeping.  When my alarm went off, I jumped out of bed, woke Jeff, and told him that today was the day we see our babies again.  Jeff originally thought that he couldn't get off work, so the fact that he was getting to go with me made me all the more anxious for the afternoon to arrive.

Even though I debated taking the day off (I knew there was no way I could focus!) I decided to be a good soldier and forced myself to go into work that morning where I told everyone, seriously everyone- complete strangers in the store, parking lot, wherever- that this was the day I would get to see my twins again.  The barista at Starbucks, who was a mother of twins herself, was especially excited for me.  I had been on a no-caffeine diet during the pregnancy, but wanted a little jolt of energy in hopes that the babies would be extra-active for their moment in the spotlight.  She handed me my coffee and wished me luck as I walked out the door.

Once I was back in the Edge I noticed that I had a missed call on my phone.  It was Jeff, who had called and said that Jake's daycare had called and that he had pink eye.  My initial thought was of "poor Jake!"  Then, though, I realized what Jeff was calling to tell me.

"You're not going to the ultrasound anymore are you?"  I asked.  Jeff said no, that it wouldn't be right to take a sick toddler to a place filled with pregnant women and to that point I couldn't argue.  At the same time though, there was something on my heart, something that came out of nowhere but was so real, so strong, I had no choice but to say it, "I need you there."

Four seemingly simple words that can mean so many things depending on the context, but four words that, as I uttered them, prepared my heart for the worst.

Once we were in the ultrasound room (all three of us: Jeff, Jake, and I), the tech entered followed by three other women.  Two of the ladies were ultrasound tech trainees, the third was their instructor.  They had never seen a twin pregnancy and asked if they could sit in.  I, of course, said yes.

Everyone seemed so lighthearted, joking with Jake, talking about how busy we were going to be with three little kids... but my mood was anything, but light.  I had such a heavy, heavy heart.

The songram started and the very first thing the tech asked was whether or not I had experienced any complications since we saw each other last.  I mentioned the trip to the hospital, but said that everything had been fine since then.  She showed us the screen and we watched "Baby A" doing his thing.  She mentioned the words "perfectly healthy" several times, took his measurements, checked his heart rate.  Then she stopped.  She looked me in the eyes and I saw that she was about to cry.

"Baby B has passed away.  I am so sorry, Amanda."  I covered my eyes and started crying, harder than I've ever cried, and felt Jeff lean over and put his face against mine.  Not knowing what was going on, little baby Jake started to cry too and kept asking me why I was sad.  I'm not sure how long this went on, but I do remember pausing every couple of minutes because I honestly, God know my heart here, thought I was dreaming.  Something this horrible couldn't happen, it just couldn't.

The tech explained that I was still carrying "Baby B," something that she had never seen before.  Most twins are either miscarried or reabsorbed into the uterin lining.  She asked if I wanted to see the baby - I did.

This precious angel who two months before had been doing somersaults and sucking her thumb was now so still, so lifeless.  I wanted to touch the screen, to somehow feel like I was holding her, but instead I just lay there with tears streaming down my cheeks.

By this point Jake was hysterical, so Jeff took him outside.  The tech left too, to find Dr. Evans.  The students and instructor offered me tissues and water.  Sure, it was a little awkward having these strangers witness something so horrible, but I'm glad they were there.  My innate nature to make everyone feel at ease made me snap out of the hysterics and convince them that I was fine, they shouldn't worry.  I still had one healthy baby- that was something to celebrate, right?

Dr. Evans came in an asked that I follow him to his office.  Once we were there, we both took a seat and he expressed his sympathies for my loss. Like the ultrasound tech, he had never seen a twin pass away, but remain in the uterus. He told me that he would have to send me to a specialist.

About that time, Jeff came in (one of the nurses was watching Jake so Jeff and I could be together), and he held me for a while before we headed home.

The first person I called was my mom who I assumed was at work - she wasn't.  She had gone to a funeral, so her cell phone was off.  I called my Dad.  No answer.  I called my Dad again.  Still no answer.  I probably called the poor guy 15 times in a row, but still wasn't able to get in touch with him, so I called my brother.  I honestly can't recall even one word from that conversation, or really much of anything else for the rest of the afternoon.  Everything else is a blur.


It was the worst day of my life...


That night was horrible.  Every time I would close my eyes I would dream that Jake died.  Strange, I know, but that's how it felt.  See, for me I didn't feel like I had lost a "fetus."  I had loved that baby with all my heart from the day I found out I was pregnant, just as much as I loved Jake because, though he or she wasn't yet born, she was my child just as much as Jake.  I would wake from these dreams, go into Jake's room to make sure he was breathing, then go back to my room where I was overwhelmed with so many terrible thoughts.

Was she scared when she died?  When did she take her last breath?  Was the surviving baby aware that his sister was no longer there?  I had felt all along that God wouldn't give me more than I could handle - was this His way of telling me I wasn't a good enough mother to handle three kids?  Did I not deserve to have a "blessing times two?"  Why would He give me a glimpse at having what I considered a perfect life only to snatch it away?

Then I remembered how selfish I had been about something as stupid as driving a minivan.  If I had complained about only one thing the entire pregnancy, it was that I would have to sell my Edge.  So that night, on the corner of my side of the bed as my sweet husband slept, I cried uncontrollably, feeling a tremendous amount of guilt over my unwillingness to drive what I considered an "old person" automobile.

