Well, I made it through today. Actually, I'm pretty impressed with myself. This is the first time in 7 years that I have worked on Oct. 17.
Today was Sarah's 6th birthday. Sarah is my youngest daughter...Emily's twin. Sarah's story is nowhere near as horrible as Emily's, but Sarah's death is the one that has plagued me with guilt for the longest.
I know that Sarah's death was technically not my fault, but between my body not functioning correctly (at least in my eyes) and decisions I (and my husband) made I can't completely shake my guilt.
After Emily was born, the doctor's warned me that the two placenta's had been fused together so I was unable to deliver Emily's placenta. Because of this, I was at a very high risk for developing infection. Of course, after they told me this, they tried to send me home. Needless to say, I was not budging. I worked at it really hard, but I was able to convince them to keep me in the hospital until I gave birth or that if I were to go into labor the baby would not be in danger (was looking forward to...not really...spending a couple of months in the hospital).
Unfortunately, the doctors were right. I did develop an infection (although it took longer than they thought). I don't remember is medicine was used to help me fight it, but I do remember that there came a point when the doctor's were saying that they were going to have to induce labor. Again, I fought for more time. I was doing o.k. Unfortunately, it got to the point where the infection apparentenly was putting my life in danger (so said the docs.). I was told that they were going to induce labor...I tried to refuse but my parents and husband went nuts.
Once they decided they were going to induce labor, they told me that I had to decide if I wanted to put the baby on machines to keep it alive. My personal stance has always been that if I were dying, I would not want to be kept alive by machines. I remember my grandmother having stroke after stroke and machines being used to help her and all she did when she was awake was beg everyone to let her die. I also spent some of my early teaching career with severely disabled students. Students who where unable to communicate, take care of themselves, move, and appeared to have diminished mental capacity. The doctors also shared the researched (that I already knew) that the chance of Sarah surviving were less than .28%. The likely hood of her surviving and leading a normal (and normal included most likely learning and physical handicaps) were even less.I decided (with my husband's and family support) that we would not use machines. We would let her do what she could on her own.
I'll skip the whole "giving birth" section of the story...even if it is the funniest part of this whole ordeal. So, the doctor's induced labor (not pleasant).
Sarah was born weighing a smidge over a pound. She never cried. However, her little heart was pumping away. I was heavily drugged or I would have changed my mine most likely at this point. But I didn't.
We held Sarah for the hour (or a bit more) that she fought for her life. When I think of her I think of her heart...beating...and beating...and beating. And this is where my guilt comes in. What if...
What if is a horrible game that we play with ourselves. What if...I had refused to induce labor? What if...I said I wanted to try to keep her alive? What if...?
One of the first I clearly remember after coming home from the hospital was watching an episode of "ER". The main patient in the story was a woman that gave birth to a baby that was just as early as my daughters. The baby died...then came back to life. I about blew a nut. I remember sobbing and being so angry...at the writers and at myself. More what if's. I do believe that the baby eventually died at the end of the story. The worst part? It was how happy and relieved I felt when the baby died...a new all time low for me.
Well, I have survived. Adopting my son has made it somewhat easier. It has also brought me new issues of guilt. When I go to visit the grave on their birthdays, I always feel bad for missing them so much. If they would have lived, I wouldn't have my beautiful, wonderful son. Wishing that they would have lived makes me feel like I'm betraying my son.
I work through my guilt and grief on an almost daily basis...which is a step up from and hourly and minutely basis. It is an ongoing process. I don't tell myself that one day I will be free of the guilt because I doubt it's true. However, I do everything I can think of to try to squash the feelings of guilt. I do okay most of the time.
Thank you for letting me share my story with you. Talking/writing about what happened has done the most for me. People are not always comfortable with me sharing, but I've gotten to the point where I think, "too bad." Maybe one day I'll be able to answer "How many children do you have?" without hesitating...torn between wanting to say "three" and saying "one."
Until next time...
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Cleaning
This weekend was supposed to be "my" weekend. My weekend to myself to do what I want when I want to. I had a list of things I wanted to do: watch some movies; read; CLEAN!
Don't get me wrong, I HATE cleaning. Which is why I need to do it. Really...how long does it take a person to clean their closet and bedroom...throughly? I would guess the normal person would take a couple of hours max. But not me. Nope. It took me FOUR WEEKS to clean my closet. Ladies and gents...my house was built in the '30's therefore the closets are incredibly small. 4 weeks to clean a small closet is insane. I ended up getting rid of 6 boxes of clothes (how did those even fit into my closet)!
