Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas everyone. I just wanted to make a quick post to tell you all how much Aaron and I appreciate your support this year. We have been blessed by the thoughts and prayers of new friends and old friends, family and strangers.

A special thanks to my girlfriends who have dared to be there for me. It's a scary thing to get involved with someone who is grieving and would have been much easier to just take some time away from me - but you didn't! Every time you said you were thinking of us, or offer you made to take me out (that I probably turned down) or simple note to say hello - it helped push me farther along in this journey. I'm blessed to have you in my life. Never underestimate the small stuff - indeed it makes all the difference.

Christmas is a magical time. Especially in a home with a two and a half year old! John has continued to make us laugh and amazes us with his energy everyday. We're so thankful for our healthy little boy!

The photo above was taken by my uncle Ben at the Shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe in La Crosse, Wisconsin. This statue was donated by a family who has a similar experience to ours. We were blessed to have Charlie, Harry and Cal remembered in a Novena of Masses in December.

I imagined this Christmas to be different - but life has moved on. Someday I will know our three little boys. If God made this Earth then he is also fully capable of making Heaven. One day I will know them. Until then I will enjoy every second of this life I've been given; waiting for the day when I will see them again.

Merry Christmas to you all. May the joy of the season warm your hearts and feed your soul.

Blessings,
Kellie

Remembrance

Yesterday was a Remembrance service at Mayo for patients who had died in the hospital the first half of the year. While I imagined it to be more therapeutic and healing, it really just tore some fragile scabs off healing wounds. A few words that stuck with me from the service:

"Every man can master a grief but he that has it." William Shakespeare

"The Gift" by Lois Tschetter Hjelmsted
It is a gift -
This reminder of mortality
This thing that slows me down
This reflective summer.

I know things about myself
I could not otherwise have known -
Pain can be endured
Uncertainty can be tolerated
Loss can be processed.

I know there is a well-spring of
Strength
Courage
Joy
Within me.

I know that time is not forever,
There is
An urgency
A poignancy
A preciousness
To life.

I know that I do not fear
Suffering or death
As much anymore.

It is a menace
It is a sorrow
It is a loss of innocence
It is a gift.

Awareness

I was hoping to make this post in October but somehow didn't get it done. Today I received an email from a woman in San Diego whose friend just lost her triplets on Saturday. I knew it was time to make this post. I am thankful she contacted me as I will always feel a deep kinship with mothers who have also lost triplets. I have read countless blogs and forums from triplet mothers and each testimony helps in knowing I am not alone.

October is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month. I spent the month really thinking about awareness and the importance of it. All thoughts go back to one main idea - sharing your story. I have learned and benefited and at times been carried by the stories of those who not only lost their children but who have not been able to have children of their own. These stories have helped me to feel less alone. They helped me understand the pain of infant loss is real. They have humbled me. I have been awakened to a world that is not as innocent and fair as it appears to be. Some stories seemed to be sadly repeated over and over while others blew me away. Each story was unique and personal, and some downright shocking.....

I had not seen my grandparents between the time that I had the boys and their funeral. As I walked up to them at the cemetery the first thing my grandpa said was, "We have a little boy buried right down there." What! I'm 31 years old. Except for 6 years of my life, I have lived within 12 miles of my grandparents and I was never told of this little boy, Rodney, who would have been my uncle.

As we lay with our three boys in the delivery room our deacon, who had been with us most of the morning, said, "I don't know what you're going through right now but I lost all 5 of my babies." I have no idea how she was able to sit and comfort us that day. It pains me to think about it. In the hospital that night our priest told us that he and his wife lost their third child. We also learned two of Aaron's grandmas lost children to miscarriage. By the time we went home from the hospital there were at least five people who had come out of the woodwork - I knew this was just the beginning. As my friend Magaly said, "You're now part of a club you didn't want to join." So true.

In the weeks after the boy's death I received cards and emails from several women I have known for many years, all sharing with me that they too had lost a child. Women, and men, who have carried this around most of their adult lives in silence were now saying, "Welcome to our club." It was as though I thought I was walking alone through a deep dark forest and people started slowly emerging from hiding. I am thankful for each and every one of these parents for contacting me because each story lessened my pain and allowed me a community in which to grieve.

Perhaps the stories that have humbled me the most are from those who have tried their damnedest to have children and for whatever reason have not been able to conceive. As one of my new friends said, "FAIR is a four letter word in our house." They have opened my eyes to the quiet suffering infertility creates that is often overlooked by the joy of adoption. While adoption may be a choice for some, it is the last hope for many after all other attempts have failed. And why does this happen to some of the best people I know? How about the story of another friend who after 10 years of fertility treatments, scars on her abdomen from all the shots, twenty pounds of extra weight from all the medications, 28 fertilized eggs - and she and her husband have one little miracle boy. Perseverance - I think so. These are stories I never would have had the privilege of hearing had I not suffered myself. I earned the right to hear them because I have found people are reluctant to share with you when you're unscathed in life.

Awareness is sharing your story. Sharing it for so many reasons that heal and give hope to a world in pain. This is tough stuff. This breaks up marriages, this makes people bitter, this medicates people. It is only though healthy sharing that we begin to heal and are able to better support those around us who suffer.

