open letter

“Open Letter”

Thanksgiving 2013

 

Dearest Lily and Lucas,

Thank you.  Thank you for changing my life.

The last person I thanked for that very same thing was your father.

Let me tell you something about your father.  He wished for you – he wished for you long before I knew what to wish for.  I wanted to feel settled and secure.  To be ready.  To not only be ready for you, but ready for my life to take another turn.

I didn’t know then how much of a turn it would be, how long and windy that road would become, how rough and staggering the bumps that would surface.  Years of meeting with specialists, infertility testing, hormone treatments, endless blood work and ultrasounds, three procedures, and an IVF cycle – our last resort – built us a tough exterior.  Because the thing about not knowing is that there’s always another route to take, another step in the process.  And as frustrating as that was, we weren’t giving up until we had exhausted every avenue – tried, trusted, fought, sacrificed.  We told ourselves it would be worth it in the end.  Every tear, all the heartache, the stress and pressure, the gripping fear, the ultimate test of our patience.  It would all pay off.

And it did.  It so did, because we found out about you.  Two heartbeats, an extraordinary blessing.  I’ll admit it was a little intimidating, knowing we’d have you both at once.  But I considered it an actual miracle, in every sense of the word.

Every morning, I woke up thanking God for giving me you.  Every night, I sat quietly rubbing my belly to let you know I was there, grateful to have you inside me.  I kept track of your progress, how much you were growing, what you resembled.  A lentil seed… a grape… an orange… a bell pepper… a banana.  Each week, I’d send your daddy updates comprised of little pictures I’d create based on the size I believed you were.  From month one and on, we’d take a picture displaying the appropriate month’s number on my belly.  Oh, the joy… the joy was evident.  We’d often talk to you both, and daddy would kiss my growing belly to show you how much you were already so loved.

Whenever I heard the sound of your heartbeats, strong and sure, I was relieved.  I wanted to do everything I could to keep you healthy and nourished, to give you life.  I wanted to find a way to thank you for being the answer to our prayers.

Lily, to mommy’s surprise, you were the first to make an appearance.  Although I knew your chances were slim, I felt like my heart stopped when you were born and unmoving.  But then you shocked me again – by taking a breath – and there it was, a bubble of hope.  And here’s the thing about hope – it clutches hard and clings on.  I didn’t want to believe it were possible that you wouldn’t survive, didn’t truly hear those words until you were in my arms, so small and beautiful and still that my heart really broke in two.

Lucas, our strong boy.  You held on for three more days, against the odds, despite my body’s protests.  I was fighting for you, and you let me know you were putting up a fight too.  But then it was your turn to meet us, and you took your time.  Hearing you cry, watching you breathe, listening to your heart gradually drift away… It was overwhelming.  Overwhelming because you were ours, the likeness indisputable, your tenacity in your features.  You hung on for over an hour and then you were gone.  Gone from our world, but never in our hearts.

There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t think of you, and there will never be a day that will go by that you aren’t a part of.  We hoped and dreamed for you, and had even bigger hopes and dreams for you.  If I had a regret, it would be that we didn’t have the chance to give you what you deserved.

But through it all, you did give us something.  A purposeful life.  Perspective.  Different hopes and dreams.

You showed us that the bonds of family and friendship can survive anything.  That we can come together.  That no one is left behind.  That my mom could finagle herself into my cloud of desperation and sorrow and pull me right out of it, in her own way, coming to my rescue even when I didn’t want to be saved.  That my dad could give you each beautiful and meaningful Chinese names, finding a way to express his grief.  That my in-laws could stay to play card games to help us avoid another night of feeling utterly and totally alone.  That my sisters could bear food and movies and comfort to get me through physically and mentally.  That my sister-in-law could bring trees to plant in your memory.  That my brother-in-law could cry with us.  That Nan could lead the family in a prayer, honoring you.  That my best friend could sit with me quietly, passing the time.  That your daddy and I would be showered with cards and flowers and gift baskets from various aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends far and wide – offering support, or a shoulder, or simply a listening ear.  That people, these people, love and care for us – just as we love and care for you.

So this Thanksgiving, I thank you.  I thank you for making me a mother.  I thank you for showing me what an incredible father your daddy is, and reinforcing that he is the only man that can make me whole.  I thank you for giving me strength.  I thank you for watching over us, for giving me hope again for a future that will always include you.  And most of all, I thank you for finding a way to love us back through those around us, even after you’re gone.

With love always,

Mommy

 

 

The last image of our twins, facing one another...

only a few hours prior to Lily's unexpected birth.