Now, two months later I'm still trying to clean my room. Ugh!!! I have got to be the world's biggest slob. The rest of my house is a disaster also. Everything is a mess and I can't seem to keep up...or for that matter...get started!!
Anyway, I did not get my list done. I have been sick. No work on Friday due to a doctor's appointment (for something not relating to my illness). I came home from the doctor's and made homemade chicken noodle soup...yummy...read a book and watched a movie. Yesterday was a complete waste. More movies...more reading...sleeping (something I desperately needed to do, but hate wasting the time doing). Today has been a bit better. I've gotten rid on almost all of my jewelry (apparently I haven't bought any jewelry since the 80's.); done 2 loads of laundry; read; watched a movie; and cleaned off one dresser. I try not to think about what I have left to do. Its too overwhelming.
Well, I guess this is enough procrastinating. Hubby and Peanut will be home soon. I really need to get more work done.
Until next time...
Don't get me wrong, I HATE cleaning. Which is why I need to do it. Really...how long does it take a person to clean their closet and bedroom...throughly? I would guess the normal person would take a couple of hours max. But not me. Nope. It took me FOUR WEEKS to clean my closet. Ladies and gents...my house was built in the '30's therefore the closets are incredibly small. 4 weeks to clean a small closet is insane. I ended up getting rid of 6 boxes of clothes (how did those even fit into my closet)!
Now, two months later I'm still trying to clean my room. Ugh!!! I have got to be the world's biggest slob. The rest of my house is a disaster also. Everything is a mess and I can't seem to keep up...or for that matter...get started!!
Anyway, I did not get my list done. I have been sick. No work on Friday due to a doctor's appointment (for something not relating to my illness). I came home from the doctor's and made homemade chicken noodle soup...yummy...read a book and watched a movie. Yesterday was a complete waste. More movies...more reading...sleeping (something I desperately needed to do, but hate wasting the time doing). Today has been a bit better. I've gotten rid on almost all of my jewelry (apparently I haven't bought any jewelry since the 80's.); done 2 loads of laundry; read; watched a movie; and cleaned off one dresser. I try not to think about what I have left to do. Its too overwhelming.
Well, I guess this is enough procrastinating. Hubby and Peanut will be home soon. I really need to get more work done.
Until next time...
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Emily's Story
I know that this is something that most people won't want to read, but since there isn't a lot of people reading this blog anyway it doesn't matter.
On October 5 or 6th of 2000, I was home alone. I know it sounds silly not to know the exact date, but so much of this time is hazy that dates are not easy to recall. Anyway, my husband was working late and I had spent the day at a conference for work. I had been talking on the phone to a friend while I was laying down...my back had really been hurting me. To help with the pain, I made a warming sock and used it to help ease the pain. After talking to my friend I felt the urge to use the bathroom, so I did. When I went to the bathroom, I felt a rush of warm water and it wasn't urine. It didn't come from that area. I immediately knew that my water had broke.
After a couple of seconds of calming myself down and working up the nerve, I decided to check (I'm not sure for what). That is when I saw the blood. Lots of blood. And the panic kicked in. I grabbed the phone and called my doctor. My doctor was not on call that night so I talked to the one that was. He kept asking me if I was sure if my water had broke and I kept saying yes and explained why (I don't think he liked it, but he kept implying that he didn't believe me). Eventually, he told me to go to the closest emergency room.
I live an hour away from my closest relative and am nearly that far from my husband's work place. So, because I was shaking so bad, I called a couple of co-workers/friends. No one was home. Next, I called my aunt that lives near my parents and asked to talked to my uncle (which up to that point I had never done...asked to talk to him). I explained to him (I was afraid that my aunt would flip out) what was going on and asked him to go tell my mom and dad (I KNEW my mom would flip). So he did. I obviously was going to either have to call 911 or drive myself. I didn't want my neighbors seeing me being put into an ambulance, so I drove myself. Once I got behind the wheel, an eerie calm came over me and I drove without crying or panic or flipping out to the hospital. At one point, I was behind an ambulance and thought of trying to stop them (or follow them into the Wendy's they eventually pulled into), but decided that I was almost to the hospital and it would be silly. I finally reached my husband on his cell phone and filled him in. He said he wasn't sure if he could leave but he'd try to get to the hospital as soon as possible.
