I have been asked over and over how I did what I did. More specifically, I would be asked, "How did you plan the twins' memorial service? How did you pick out their casket, the flowers, and the music that would play, and how did you make it through the service without sobbing uncontrollably?" To be honest, my response was always the same. "The only thing I know is that God carried me through it all. He didn't let my feet touch the ground until after their burial."
It wasn't until after all of the "business" side of things were taken care of, did I allow myself to just sit, sob, grieve, and really feel what I had just experienced. When you are in the thick of it, some crazy inner strength comes out and you do what you have to do to get by; and it isn't until the dust settles that your heart begins to feel the magnitude of what happened.
God knew that if He didn't carry me through those first days, there would be a chance that I would never regain the strength to stand again. He didn't abandon me during my darkest hours, he lit up my face with a smile as I hugged family and friends at their memorial and burial. I was able to make it through things that I never in a million years thought possible. Things that are NOT supposed to happen. Parents aren't supposed to bury their children, it disrupts the natural progression of society. I shouldn't of had to pick out a tiny casket or songs that should have been played, but I did, we did, our family did.
Over the past few weeks I have been struggling with more things that I shouldn't HAVE to do, but reality is this is where God has me. I am forced to figure out things that don't come with a manual of any kind.
God has blessed me with the MOST beautiful baby girl I could have ever dreamed of, and at some point will have to teach her about death, heaven, and her army of angels looking out for her from above.
As my daughter has gotten older, she now enjoys pointing to pictures and naming who is in them. Last week, she pointed to a picture of Ferrari, me, and the twins from the day they were born. She looked at the picture, looked back at me, and popped out her paci to say proudly, "baby." My eyes teared up, and I nodded with a smile. "Yes, that is your brother and sister, I explained." Knowing full well that my one year old has no idea what that meant. It stirred my heart, and I haven't been able to shake the feeling since. I think about the twins and my other angels every single passing day, but I don't talk about them to her. I am not keeping them from her, I just haven't found the right way to weave them in to our conversations.
I started to worry about what she would think, how it would affect her, and if her adoption on top of it all would send her over the edge or if she would embrace it all as a part of her. All I can do is pray that it makes her more understanding, more loving, and more sympathetic to others. I can hope that it makes our family closer and that it doesn't drive us a part. Someday, and I know that day will be here all too quickly, we will see her response.
As for today, all I can do is continue to teach her about her brothers and sisters and paint her a beautiful picture of what Heaven will be like when we are all reunited together as one big family!