Here it comes… The story I had no idea I was going to write. The one I figured was redundant and unnecessary because everyone already knows. And then I started missing my kids horribly, and seeing other people post about their pain and loss and I realized that while many people know that I have children waiting for me with Jesus, most people don’t actually know the whole story. I can’t get into my WHOLE story here, because that would be a book. Literally. It’s being written as you read this. But I can give you glimpses into my story, and the parts that involve my sweet, sweet kids.

In order for you to really understand my story, you need to know some things about me. When I was young, I decided that some of my dreams WERE going to come true, no matter what. One of those dreams was to be a mommy. A princess married to a prince was just a given, in my mind. So when I was a freshman in college, attending school for my very first semester and dating the guy of my “dreams” I was sure my life was headed straight for that happily ever after. And I was only 18! How lucky was I? But in my first semester of school I was locked in a room and raped by a guy I didn’t really know. I don’t tell you this to get sympathy, or because I plan on delving into that. I could, but that’s not what this particular post is about. No, I tell you about getting raped because I need you to understand something before you read on: I thought I had just watched all of my dreams shatter.

I was raised a Christian, and through no one person’s fault in particular, I had been taught that my sexuality was EVERYTHING. It was my identity. Virginity is pure gold, baby, and if you lose it you’re screwed (ha). So when mine was stolen from me, I thought that my dreams of being a princess loved by a prince and having beautiful babies was completely gone. Dead. You need to understand this, so that you understand my reaction in the next chapter of this story.

My boyfriend stayed with me. He told me he loved me. He told me we would be ok. He asked me if I was sure I hadn’t wanted to have sex with that guy. And I stayed. Because he said he loved me. He STILL loved me. So we started sleeping together and I got pregnant. I wasn’t having a period, I was sick, I was tired all the time, and I wanted to gorge myself on a giant bowl of mashed potatoes. I’m talking Thanksgiving dinner, huge bowl for the family of 16, mashed potatoes. I wanted it ALL. You would be amazed at how long it took me to realize that I could be pregnant. Eventually, we did figure it out. Here’s that reaction I warned you about: I was happy. Yes, I was also terrified. The thought of telling my parents was torture, and the anxiety over raising a child when I was sort of a child myself was pretty overwhelming at times. But I was happy. My dreams weren’t dead after all! I was still going to get the prince AND the baby! You know where this is going. I had a miscarriage. It was painful and it was confusing and it was devastating. My boyfriend dumped me. I don’t think he was necessarily being an ass (ok, maybe a little) I think he was just extremely scared and very relieved. He seemed concerned about me, checking in now and then to be sure I was ok…but he refused to talk about, or even acknowledge, my lost pregnancy. I moved away to attend a different school and I struggled so much with my loss. I finally decided, after much thought and prayer and some really weird online tests (18, remember) that I had lost a baby boy. So all by myself I named him. Originally, his name included a second middle name— his father’s name. Later on, I decided that his father really deserved no place in MY child’s name, so I changed it. His name is Mason Grey. I lost him on New Years Day, 2009.

Now we skip ahead through all sorts of horrible moments and all sorts of great ones, and we stop at the chapter where I fall in love with my husband. Josh and I had known each other since high school, but had just reconnected and steadily he showed me true, unconditional love. If it sounds cheesy, that’s because it’s cheesy. That doesn’t make it less true. He gently showed me that my dream of the prince was not gone, and we got married! We got married on June 23, 2012. On August 21, 2012 we found out we were pregnant as I bled all over our sheets. We hadn’t even had a chance to celebrate this little life, the first life we had created together! Instead, I watched my husband’s face go deathly pale as he informed me I was bleeding profusely. And I rushed to the bathroom while simultaneously doing the math and counting my birth control pills. By the time he was in the bathroom with me, I knew what had happened. We named our son Reed August.

We held a little “birthday party,” for lack of a better term, for our boys. Yes, OUR boys, because Josh decided on that day to “adopt” Mason. We had cupcakes, blew out candles, and wrote letters to our babies. Not long after that, we decided to start trying to have children.