Once I got to the hospital, I thought about pulling into the emergency entrance, but didn't want to over react, so I found the closest parking spot (to where I already was) and parked my car. I ended up walking up quite a way to the emergency entrance. The emergency room was quite full, but as soon as I told them I was in premature labor they grabbed a wheel chair got me out of there.
The poor man that wheeled me up to the labor and delivery floor was trying to be kind and was asking questions: was this my first, did I know if it was a boy or a girl (I explained I was expecting twins but didn't know the sex), etc. Then he asked if I was excited. I tried to be as kind as possible and said, "No. I'm not due until the 1st part of February." The man apologized profusely and didn't say word the rest of the time.
Trying to shorten the story, I paraphrase here. The hospital (and my doctor who met me at the hospital shortly after I got there) transferred me to another hospital in the area. The "new" hospital had a very good neonatal unit (I think someone tried to explain something about levels to me, but I wasn't really listening). I don't remember the whole thing, but I do remember joking with the ambulance guys when they said something about the elevator being broke and possibly taking me down the stairs. My suggestion was that they just warn me and give me a good push and I meet them at the bottom. They laughed and found a working elevator.
At the new hospital, I don't remember the 1st night. I think my mom ended up spending the night (everyone had met me at the 1st hospital in record time). The second night I sent everyone home. At some point during the night/early morning (again I can't remember although the birth certificate would tell me) I felt an urge to use the bathroom so I called a nurse. The nurse helped me into the bathroom and left me alone (after she showed me the call button and made sure that I was ok).
That was a mistake. I started to use the bathroom, but knew right away that something was majorly wrong. Once again, something had come out of the wrong spot. I blanked out my mind. It truly is amazing how a person can block thoughts. I pushed the call button and in an amazingly calm, conversational voice I asked for my nurse. My nurse was there in a heart beat. I told her that I thought that I had just had a baby. She looked at me as though I was nuts and asked what I meant (panic was creeping into her voice as she finished the question). I calmly told her that I thought that I had my baby and it was in the toilet. She went over the edge. She ran out of my room hollering for help, ran back in and asked me if it were alive. I told her that I had been afraid to look. She was not happy (she didn't want to look either I guess). The baby was there.
Without all of the details, she got me to the bed and help arrived. The baby was dead. Someone asked if I wanted them to call my husband. I asked them to call my parents and have them go get my husband. Then they wanted to know if I wanted to see my baby. At first I said no...I was afraid it might be deformed...don't ask how. The nurse reassured me that it looked like a baby. When I saw my little girl, I cried. I kept saying how beautiful she was (if you've ever seen a very premature baby...you know they aren't beautiful...except to possibly their parents).
When my parents and husband arrived, the baby had been taken away or put in an incubator for my family to see (don't remember). I do remember crying and saying how sorry I was. They had no idea what was going on. Apparently, I had asked the nurse calling them not to say anything (like a woman who's just given birth to their baby in a toilet bowl is mentally competent to make ANY decisions), so I had to tell them the news and explain what had happened.
I have to say...nurses and doctors sure know how to make you feel stupid. Didn't I know I was in labor? Couldn't I tell the difference between labor pains and having to go to the bathroom? You get the picture. It's taken six years to forgive myself for not knowing. It took a while before I'd use a bathroom also...especially since I was still carrying another baby.
That night was the last night I cried for 10 days. No one was allowed in my room if they were crying. I was terrified that if I started, I'd never stop...or that I'd cause myself to go into labor and lose the remaining baby...or the baby would...the list goes on.
Well, that is Emily's story. I think I'll stop for today. I will save Sarah's story for another day.
.
On October 5 or 6th of 2000, I was home alone. I know it sounds silly not to know the exact date, but so much of this time is hazy that dates are not easy to recall. Anyway, my husband was working late and I had spent the day at a conference for work. I had been talking on the phone to a friend while I was laying down...my back had really been hurting me. To help with the pain, I made a warming sock and used it to help ease the pain. After talking to my friend I felt the urge to use the bathroom, so I did. When I went to the bathroom, I felt a rush of warm water and it wasn't urine. It didn't come from that area. I immediately knew that my water had broke.
After a couple of seconds of calming myself down and working up the nerve, I decided to check (I'm not sure for what). That is when I saw the blood. Lots of blood. And the panic kicked in. I grabbed the phone and called my doctor. My doctor was not on call that night so I talked to the one that was. He kept asking me if I was sure if my water had broke and I kept saying yes and explained why (I don't think he liked it, but he kept implying that he didn't believe me). Eventually, he told me to go to the closest emergency room.
