I am not referencing God or religion or church or holiness when I write the word faith.

When I write faith, I’m referring to trust.  Trust in life.  Trust in good.  Trust that everything will go along as planned because that is what is supposed to happen.

I have always been faithful in my life.  I had never been given a reason not to be faithful.  I am a good person, I never lie, I always try to do what’s right because it’s right, and not for personal gain.

I was faithful.

and then, oh my god, my babies died.  These beautiful, amazing gifts that were given to us were taken away.

Faith was with me throughout my pregnancy with James and Jake.  I had gone in for the ultrasound at eight weeks because I was experiencing painful cramping and discharge, after my ultrasound I went home and my doctor’s office called and said "the doctor wants you to come in tomorrow morning because we want to find out why you were having cramps and the discharge."  So, the next morning I hopped into the shower and I touched my belly and I cried.  I cried so hard because I felt so blessed.  I could not believe the gift we had been given.

An hour later I was sitting in the doctor’s office, I could not wait to talk to her about the two babies growing inside of me.  Instead she came in and said "according to the ultrasound, your babies share a sac (also known as monochorionic) and there is a 50% chance that they will not survive because their cords will become entangled, killing one and then the other.  My hope is that the tech just did not get good enough images and that you do, in fact, have diamnionic twins (two separate sacs).  We will do an ultrasound in our office in two weeks."

I left feeling crushed.  My emotions went from elation to sadness, faster than I ever dreamed possible.  I had planned to buy a twin pregnancy book after my doctor’s appointment but I felt so silly doing that now after having that appointment. 

But I did buy that book because I was faithful.

And so, two very long and emotional weeks later, on December 26th, we nervously entered the ultrasound room, the technician put the wand on my ten week belly and said "it’s diamnionic."  We cried, we were so happy and relieved.  Except the words happy and relieved do not really even touch what we felt that day.  We just knew we were so in love with these babies who were to join our family come this summer.

But then on December 31st, I started to bleed and my world came crashing down on me.  Blood.  The thing I feared the most every time I went to the bathroom.  And there it was – that sign that something has gone wrong.  I immediately paged my doctor who told me to go to the emergency room.  I remember on the way there thinking "there is no way I am going to lose these babies."  I was so scared, and it was so beyond me.

But I had faith and thirty minutes later I could see two little heartbeats.

So, on February 25th, 2008, when the nurse could not find their heart beats, I was fearful and faithful, I had faith as I took the elevator down to ultrasound, faith that these babies would soon be kicking me in my ribs.  I had faith.

But then I watched the words "no cardiac movement" being typed slowly with one hand onto the screen.  A piece of me died at the moment.  And sometimes?  I think that piece of me was my faith.

Because now I tread through life cautiously, I fear cars running into our’s and injuring my children, I don’t get my hopes up for our new house because I’m certain the deal will fall through, even with the closing being less than a week away. I fear another pregnancy, I fear I’ll never see Brian again when he leaves for a business trip, I fear for Be Design, I have lost faith in myself and people and my surroundings.

I fear the rug being pulled out from beneath me in every situation. 

I tread softly, cautiously, painfully through my days.  I try to be brave, I try to trust.  But sometimes, unfortunately, when I begin to regain that faith again, something else seems to happen and I lose the little bit of trust that I was able to build up in my life once again. 

Losing my sons was hard enough, losing my faith makes it even harder to accept and move on.