JK Rowlings gave the commencement address to Harvard students in 2008. She talked about two themes, one of them being imagination. Here is a quote that I thought about this past month while pondering the theme of awareness:

"Imagination is not only the uniquely human capacity to envision that which is not, and therefore the fount of all invention and innovation. In its arguably most transformative and revelatory capacity, it is the power that enables us to empathize with humans whose experiences we have never shared."

Maybe awareness is about expanding our imagination. It is helping someone who does not know the depths of child loss begin to try to understand the pain their friends and family members feel. The stories broaden our imagination - we begin to understand pregnancy and birth and life with new undertones and character. We also begin to understand the suffering of all people with a new perspective and hope our expanded imagination will make us more compassionate human beings.

Awareness. I think about all those women of my grandmother's generation and before who were told the best way to heal is to act like it never happened. Who were lead to believe nobody cared and that they should not burden society with their story. I think about the women of my generation who have dealt with loss in silence putting on a happy face and downplaying their hurt only to be dying inside. Pregnancy and Infant loss affects 2,000 people in the USA everyday and each person has a story. I am so happy my story has helped connect me to others and lead me to new friendships. I am thankful for every person who has so graciously shared their story with me. Whether you contacted me in private or I just read your story on a blog or online forum- sharing your story has helped my heart to heal.

Somewhere New

Time has been kind to me. So has my faith. The two in concert with one another have helped me to get to this new normal. In a packet sent home from the hospital with us there was a pamphlet for grandparents and it it it said, "parents can grieve deeply for 2 years after the loss of a child." While I believe you cannot put a time frame on grieving, you may as well have locked me in the loony bin if I were to grieve deeply for two years. That was a really dark place and I'm glad to have exited it's doors shortly after the last post I made. I did my time and I do not believe I am "grieving deeply" anymore. Rather I have moved on to a more emotionally stable place. It still hurts, of course, it likely always will. And there will be dark days, of course, but folks - I'm no longer there. I'm somewhere new.

Here's a little more clarification on some previous posts (I figure if close friends have asked me these questions then others are likely wondering as well):


The choice not to try and keep the boys alive: I am sure people are wondering if Aaron and I ever regret the decision to not intervene and keep the boys alive. Sure, we think about it. We wonder. We always will. How could we not try to save them, if there was even a 1% chance shouldn't we have done everything possible for our children? If you dare to venture out to the world of child loss you'll discover what happened to us is not rare. I found other parents who lost all three of their triplet babies. Some delivered at 23 weeks, some at 24, some at 25. All of them intervened and while their babies lived a month or two or three in the NICU, ultimately they all died. Call it a mother's instinct but I know they would not have made it. I also truly believe if they were born at 26 weeks they all would have been fine. If we were even a week further along our decision would have been different. We could have had more time with them, but if the outcome were the same in the end, I wouldn't have wanted to see them suffer and build up false hope. We were in the perfect place to have tried. We have 100% coverage and wouldn't have paid a dime for their 3 million dollar NICU bill. It was not a factor at all, thank God. Our decision was the right one for us and we are still at peace with our choice. I give the credit to my husband on that one because I was not exactly in the best place to be making a decision like that at 2am while on a narcotic drip and using a bed pan.


Will they put me on best rest if I get pregnant again? No, and I shouldn't have been on it with the boys either. Best rest is to take pressure/weight off the cervix. I do not have cervical issues, which is why I was in a great position to have triplets and be able to carry that weight.


If an infection could cause a leak then shouldn't you have been on antibiotics? Well, that sounds like an easy fix but it's not. First, it would be extremely difficult to determine what bacteria to give antibiotics for, thus taking the chance of actually making things worse by killing the good bacteria. And two, the amniotic sac is not vascular so it is extremely difficult for the antibiotics to get there and be effective. Who knows if it was caused by an infection after all. There is a chance that my violent vomiting the previous week was too much pressure and could have created a leak. I'll never know.


If not an infection, what else causes premature rupture of membranes? After more research I have discovered this is a really tricky complication. Research has proven there may be a genetic link (which could explain why my sister delivered her girls early because of the same thing and why it happened with John). There is not a gene that says "you're going to experience PPROM," but research is showing that genetic variants relating to the inflammatory response may play a role in premature rupture and also genes relating to the cellular matrix of the sac itself (remember tinsel strength from high school physics?) may contribute. So, I could have a bacteria that does not bother most people, but my inflammatory response to it weakens the sac. Or, the amniotic sac around the baby that my body builds is not strong enough and thus can thin and spring a leak. Either way, there's not much I can do about it. Nor is there anyway of preventing those problems from being an issue with future pregnancies.


Will we try again? Of course, we do not want John to be our only child. If he is, great. But we are lucky to not have to deal with loss after years of infertility or pricey procedures. I really feel badly for parents who go through this and then have to face the challenge of getting pregnant again. Our doctor told us to ideally wait at least 9 months, although there isn't that much difference between waiting 6 and 9 months. Will we ever be emotionally ready? Not really, but we'll know when the time is right. I need to get my house painted first and lose this weight.