I live an hour away from my closest relative and am nearly that far from my husband's work place. So, because I was shaking so bad, I called a couple of co-workers/friends. No one was home. Next, I called my aunt that lives near my parents and asked to talked to my uncle (which up to that point I had never done...asked to talk to him). I explained to him (I was afraid that my aunt would flip out) what was going on and asked him to go tell my mom and dad (I KNEW my mom would flip). So he did. I obviously was going to either have to call 911 or drive myself. I didn't want my neighbors seeing me being put into an ambulance, so I drove myself. Once I got behind the wheel, an eerie calm came over me and I drove without crying or panic or flipping out to the hospital. At one point, I was behind an ambulance and thought of trying to stop them (or follow them into the Wendy's they eventually pulled into), but decided that I was almost to the hospital and it would be silly. I finally reached my husband on his cell phone and filled him in. He said he wasn't sure if he could leave but he'd try to get to the hospital as soon as possible.
Once I got to the hospital, I thought about pulling into the emergency entrance, but didn't want to over react, so I found the closest parking spot (to where I already was) and parked my car. I ended up walking up quite a way to the emergency entrance. The emergency room was quite full, but as soon as I told them I was in premature labor they grabbed a wheel chair got me out of there.
The poor man that wheeled me up to the labor and delivery floor was trying to be kind and was asking questions: was this my first, did I know if it was a boy or a girl (I explained I was expecting twins but didn't know the sex), etc. Then he asked if I was excited. I tried to be as kind as possible and said, "No. I'm not due until the 1st part of February." The man apologized profusely and didn't say word the rest of the time.
Trying to shorten the story, I paraphrase here. The hospital (and my doctor who met me at the hospital shortly after I got there) transferred me to another hospital in the area. The "new" hospital had a very good neonatal unit (I think someone tried to explain something about levels to me, but I wasn't really listening). I don't remember the whole thing, but I do remember joking with the ambulance guys when they said something about the elevator being broke and possibly taking me down the stairs. My suggestion was that they just warn me and give me a good push and I meet them at the bottom. They laughed and found a working elevator.
At the new hospital, I don't remember the 1st night. I think my mom ended up spending the night (everyone had met me at the 1st hospital in record time). The second night I sent everyone home. At some point during the night/early morning (again I can't remember although the birth certificate would tell me) I felt an urge to use the bathroom so I called a nurse. The nurse helped me into the bathroom and left me alone (after she showed me the call button and made sure that I was ok).
That was a mistake. I started to use the bathroom, but knew right away that something was majorly wrong. Once again, something had come out of the wrong spot. I blanked out my mind. It truly is amazing how a person can block thoughts. I pushed the call button and in an amazingly calm, conversational voice I asked for my nurse. My nurse was there in a heart beat. I told her that I thought that I had just had a baby. She looked at me as though I was nuts and asked what I meant (panic was creeping into her voice as she finished the question). I calmly told her that I thought that I had my baby and it was in the toilet. She went over the edge. She ran out of my room hollering for help, ran back in and asked me if it were alive. I told her that I had been afraid to look. She was not happy (she didn't want to look either I guess). The baby was there.
Without all of the details, she got me to the bed and help arrived. The baby was dead. Someone asked if I wanted them to call my husband. I asked them to call my parents and have them go get my husband. Then they wanted to know if I wanted to see my baby. At first I said no...I was afraid it might be deformed...don't ask how. The nurse reassured me that it looked like a baby. When I saw my little girl, I cried. I kept saying how beautiful she was (if you've ever seen a very premature baby...you know they aren't beautiful...except to possibly their parents).
When my parents and husband arrived, the baby had been taken away or put in an incubator for my family to see (don't remember). I do remember crying and saying how sorry I was. They had no idea what was going on. Apparently, I had asked the nurse calling them not to say anything (like a woman who's just given birth to their baby in a toilet bowl is mentally competent to make ANY decisions), so I had to tell them the news and explain what had happened.
I have to say...nurses and doctors sure know how to make you feel stupid. Didn't I know I was in labor? Couldn't I tell the difference between labor pains and having to go to the bathroom? You get the picture. It's taken six years to forgive myself for not knowing. It took a while before I'd use a bathroom also...especially since I was still carrying another baby.