Looking back I realize that, overachiever that I am, I skipped the first two steps of the Kubler-Ross Five Stages of Grief Model.  Even though I had initially hoped all of this wasn't happening, there was no way I could  have experienced true "Denial."  Pain that real couldn't be denied.  There was no use in feeling "Anger."  I didn't have the energy required to get mad.  Nope, I went straight to the bargaining phase and I sat there on the bed that night and told God that I knew He could work miracles - He had created the universe and parted the Red Sea.  He appeared as a burning bush and sent the ten plagues to Egypt.  His Son had walked on water and had risen from the dead.  He could do those things and, so I plead, I begged, I bargained...if He would just please let all of this be a mistake, a horrible nightmare, I would do anything, ANYTHING, including drive a minivan.

Morning came, though, and nothing had changed.  I was still a pregnant woman carrying twins, one that alive and one that was not.  I wanted to sit around and cry all day, but instead I put on a brave face and realized I had to rally - Jake's second birthday party was less than a week away and it wouldn't be fair to him to not get the party he deserved.

The next several days consisted of texts, emails, calls, and Facebook messages from people offering their condolences.  And I know that people meant well, and I sincerely appreciate people reaching out, but it was so hard to hear things like, "You're so lucky that you were having twins. Even though the one didn't make it, you still have another baby to look forward to."  Again, I don't want to sound ungrateful.  And it was true that I WAS thankful that I had a surviving baby, but I didn't feel like he was a consolation prize and I didn't feel any less grief-stricken at the loss of my baby.  If anything, I felt more torn.  When most women lose a baby, they can grieve - I couldn't.  If I felt sad, I was afraid people would think I was ungrateful for "Baby A."  If I hurt so bad that I couldn't eat or sleep, I was going to negatively impact the baby still growing in my womb.  If I seemed enthusiastic about "Baby A" arriving in just a few short months, I felt like I would be moving on, forgetting about my baby that died.  I never really had a chance to process what was happening.  I just had to suck it up, pray for the health of my baby, and go on.

I'll be honest and say that even though pregnancy is suppose to be one of the most wonderful times in a woman's life, I didn't enjoy it.  I couldn't.  I was either so sad at the loss or so worried about the second baby making it that I found it really hard to feel happy.

And while, yes, this was easily the most difficult time in my life, I can say now, after time to reflect, that something truly beautiful came from tragedy.

Two of the most powerful conversations I had on that terrible third day of March came from my Uncle Byron and from my Dad.  My uncle lost a son before I was even born, and he was able to talk about how much it hurts to lose a child.  My mom and dad also lost a baby, my sister, Jennifer, who was born in 1980, but only lived a few hours.  I bombarded my dad with all of the questions I was asking God and my dad told me something I'll never forget.  He explained that there are just some things we'll never understand this side of Heaven, and once we get there, the answers won't matter anyway.


What I DO know this side of Heaven is that God sends special people, unintentional angels, to help us during our most difficult days.  There were four people from Burkemont Baptist Church in particular,  Dustin, April, Kerry, and Zoe, who were all so supportive and sincere in their concern that my eyes were really opened to what it means to love thy neighbor.  None of these people knew me very well at all, but all made me feel like the most special, most important person in the world.  They prayed for me, made dinner so I could rest, and watched Jake when Jeff and I had to drive to the specialist in Asheville.

There was also a nurse who reminded me of my friend Tay.  Every doctor's appointment I had following the ultrasound, she would find me, even if she wasn't my nurse that day, and she would sit with me and cry.  I don't even know her name...

There were the people at my mom's work, BankTexas, who flew my mom to North Carolina the very next day after we received the horrible news.  I can't imagine how much that ticket must have cost, but they all pooled their money together to make sure I had my mom with me when I needed her most.

One unintentional angel was the radiologist who went against the rules, and allowed me to see my babies.  I'll cherish that memory forever, and will always carry a burden that Jeff couldn't see it too.

And of course, I had my husband, who somehow found the balance between being a source of strength- a shoulder to cry on- but was also vulnerable enough to show me that he was hurting too.

Last, but by no stretch of the imagination least, I had my sweet baby Jake who kept me smiling when all I wanted to do was go to my room, lock the door, and cry until I couldn't feel anything anymore.

Two years later, I still struggle to understand why things happened the way they did.  I'd be lying if I said I don't sometimes look at my precious angel baby Elijah (Lord is my God) Thomas (one of twins) and wonder what it would have been like had there been two.  I still sometimes pray that God will let me have that same old dream with the same white flowers and the same white blanket with that same beautiful little girl; I miss her.

But my dad was right.  Sure, maybe I could find the answers once I'm in Heaven, but I won't need them.  I won't need to understand why I lost my baby, it will be enough for me just knowing that she's there.  And to meet my baby for the first time in the presence of Jesus will be something to behold.


Above all, I've learned that there IS life after loss, even on this side of Heaven.  I'm daily reminded of all of the wonderful things, and more importantly- people- I am blessed to have.  And even though I miss my sweet baby, so, so much, she has helped me understand the importance of not taking anything, not even a single moment, for granted.

Finally, to my baby: I miss you, but know we'll be together again in the blink of an eye, and we'll walk together through a field of white flowers.  With all my heart, with all my soul, forever and ever, I love you.