Am I going back to work? No. I was told to stop working at 20 weeks and I gave up my business with the last listing transferring the day of the funeral. I really don't have "work" to go back to. I still have some properties I manage but I will not be working with buyers or sellers anymore. I need to get through this child bearing era and then I will decide what to do with myself. I have never not worked, nor do I intend to stay not working, but for now it's the best choice for me and for our family. I have about five years worth of neglected projects to deal with and a husband with a crazy schedule. I'm happy with our new pace and the time I have for myself to heal emotionally and physically.


Does having John make this easier? Yes and no, depends on how I look at it. Seeing him makes me realize what we are missing. Watching him grow bigger makes me realize his brothers are not here. But, how can I discount the joy and fortune of having him. Even if he's the only child we have, we still have one and to many people that would be a dream come true.


Hopefully that answers a few more questions or clarifies a few logistics. I'm going to keep posting, hopefully more frequently. There are a few topics I'm ready to tackle now.

The Things I've Learned

My boys, Charlie, Cal and Harry are never coming back. Never. No try again. No do over. No better luck next time. I was given a one in eight thousand chance of having triplets and I lost them. I stand defeated and I hate to lose. There are no do overs this time. It's done. I have buried my flesh and blood because of no fault of their own. I have begun to travel down a road that is daunting and dark. To be quite frank, it really sucks. I could write all day about how difficult this is but I'm not sure it would be serving much good. So, if there are lessons to be learned along the way I will share those instead. I can only write of my experience and here is what I have learned about death and loss - so far (although I know my journey is just beginning):

1) The loss of an infant child is real. I'm sure it is logically impossible for some people to understand how it can be so difficult to lose someone you barely knew, had few memories of, or shared so little time with. I am an educated, stable, rational being with a healthy perspective and I can tell you without equivocation that the loss of a baby will rock you to the core. It will send you to places you do not want to go. I am not here to convince you of anything, except that you will likely never understand what a parent goes through unless you have experienced it. There is no time/grief correlation. When you bury a child you lose a piece of yourself that you will never get back. You are changed forever and you would give anything to have your old life back - but that will never happen.

2) I have learned when someone dies the worse thing you can say is nothing. I was really bad at this before. I know now that the simple cards and emails and messages after a traumatic event are like oxygen. I know going to the mailbox or looking at the comments online were the highlight of Aaron and my day for the weeks following the boy's deaths. I know how good it feels when you run into someone who knows and the first thing they say is "I'm sorry for your loss" or "I was sorry to hear about your babies." Automatic comfort. I also have learned when I buy a sympathy card - I now buy two. One for right away and one for later. It gets worse before it gets better.

3) I have learned why some people seem "so strong" or why "they're doing well" at funerals. For me, I think I was out of tears at that point. Impossible to physically cry any more. Second, although I felt as though I was in the moment, it all seemed unreal - like I would surely wake up from this horrible dream. And third, it really feels good to see everyone that cares for you. It is not a facade and it is not strength. It is humanly possible to feel gratitude and happiness along side extreme pain - all at the same time.

4) I have learned the funeral is not the end of grieving. It is just the beginning. When everyone goes home, goes back to work, resumes life as normal - that's when it really starts to hurt. And it hurts bad. The world seems to be spinning around you and you're living in a fog. In the two months following the boys death I didn't get a lot done. I guess I still don't. It was a major accomplishment to shower, write a few thank you cards and maybe scrounge up some food or pay a few bills. Don't ever ask someone in the weeks following a traumatic loss "What have you been up to?" Grieving - it's a full time job. I remember apologizing to a friend that I hadn't returned her phone call because I was having a bad week. The response was, "why, what happened?" As if I was already supposed to be over it and moving on. It takes time - eventually time makes it better but not right away. The first eights weeks were brutal.

5) Public events were hard. I didn't want to run into people who didn't know (and I ran into plenty of them anyways and had to tell the story). I remember thinking I just want to go somewhere that nobody knows me. I imagined that being lost amongst the crowds of New York City might feel pretty comforting. The first two weeks I did not go anywhere, not to John's school, not to the grocery store, not to the neighbors, nowhere without Aaron.

6) I have learned traumatic experiences do not make you stronger. The experience leaves you changed certainly, but not stronger. More empathetic, more caring, more spiritual, yes. But also more cautious, more fearful and more scared that something else will happen and it will be more than you can handle.

7) I have learned the stages of grief are real. It's not just a bunch of hooey you learn in high school psychology class.

8) I have learned watching someone die peacefully is not as bad as it sounds. I always feared being expected to be at someone's death bed waiting for them to pass, afraid I would not be able to handle it. It is okay. It is worth being there for.

9) I have learned there is nothing colder than death. I remember thinking in all the Minnesota winters I have lived - I have never felt a more numbing cold than the bodies of my dead babies. I kept trying to cover them up the night we were in the hospital, hoping more blankets would warm them up. Every time I touched someone's skin in the week after their death I would always think - they're alive - they are so alive.