That night was the last night I cried for 10 days. No one was allowed in my room if they were crying. I was terrified that if I started, I'd never stop...or that I'd cause myself to go into labor and lose the remaining baby...or the baby would...the list goes on.
Well, that is Emily's story. I think I'll stop for today. I will save Sarah's story for another day.
.
Monday, October 09, 2006
Emotional Roller Coaster
***Beware: This is a LONG post.
Wow!! It's only Monday, but it has already been an emotional roller coaster of a week.
October is always a very difficult month for me. I usually take a weekend and go away by myself. It saves my sanity, my husband's sanity, and probably my marriage. Six years ago I lost twin girls due to prematurity. Emily, the oldest one would have turned six this past Saturday (the 7th). Sarah's birthday is the 17th. (One day, I hope to be able to write in this blog about it...my goal is to do it this month)
It still is very difficult, but as many others know that have lost loved ones, you eventually discover a new normal. You always hurt. They are always in the back of your mind...if not directly in front...but you learn to live with it. Maybe like a toothache (that's putting it mildly). I still miss them desperately, but also feel guilty for feeling that way because if they had lived I wouldn't have adopted my son. It can become a vicious cycle...one I try not to think about.
Anyway, that was the down part of the week (I know it was technically last week...but let it go). The up part happened today and I am still reeling, although not nearly as much as I had been.
Today I was leaving the school with my students to go on a field trip to the apple orchard. I had just exited the building and was walking down the sidewalk behind my class when I heard someone call my first name. Everyone at work (staff and parents) calls me by my last name when the kids are around (not necessarily with Mrs.) so I couldn't figure out who was calling my name. I looked around and saw a lady walking up another sidewalk and thought "she looks familiar but who is she?" Then she yelled out, "It's K..!" I still didn't get who it was. Then I saw a young boy with her and thought "that looks like N.." It was! The lady yelling my name was my son's birth mom with Peanut's sister and brother!
To say I went nuts is probably an understatement. I was so happy to see her. The first I blurted out was, "Where have you been?" Then I quickly kept talking. I kept hugging her and her kids. They probably wondered who the crazy lady was. But I couldn't help myself. I hadn't heard from Peanut's birth mom since his 1st birthday. She called to ask about him and said she had gifts for him, but then she disappeared. I knew that at one point she had been in a bad relationship and was worried that something had happened. I had even wanted to take an ad out in the local paper in order to contact her. My family and the adoption specialists that we still kept in contact with convinced me not to...she'd come back when and if she was ready.
I now feel like a heavy weight was lifted off my shoulders. A weight that I didn't even know I was carrying around!
Oh! You might be wondering what she was doing at my school. I asked her. She was enrolling her daughter in our Be-Four program. Her son had just been enrolled in the school I used to teach in. I let her know that I had switched schools...so she wouldn't be surprised. I also asked her to stop by and see me when she was up to it/ready.
I don't know yet if there will be any visits on her part to see Peanut or what the future holds. I do know that I am incredibly thankful that she is ok.
Someone that I work with asked me how I could be happy that she was back...especially since she obviously hadn't wanted him in the first place. She, and the others I work with now, just don't get it. First, and MOST IMPORTANTLY, I believe with every fiber of my being that K and Peanut's birth father didn't want to place him for adoption. If there would have been any way that they could have supported him they would have. However, they were in a place in their lives where that was not a possibility. Selfishly, I am thankful. It meant that I now have the most beautiful (and dare I say "perfect") son anyone could every wish for.
Secondly, I guess I can accept her so easily because I've never truly thought of Peanut as "just mine." Yes...he is my son, but he is also hers. When I talk about her to Peanut I sometimes refer to her as his first mommy. There is also the fact that the people in my previous school, went through the loss of my daughters with me. Some of them knew about the miscarriages that followed. They were also there for the adoption. So, in away, Peanut has always "belonged" to a large number of people. Many people feel very close to Peanut and will say to me..."So, how's my little man?" or other such statements.
Finally, I guess because I lost my daughters, that even though I have no idea what it's like to place a child for adoption, I know what its like to lose a child...which in my mind adoption is similar to. The child may not be dead, but in the eyes of the law and a lot of people, the child is no longer yours. My promise to myself was that the birth parents of my child would never have to wonder how their child was. I was going to let them know...hopefully through visits and phone calls, etc., but also for letters and other means. I also wanted it for Peanut. I can't imagine walking down the street and looking at people and thinking, "Is that the person that gave birth to me?" "Is that person my sibling?" Family is too important to me.
