I consider myself a fighter. When life gets hard, I fight back. I don't let the circumstances win. After my initial panic, I will fix this. I will do whatever I can to pull myself (and my family) up.
If money is insanely tight, if I don't know how we are going to pay the mortgage, if medical bills try to swallow us whole, I will fix it. I will get a job and work a million hours. I will instantly cut everything non-essential. I will save change, turn off everything plugged in, stop using the cell phone, make potatoes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I will find the money somewhere.
If one of my babies die, I start almost immediately trying to heal. To find groups, other women. I journal like a nutcase. After Liam died, I joined a local Faces of Hope Group and read endless online articles and blogs. After Riley died, we joined a MISS group and a local grief group. I made things for Riley, planted flowers for my babies. We redid our backyard. I stayed busy. I worked out. I lost 37 pounds. I tried to be the best mom I could. I did tons of grief work. I FOUGHT BACK.
I can't fight back anymore. I have nothing left. After my 3rd loss in 3 years, I am just done. Today, I am pretty sure that the surviving twin, Baby A, is dead too. I have no nausea whatsoever. I'm the type of person who pukes drinking a glass of water and I'm not nauseous at all. I'm done trying to be positive, trying to pray. I'm done trying to continue on and not let the grief drown me. I'm drowning.... and I'm done swimming.
Other loss moms will tell me that not all babies die. It's easy to feel like all babies die when you are in a community missing lots of dead children. But they don't all die. Lots of women get their rainbow baby. I know that's true. Not all babies die, but all of MINE do.