10) I have learned that people who voluntarily choose professions that deal with death and pain and suffering are angels. They are angles here on earth and their comfort in a time of loss is lifeblood to those left behind.

I would have been induced this week had I carried them to the end and my life would be different forever. I know I have a lot to learn as my journey through life without my sons is just beginning. It's getting better. The breakdowns are less frequent - but when they come they are so dark I wonder if I will ever pull out of it. I do. And I have to keep hoping and believe time will make these wounds scar over. I have stopped listing to Ryan Bingham's The Weary Kind (Crazy Heart) twenty times a day and feel a little more productive each week. I'm finally ready to tackle some projects around the house. After ten weeks I pray to God I have endured the worse, but I know the longer this goes on the more emotionally spent I am. I guess time will tell.

Weighty Matters

Weight has been on my mind a lot lately. Not just my weight (more on that in a second) but the boy's weights. I finally had the nerve to look at how big the boys were measuring. On average, a single baby at 23 weeks weighs 501 grams (1.1 lb). My three boys at 23 weeks weighed 575grams, 630grams, and 610 grams putting them in the 24 to 25 week weight category. I'm pretty impressed with those numbers and I worked hard to get them there. They were right where they needed to be and doing so well. There's a reason they all weighted so much...

Starting at 12 weeks I was strongly encouraged to gain 30 pounds by 20 weeks. Translation, I gained 30 pounds in 8 weeks. The theory behind this is to get the babies as big as possible as soon as possible because 1) they are born on average at 32 weeks and 2) by the time a mother with triplets is 28 weeks there isn't a lot of room left to eat. The bible on multiple pregnancy nutrition was written by Barbara Luke and is frequently referenced by the Mayo Clinic's multiples booklet. I used that as my guide and aimed for 4,000 calories a day to make this happen. How do you eat 4,000 calories a day? Well, it's not as fun as it sounds. With that many babies inside it actually hurts. I would of course eat the fun stuff like rib eye, ice cream, biscuits and gravy, etc. but would also have to supplement with high calorie/protein drinks like Ensure and fruit/veg smoothies for extra calories and nutrients. In addition to the food I would drink a minimum of a gallon of water per day.

There was not a lot I could do in the area of physical activity. My doctor encouraged me wade in the pool to prevent fluid retention, which I did, but the rest of the time I was supposed to be taking it easy. I was also instructed, via the multiples bible, to lay down at least 4 hours during the day and also after dinner until bed (which would take weight off the cervix). I would usually make it until noon or 1:00 and then nap all afternoon, wake up, eat and lay on the couch all evening and then go to bed. I really only had about 4 hours a day when I was productive, 8am to 12pm. I remember thinking at the time, how is it physically possible to be awake all day! At 20 weeks I was no longer supposed to pick up anything heavier than a gallon of milk. All of this inactivity lead to a lot of muscle loss. I estimate a minimum of ten pounds...putting my real weight gain at closer to 40 pounds. At 23 weeks with my first pregnancy I had only gained about 7 pounds.

During birth I lost about 12 pounds (three separate placentas took up a lot of space and weight). I gained back about five pounds, likely because my metabolism is shot and I have a lot of muscle to gain back. So, here I am. Twenty three pounds over weight, out of shape and no babies to nurse. Okay, I promised no pity parties but come on girls - you've got to understand the frustration. I've been eating healthy and working out. My weight has not budged one pound. I realize it takes time, but I feel like I really don't have a lot of time.

The comfort in all of this is knowing I did everything in my control. I did what the doctors told me, gained the weight and sat around. I have no regrets and can't look back and say, "well, maybe if I had gained the weight things would be different..."

It's difficult to deal with loss emotionally, but the loss of a baby adds an additional layer - the physical evidence you cannot get a break from. The physical evidence is a constant reminder of what has happened. I am very fortunate to be healthy and realize there are bigger problems in the world than being 20 pounds overweight. But for right now, whining about my struggle is justified. This weight loss has very little to do with fitting into my favorite jeans.

Bottom Line

I've tried writing this post a few times but for some reason don't have the belly fire right now for all the details. The bottom line is we were in an ideal situation - strong cervix, three separate sacs, three separate placentas, and healthy babies. My membranes (likely the sac around Charlie, the one closest to the cervix) had a tiny leak and that leak started the process of labor.

There is no explanation as to why my membranes started to leak. Pathology on the placenta revealed nothing. We talked to our doctor for over two hours last week on the "what if this and what about that's," and there is really nothing they can do; nothing they can do to prevent it, nothing they can do to predict it and nothing they can do to stop labor once it happens.

While the appointment was calming (no blame, nothing that could have been done differently), it was also confirmation that if we get pregnant again we could be in the same situation with no options for a better outcome. We are blessed to have a fantastic doctor (that is an understatement) and will likely continue our journey in his care.

Aside from our appointment, I'm very frustrated. I was hoping time would make this easier and instead it gets harder. I think it hit me when our doctor said, "this is one of the most difficult things you will ever face in life." He has the right to say that, he has been walking in our shoes for 25 years. I'm not sure there is anything that makes this any better. Eventually time, yes, but not now. Sometimes I go outside at the hottest times of the day to see if I can bake out the hurt, sweat it out or somehow fry it up. As the weather cooled today I realized this winter will likely be a tough one.