There is so much more I want/need to say, but I am out of time. I'll have finish later this week.
Until next time...
Wow!! It's only Monday, but it has already been an emotional roller coaster of a week.
October is always a very difficult month for me. I usually take a weekend and go away by myself. It saves my sanity, my husband's sanity, and probably my marriage. Six years ago I lost twin girls due to prematurity. Emily, the oldest one would have turned six this past Saturday (the 7th). Sarah's birthday is the 17th. (One day, I hope to be able to write in this blog about it...my goal is to do it this month)
It still is very difficult, but as many others know that have lost loved ones, you eventually discover a new normal. You always hurt. They are always in the back of your mind...if not directly in front...but you learn to live with it. Maybe like a toothache (that's putting it mildly). I still miss them desperately, but also feel guilty for feeling that way because if they had lived I wouldn't have adopted my son. It can become a vicious cycle...one I try not to think about.
Anyway, that was the down part of the week (I know it was technically last week...but let it go). The up part happened today and I am still reeling, although not nearly as much as I had been.
Today I was leaving the school with my students to go on a field trip to the apple orchard. I had just exited the building and was walking down the sidewalk behind my class when I heard someone call my first name. Everyone at work (staff and parents) calls me by my last name when the kids are around (not necessarily with Mrs.) so I couldn't figure out who was calling my name. I looked around and saw a lady walking up another sidewalk and thought "she looks familiar but who is she?" Then she yelled out, "It's K..!" I still didn't get who it was. Then I saw a young boy with her and thought "that looks like N.." It was! The lady yelling my name was my son's birth mom with Peanut's sister and brother!
To say I went nuts is probably an understatement. I was so happy to see her. The first I blurted out was, "Where have you been?" Then I quickly kept talking. I kept hugging her and her kids. They probably wondered who the crazy lady was. But I couldn't help myself. I hadn't heard from Peanut's birth mom since his 1st birthday. She called to ask about him and said she had gifts for him, but then she disappeared. I knew that at one point she had been in a bad relationship and was worried that something had happened. I had even wanted to take an ad out in the local paper in order to contact her. My family and the adoption specialists that we still kept in contact with convinced me not to...she'd come back when and if she was ready.
I now feel like a heavy weight was lifted off my shoulders. A weight that I didn't even know I was carrying around!
Oh! You might be wondering what she was doing at my school. I asked her. She was enrolling her daughter in our Be-Four program. Her son had just been enrolled in the school I used to teach in. I let her know that I had switched schools...so she wouldn't be surprised. I also asked her to stop by and see me when she was up to it/ready.
I don't know yet if there will be any visits on her part to see Peanut or what the future holds. I do know that I am incredibly thankful that she is ok.
Someone that I work with asked me how I could be happy that she was back...especially since she obviously hadn't wanted him in the first place. She, and the others I work with now, just don't get it. First, and MOST IMPORTANTLY, I believe with every fiber of my being that K and Peanut's birth father didn't want to place him for adoption. If there would have been any way that they could have supported him they would have. However, they were in a place in their lives where that was not a possibility. Selfishly, I am thankful. It meant that I now have the most beautiful (and dare I say "perfect") son anyone could every wish for.
Secondly, I guess I can accept her so easily because I've never truly thought of Peanut as "just mine." Yes...he is my son, but he is also hers. When I talk about her to Peanut I sometimes refer to her as his first mommy. There is also the fact that the people in my previous school, went through the loss of my daughters with me. Some of them knew about the miscarriages that followed. They were also there for the adoption. So, in away, Peanut has always "belonged" to a large number of people. Many people feel very close to Peanut and will say to me..."So, how's my little man?" or other such statements.
Finally, I guess because I lost my daughters, that even though I have no idea what it's like to place a child for adoption, I know what its like to lose a child...which in my mind adoption is similar to. The child may not be dead, but in the eyes of the law and a lot of people, the child is no longer yours. My promise to myself was that the birth parents of my child would never have to wonder how their child was. I was going to let them know...hopefully through visits and phone calls, etc., but also for letters and other means. I also wanted it for Peanut. I can't imagine walking down the street and looking at people and thinking, "Is that the person that gave birth to me?" "Is that person my sibling?" Family is too important to me.
There is so much more I want/need to say, but I am out of time. I'll have finish later this week.
Until next time...
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