Can I just tell you how much trying to get pregnant sucks? At first, it’s actually really exciting. Every time you have sex, it feels even more special. You always have this thought that maybe this time you made a baby! As time goes on, it starts to feel like a chore. Get it over with, then do some dishes. As MORE time goes on, it starts to feel closer to a full-time job. Take these vitamins, these meds, don’t eat that, don’t drink that, exercise but only THIS way, track this, time that, have sex on these days, stand on your head when it’s done. Don’t complain about the blood rushing to your head, you’re trying to create life, and besides, this is the closest to the feeling of drinking you’ll get for a while, so embrace it. Don’t move too quickly for the next two weeks, buy a test that’s way more expensive than it should be. No not THAT test it has BLUE dye and that’s unreliable. Ok, better. Yes, this one is $10 more but it’s more reliable. Ok, now pee on it. Wait 3 more minutes. Ok, now look. Negative? Ok, maybe ONE drink, but just so you know, everyone is judging you  because it’s not good for your body. But go ahead, drink it. And eat all that junk. Alright, time to start over. Here’s that horse pill. It’s exhausting, and the longer it goes on, the more heart-wrenching it becomes.

Josh and I tried for 3 years to get pregnant, and then suddenly it happened. We were visiting some of his family in upstate New York. It was quiet and so serene. I had felt funny for a few months, but after three years of trying to get pregnant you start to ignore the signs your body sends. It’s usually a lie—a nasty trick. So I ignored it. At my brother’s wedding I realized that I had gained weight and was feeling sick. I chalked it up to traveling. Then, one night at the dinner table in New York, Josh’s grandma put a huge bowl of mashed potatoes on the table. I literally don’t remember any of the other food from that week. All I wanted was mashed potatoes. I stared at that bowl for a long moment, then looked at Josh. I think he knew… We bought a test secretly ( we get some serious bonus points for our clever sneaking in that tiny town) and I took one the next morning.

Positive.

That couldn’t be right… I made Josh look at it. Yep, positive! I took another one later, and one the next day, too. All positive! The rest of that week was glorious! I sat in a rocking chair, reading, and stealing glances at my amazing husband. I would catch him looking at me and we would smile. We went to a cider mill and I bought a little souvenir to remember the day we had discovered our little miracle! It’s on our fridge right now! We looked at his old baby pictures and photos of him growing up. I stealthily took snapshots of each one, hoping to use them in our big announcement when we got home.

On the plane ride I started cramping.

It took us a while, but eventually we got into a doctor. They were awful. I haven’t stepped foot in that place since. After blood work and a lot of drama, I eventually got a call. I had been up all night because they had promised to get back to me the day before but it didn’t happen. I had called numerous times and was eventually laughed off the phone. So I tossed and turned and the next morning, as I sat like a zombie on my couch, they called. They let me know I  had miscarried. I asked why I hadn’t bled, yet. My other miscarriages I had bled right away! They simply said that sometimes it reabsorbs until your next period, maybe it will come out then,  and then hung up on me. I was alone. Josh had stayed home the day before but they hadn’t called, and he couldn’t take any more time off. So I had to call him to tell him the news. He dissolved into tears. His boss at the time, who is an amazing person, took him outside for a walk and just let him cry. He prayed with Josh and then sent him home early. In the meantime, my mom had come and picked me up to go to the church with her (where she works) so that I wouldn’t be alone. Josh picked me up there. We had a roommate at the time, someone we love dearly, and we knew he would be super supportive. But we wanted to be alone, first. So we parked our car in a parking lot by our house, sat in the backseat and held each other and cried and prayed. We talked and came to the conclusion that we had lost our first baby girl. We cried some more and we named her. We got the news about Anabal Serenity on October 20, 2015. I didn’t pass her body until December.

It’s both harder and easier knowing that we aren’t done. I don’t want to give up on trying to have children, but it’s also really hard to keep going. We completely stopped trying at all for several months after Anabal. Neither of us really said it out loud, but it was obvious. There was just so much fear. Suddenly, the thought of, “maybe we just made a baby” is actually really scary. Maybe we just made a baby and we will have to go through the pain of losing another child all over again. Maybe we just made a baby and this time we will get to the “safe zone” of the second trimester and learn of a loss even greater than one we’ve known so far. And the fear that maybe it DIDN’T work. Maybe we won’t ever get pregnant again. Maybe Anabal was our last biological child. Maybe she was our last child, period. Maybe we will never know what it is to raise our own kids.

See, I can’t think of our miscarriages without also thinking of our infertility. It’s just not possible. I wonder what my kids like, as I wonder what my future children will enjoy. If. I want to ask Mason and Anabal if they like  mashed potatoes. I want to ask Reed if all things pumpkin make him smile or want to vomit, since Mommy is obsessed and Daddy is not. I listen to songs like “Cinderella” and have this deep sorrow that Josh won’t ever get to dance with Anabal at her wedding. And I wonder longingly if he will have the chance to dance with any daughter of ours, here on Earth. I imagine him wrestling with Mason and Reed and wonder if I will ever see him wrestle a son of ours here in our living room.