Normal

Each day that passes is a day farther away from my pregnancy with the boys, a day farther away from their birth, a day farther away from their funeral, farther away from when "the boys room" was still "the boys room," farther away from the plans we made. Each day we move forward in a direction that puts the boys in the past. Time is making my boys a memory and I hate it.

I always had a gut feeling that I would deliver them the last week of July - 30 weeks. That is tomorrow. I should still be pregnant and I think my body knows it.

This week marks the last milestone in my pregnancy, the six week postpartum doctor's appointment. As with John, I viewed that appointment as a sign that the pregnancy and birth were complete and that our new life was about to begin - our new normal. I guess I view this appointment the same way. An end and a beginning.

Our appointment is tomorrow. I'm both looking forward to it and dreading it. To say we have a lot of questions is an understatement. While our care during the delivery was superb, the care we received the week leading up the delivery is quite a mess and that's when it mattered most. I have not talked much about it because I want to clarify with my doctor what in fact did or did not take place. Worst cast scenario is that we get no answers and I guess I'm prepared for that as well.

Grief

In a society of instant gratification, grief is a difficult process. There is no cure. There is no quick fix. As the days go by sorrow sinks deeper into your soul. There's nothing you can buy to make it better, nothing you can sell to make it go away. No end except death itself. The permanence is frightening.

I have written a few posts in the last week that I did not publish and will not publish. They are angry and bitter and full of self pity. While those feelings may be human and real and important -they are not helpful. I refuse to send thoughts like that in a world already full of anger and pain. I will not contribute. I can tell you I've listened to the Dixie Chicks "Not Ready to Make Nice" more than a couple times. It's my anger anthem right now.

It's been four weeks today since the boys died. This Friday would have marked 28 weeks, the point at which they would have a 95% chance of living. Four weeks. A blink in time. I have had so many "four weeks" in my life that I cannot remember a single event from. The past four weeks have been special as each day that passed would have brought me closer to a different reality.

I am figuring out for myself how I will cope with my loss. The week after the funeral I spent all my daylight hours renovating an apartment only to sit down at night and be overcome with grief. I knew then I could not continue that pattern. I could not consume myself with work and staying busy, even though it would be the easiest thing to do. I decided I will face my grief and look it in the eye. I will not wake up a year, ten years or thirty years from now and be overcome with not dealing with the death of my three boys. I've seen good people lose themselves after a tragic event and I will not be one of them. I intend to emerge stronger; it's not going to be easy and it's not going to be fun. It is a conscious effort for me to embrace the waves of pain as they crash over me. When it happens I stop what I'm doing, look at the photos, read the blog, read the messages we've been sent, read the books on grief we've been given, read other mother's stories, and sometimes just kneel down and cry. When I'm done, I'm ready to continue on with whatever it is I'm doing.

One book that has helped me tremendously is A Grace Disguised by Jerry Sittser, given to me from friends who lost their mother to ALS. While it hits on so many important topics regarding loss there is one line I keep coming back to. The author writes, "Sorrow enlarges the soul until the soul is capable of mourning and rejoicing simultaneously, of feeling the world's pain and hoping for the world's healing at the same time. However painful, sorrow is good for the soul." The grieving I'm going through now is enlarging my soul. It is stretching my limits. It is changing me. I vividly remember the physical pain of growing larger with the triplets (going from wearing my normal jeans and a belt to measuring 38 weeks pregnant in just 11 weeks is painful). I remember my skin feeling like it was going to crack open, my muscles ripping apart, my ligaments stretching thin. Like each day of growing triplets, expanding the soul is challenging and painful.

I take grieving very seriously not only because of the reasons I mentioned above, but also because I know I will never forget what happened. It's not likely that Aaron and I will be sitting on a porch swing in 40 years and say, "Remember that one time when we were pregnant with three boys, we delivered them alive and they all died?" "Oh geez, I totally forgot about that." Umm, yeah, not likely. I know 85 year old women who still visit the graves of their babies. While the pain may lessen and time may go on, the fact remains Aaron and I have three boys that are not with our family. They are real. They have Mayo Clinic #'s, they have a birth and death certificates, they breathed the same air as us, their hearts beat on this earth. The reality of that will not go away - ever. So - dealing with our reality is vitally important.

Despite the challenge grief has presented, it also provided a new clarity; my world right now is simple and calm and amazing. Although I'm not sure where my future is headed, my thoughts are still clear and my perspective healthy.

PPROM

Emily Dickinson said it best...

Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple host
Who took the flag to-day
Can tell the definition,
So clear, of victory!

As he, defeated, dying,
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Burst agonized and clear!

Tis the season for babies. Many of my friends are pregnant or at home with newborns. I wonder if any of them truly understand how miraculous it is to carry a baby to term and to deliver a healthy child? It's easy to take for granted. I know we did with our son John.

Our son John was born prematurely. Five weeks to be exact. He spent 11 days in the level 2 nursery yet we never really questioned why he arrived early. I figured I was working too much and under too much stress and that I should probably take it easier with the next pregnancy. The doctors concluded I was probably right. We know now his premature birth was caused by the same events that happened with Charlie, Cal and Harry.

Both of my pregnancies resulted in delivering premature children due to a complication called PPROM (preterm premature rupture of membranes). Here are the basics. Normally, the cells in a woman's body trigger labor to start between 38-42 weeks. Once labor starts the sac around the baby that holds amniotic fluid will eventually rupture. We typically know of this natural process as "water breaking." When this happens as part of a normal sequence of labor it is called rupture of membranes or spontaneous rupture of membranes. When the membranes rupture prior to labor starting that is called PROM, premature rupture of membranes. When this happens prior to 37 weeks it is called PPROM (premature preterm rupture of membranes).

Many times when women experience PPROM they have a small leak in the sac. That leak can close up or it could continue to leak and not induce labor. The placenta will keep making new fluid. This can happen to some women early on in the pregnancy, say 17 week, and they can go on to carry the babies close to full term. They will likely spend their pregnancy in the hospital or on bed rest at home.

The danger when the sac actually ruptures (instead of just having a leak) is that the fluid levels are really low - that can lead to a prolapsed cord or various other complications that could be very dangerous to the baby. That did not happen with either pregnancy - all my babies had plenty of fluid around them and the sac did not actually rupture until I was delivering them. (Medically they really don't differentiate between leaking and rupturing when discussing PPROM).

The biggest danger in PROM or PPROM is the risk of infection. Once there is a leak it is feared there could be an infection already present (that caused the leak) or that an infection could now enter the amniotic sac carrying the baby. The agreed upon protocol after 34 weeks of pregnancy is to deliver the baby within 24 hours of noticing the leak because the risk of infection to the mother and babies is more dangerous than the babies being born early. The protocol is less clear prior to 34 weeks and certainly prior to 25 weeks.

In both pregnancies I was leaking a very small amount of fluid. With John I only leaked a quarter sized amount of fluid - once. In fact when I discovered it at 2am I went back to bed and only called the midwives in the morning after Aaron insisted. I walked down to the hospital not thinking for a second that I was going to be having a baby that day. With the boys I leaked a quarter sized amount three or four times in two days. It's not much at all and could easily be missed or overlooked. I did however first notice a small amount of fluid at 19 weeks; I went in to be tested and it was determined it was not amniotic fluid. I am now about 99% sure it was - I think perhaps the leak was tiny, on one of the top babies or healed up before I went in the next morning. I would not mistake it. It's clear, odorless, and watery. I never leaked again until 23 weeks.

So why does PPROM happen? Good question. Nobody really knows for sure. It occurs in less than 2% of pregnancies. There could be a genetic component (my sister delivered all three of her girls early because of the same thing - yet no studies have proven the genetic link). It could be biological - my body's cells are just messed up and trigger the wrong series of events to happen. It could be (and most studies suggest) caused by infection. Pathology on the placenta could reveal an infection, however, it's hard to determine whether the infection caused the membranes to rupture or if infection presented itself once the membranes were compromised.

If PPROM happens once it could be a fluke and not happen again in other pregnancies. Once it happens twice the odds of it happening again are higher. It's unfortunate that to discover a pattern it needs to happen more than once. Those at highest risk for PROM are smokers, drinkers, those with STD's, low BMI, drug users (all the things I am not) as well as those who have had previous PROM and pregnant with multiples (check on both of those).

It's frustrating that the human body is so amazing (our other proof there is a God) yet sometimes works against itself. I cannot imagine the frustration of those with arthritis or cancer or other conditions in which the body is trying to fight or kill itself. My body was growing healthy babies and doing everything right and then out of nowhere something goes wrong. It's hard to fathom. It's harder when there are no answers and no clear way of knowing if and when it will happen again.

I asked my doctor if it happened so early because my uterus was measuring full term. He said no, my uterus may have been full term but the sac surrounding each baby was the same size as a singleton of the same age, 23 weeks. Not comforting. We have not talked to our doctor since the morning after delivery but will have a regular postpartum six week appointment with him.

I've read a lot of journal articles regarding PPROM and there is not a lot of data that is conclusive. They are studying a lot of possible causes and also what causes labor to start after the membranes leak/rupture. The March of Dimes has a Prematurity Research Initiative (PRI) in which they give grants for researching different areas of premature birth and premature babies. Their web site lists the topics and grantees. I will be contacting those researching PPROM to see if my experience could help them in any way. The March of Dimes has been instrumental in funding research that has lead to important discoveries regarding premature birth and also the care of premature babies. I have also used their web site frequently for dealing with the grief of losing Charlie, Cal and Harry.

It's amazing to me that although we live in such a highly technologically advanced society, the best place for babies to grow is still in the womb of their mother. No matter how many advances in medicine we have made we still do not fully understand a process that has been occurring since the beginning of time. I was listening to a program on MPR the other day in which they were talking about extending the average life span due to medical advances etc. Selfishly I wish we were less concerned about a 90 year old living until they are 100 and would instead focus on giving the littlest of our society a fighting chance to experience life. I guess they are not mutually exclusive but still you get the point.