We have names picked out for our future children. Sure, they may change. But in the last four years they haven’t. Boys: Emery Joshua and Raylan Jay. Girls: Eisley Lauren and Lily Belle. I have others picked out, too. You know what’s sad? I sometimes wonder if I’ll hold these names, or if I’ll be kissing them goodbye. Will Emery play basketball with Josh, or will he will be waving at us from Mason’s side? Will Raylan and Eisley fight over a toy, or will they play with Reed? Will Lily be our picky eater, or will she dance in tutus and tiaras with Anabal? I hate the wondering.

Don’t get me wrong, my life isn’t all torture and sadness. I have an incredible life with the most outstanding husband. We have awesome families. We write together, play together, pray together. We have two goofy cats who we love. We have had many conversations where we have come to the conclusion that if we never have children we will be ok. The problem is, we aren’t looking for ok.

Why am I writing about this?

Well, one, because I miss my children and I love talking about them. And two, because I’m not the only one.

Most people think of October as Breast Cancer Awareness month. Did you know that it’s also Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month? I didn’t either, until a few years ago. I had no reason to know. It wasn’t like it was obvious, running down a field in pink cleats and passing by on wrists decorated in “save the tatas.” It was more subtle than that. Infertility, miscarriage, stillbirth, infant loss, etc. are all topics that for some reason are still a bit taboo, and I’m sick of it. There is absolutely no reason for shame, guilt, or embarrassment. Instead, it’s time that we all talk to each other, support each other, and show each other that we aren’t alone in suffering and in hope. I’m sick of not knowing what to do on Mother’s Day. Do I stand? Do I call myself a mother (I do, by the way, and if you have a problem with that you can just go to hell) around all these other mothers? It isn’t my own heart that has caused me to have these questions, it’s the reactions of the rest of the world. If we can be open and talk about our children with pride and love, even when they aren’t with us, then we can have the chance to heal and be a little less confused. Talk about your miscarriage. It’s ok. Name your child. Decide what gender you feel was growing in your womb. I don’t think you’re crazy. This affects WAY too many of us to just sweep it under the rug. According to the CDC, 7.5 million women aged 15-44 have impaired fecundity (ability to get pregnant or carry to term), and 1.0 million married women in that age range are infertile. Loss is just as heartbreaking. According to hopeexchange.com, there are about 4.4 million confirmed pregnancies each year just in the U.S. and between 900,000 and one million of those ends in pregnancy loss. More than 500,000 end in miscarriage, which means it was during the first 20 weeks. Around 26,000 end in stillbirth, which is after 20 weeks. Infant death, which is death in the first month after birth, is at 19,000. 39,000 in the first year. I could go on… So why aren’t we talking about this?

I’m not here to go on and on about how we need to get off our asses and talk about the real stuff. I DO believe that, and it’s not just about this. I’m trying to do my part, and I know others who are doing the same, and that’s where it starts. So, no, that’s not really why I’m writing this. And it’s not why you’re reading this.

I’m writing and you’re reading because sometimes I just need to talk about my kids and sometimes you just want to know about them and are scared to ask! By the way, don’t be scared. I love it when people ask about my kids! Not really so much when you ask about my future kids, though, just a heads up. I’m writing because I’m remembering. Because this morning I opened up Facebook to see a post from a year ago about heading to New York and I realized with a jolt that I was pregnant at the time that I posted it. I’m writing because the rare red and gold that is joining the bright yellow on our aspens this year reminds me vividly of the trees in New York last year, and the Fall leaves in Missouri when we lost Reed several years ago. I’m writing because stores already have Christmas decorations for sale (whine all you want, but I love Christmas) and it reminds me of the fact that the first time I truly considered that I could be pregnant with Mason it was Christmas Eve. And I’m posting because I bought potatoes the other day to make soup since it’s been cold here, and now all I want to do is make mashed potatoes. And it scares the hell out of me because I’m pretty sure I’m not pregnant and I don’t want to lose what I goofily think of as my one reliable sign.

I’m not holding out much hope, and so I’m a little sad. But I’m also fondly remembering my little ones and the brief time I had with them. I’m cherishing the fact that even though it feels somewhat incomplete, I DO have a little family that I love. I am praying HARD, and I can’t help but wonder, in my more hopeful moments, if sometime sort of soon I will be able to ask a little Someone,

“Do you like mashed potatoes?”

For Mason Grey Roggie, Reed August Roggie, Anabal Serenity Roggie, and my little Someday, Hopefully