So, there it is. PPROM. I can tell you we plan on trying to have more children but it will not be with the same excitement as our last two pregnancies. We've been burned now. Big time. If we do have a successful pregnancy it will come with 30 weeks of terror...We are optimistic and know not being pregnant with multiples will help our chances. For now, we continue to enjoy John and grieve over not having Charlie, Cal and Harry home with us.

It's Good to Feel Loved

I wish I could shout from the mountain tops "thank you, thank you." Aaron and I have been overwhelmed by the kindness expressed toward our family in the past couple weeks. Every Facebook message, every blog comment, every card sent has been so appreciated. We find the most comfort in knowing people care. We are extremely fortunate and it's good to feel loved.

The Boys (Photos)

Charlie is in polka dots, Cal in fuzzy green and Harry in white print. We are so fortunate the hospital had a photographer there for us and they also made some beautiful molds of the boys hands and feet as memorials.

These pictures remind me of how close our life was to being totally different.

Box Maker

I wish these pictures could do the casket justice, they just don't. It was so beautiful and I was so proud that Aaron was able to build it. He pieced together a few different species of woods to make this most special box - he didn't have enough of any one wood for the whole project. The lid is cherry with bubinga handles, the main box is padauk, and the bottom is white oak. The black screw are handmade out of ebony. He thought he was going to carve the boy's initials into the top, then we decided on BROTHERS instead. When we showed up at the funeral home the director surprised us with a plaque that he had made with their names on it. It worked perfectly. He added leather straps before the funeral.

I imagine the time Aaron spent in the shop in the two days following the boys death was therapeutic. If Charlie, Cal and Harry were anything like John they too would have loved to be in the shop with their dad. He had so much to teach them.

Cosmic Joke

I wish I had more to write. I don't. I feel as though I just woke up from a bad dream. Not just the last week but the last six months. It seems unreal. It's starting to become a blur. I'm a bit numb.

Part of me feels guilty for not feeling worse. I know we'll be okay. I know it will be rough for a while but I don't have this feeling we're headed for a big black hole we can't get out of. Maybe the strength I feel is from the boys. I know they would not want me to hurt so deeply that I could not continue living fully.

Aaron certainly feels more angry than I do. Nothing that happened is logical. He feels as though we were the butt of a cosmic joke. Why would everything that happened in the last six months end like this? Why would we be given a shot at triplets? We weren't trying to play God and didn't ask to carry so many babies. Why would everything in the pregnancy progress so well? If these babies weren't going to make it why couldn't it have been at 12 weeks and not 4 days before they were considered "viable"? Why would I go from being in the best shape of my life to a 4,0000 calorie diet and sedentary, to be left when it's all done with twenty some pounds of baby weight and no babies to show for it? Why take the beauty and miracle of birth and make it my most horrifying life experience? Why the magnitude of losing all three? Why let this happen with no explanation and nobody blame?

There are no answers. We all have a cross to bear. We all have a story to tell. There will always be things in this life we cannot explain or justify, events and circumstances that do not make sense and make us feel like life is short changing us. That's just the way it is. Sometimes life is just not fair.

A Mighty Wind...

Aaron and I have always felt closest to God outdoors among his mountains, his critters, his winding rivers and gigantic trees. When the clouds move and the wind blows - man cannot control that nor man create that. Our Earth is evidence, to us, there is a God.

When Charlie, Cal and Harry were born and died it was raining and dark out. I thought, how appropriate. On Thursday afternoon, they were buried. The sun was out and the wind was blowing. Again, I thought, how appropriate. I was hoping that sunshine was evidence that was needed to let me know they made it to Heaven alright - but I needed more.

Thursday evening a few hours after they were buried, a storm was brewing. We got hammered. Rochester lost over 150 large trees, roofs and walls were blow off homes, our power was out and lines were down. Sections of town were barricaded off because of the damage.

"Mama, we made it!" With force and fury those boys gave me the sign I needed. I told Aaron, as horrible as it sounds, I think that storm was a sign from the boys that they made it up to Heaven. He said, "Yep, sounds right. They probably have Mary in a headlock already."

Tough Choices....

Here is a true and factual statement; Babies born when Charlie, Cal and Harry were born do live. They can, with proper medical intervention early on, continue to grow in the NICU and after a few months be released to the world has happy, healthy baby boys with no lasting consequences of their premature birth. That is a totally true statement.

While that statement may be true, it is only true for very few babies. One of the best gifts we were given on Sunday night was Dr. Chris Colby, neonatologist at the Mayo Clinic (more on the rest of our A team later). Dr. Colby had met with us briefly Saturday but we didn't make any decisions with him then because it was still to early to know if I was going into labor. The OB doc on Sunday night insisted that we make a plan and she called Dr. Colby to come back in to meet with us. He didn't have to...I don't even think he was on call. He sat with us for nearly two hours giving us the information we needed to make a plan if these babies were going to be born. (Those of you who know me well know I loath plans).

Here are the stats we were given based on a triplet pregnancy at 23/3 with an estimated weight of 500 gms (they were bigger than expected). These numbers are conservative. They would have a 14% chance of living. Out of the 14% who live, half of them will live with serious complications including mental retardation, blindness, and cerebral palsy. Another week and our chances would have increased to 40%, two week gave us a 50% chance, if we could buy another 3 1/2 weeks they were 90%-95%. The numbers were also lower because they were all boys - girls have a better chance. Those numbers were for each individual baby, we had three. Based on those numbers we needed to make a choice as to whether or not we would do everything possible to save our babies, including trying to stop labor and get more time.

If we were going to intervene Dr. Colby needed to get a team in place - in the middle of the night. They have staff that can handle the babies one at a time or two at a time but three was getting tricky. If we were going to intervene they would do a c-section to get the babies out with the least trauma to their heads. The babies would then be born and immediately transferred over to St. Mary's hospital where the NICU is (we were at Methodist where are OB procedures are done. St. Mary's is a catholic hospital and will not allow some procedures that Mayo offers). Once the babies were at the NICU they would need all sorts of help to keep their little bodies growing outside of the womb. If we did this could I endure never holding my babies, could I endure not being there if they died, could I endure planning a funeral after a major surgery, could I endure a c-section possibly complicating future pregnancies?

While all the numbers and logistics were playing through our heads, what I was really thinking of were our friends who had unfortunately had make those same decisions and the outcomes of their precious children.

We needed more time...days, a couple weeks, just a little more time. We needed to stop labor. We were given the option of using magnesium for 48 hours while steroids were administered to develop the babies lungs. Magnesium was 50% effective at stopping labor at least temporarily but would only be administered once. It was our trump card. Our other option was an aggressive antibiotic therapy that would hopefully stop labor. That is what our plan was. We were going to try and stop it with the antibiotics, try and buy time and then when labor kicked up again we would use our trump card, get the babies lungs developed and then do everything possible. If we used the mag drip immediately and it only bought us 48 from where we were at, it was not likely going to buy us enough time to make a difference.

The other thing we needed to keep in mind is why this was happening in the first place. If the membranes ruptured because of infection my body was likely laboring to get the infection out to protect me. The biggest fear after PPROM (preterm premature rupture of membranes, which I now know I have an issue with since that's what happened with John at 35 weeks more on that later) is infection. Infection could have caused it or it could be caused biologically. Once the mucus plug is no longer in place both myself and the babies are open to infection. An infection in the uterus with all that blood could be life threatening. I had to trust my body knew what it was doing, even though no signs of infection had been detected by numerous tests.

We used the options we had, they were not effective in stopping labor. The babies were born peacefully - just ourselves, two quiet doctors and a nurse in a silent, cold surgical suite. As Charlie and Harry held on for two hours and Cal 45 minutes the thought crossed my mind - should we do something? Look at them, they're so healthy and perfect and look how long they've lasted with no help at all. I knew better. Those babies had a lot going on inside and they were too early.

Our biggest struggle with making this decision is our belief, like many parents believe, that our kids are the ones who will beat the odds. Our kids would have been among the 7%, we are never the other 93%, we are strong, healthy people who work hard and our kids are the same way, bad things don't happen to us, we'll look back and think this was a miracle, these are our boys-they will make it and beat the odds and life will be perfect.....We will get lucky and owe God big time for this one.

If ever the serenity prayer was helpful, it was that night when we made our choice:
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can,
And the wisdom to know the difference.

We are at peace with the choices we made.

Numbers

Some quick stats that I haven't posted....

Charles Monroe Muller, born 6:48am, June 14th
1 lb., 4.2 oz and 11 1/2 inches
Died around 8:30 am

Calvin Joseph Mueller, born 10: 24am
1 lb, 6.4 oz and 12 1/2 inches
Died around 11: 15am

Harold Chris Mueller, born 10:29am
1 lb, 5.5 oz, 12 inches
Died around 12:15pm

They were 575 gm, 630 gm, and 610gm...the stats we were given to make our decisions off of were based on 500gm babies so they were bigger than expected - the fact that they were triplets did not slow their growth one bit. Babies born at this time do live, but not without a high probability of complications. That is my next post - the decision we made to not use medical intervention to keep them alive.

This and that...

Aaron finished the boy's casket late last night. It is absolutely perfect - his finest piece. I am so thankful he was able to do this. I will post pictures later.

Last night I was talking to my nieces and my sister told them Grandma Jean would be taking care of the babies, rocking them, etc. Grandma Jean is in heaven with the boys. "And Santa too?" Jessa said. Priceless. My three year old neice Keigan who has the most beautifully raspy voice and who speaks slowly said,
"You crrrying?"
"Yes Keigan, I cry because I'm sad."
She looked right through me and flatly said,
"Cause your baaabies died."
I will hear her voice saying that forever. I laughed and cried at the same time - the most heartbreaking, innocent thing anyone has ever said to me.

My milk came in last night and I make Dolly look like a school boy. Apparently they didn't get the message. I had so looked forward to being able to nurse the boys and the spent all last week on triplet blogs of mom's who nursed figuring out logistics. That was to be my full time job for the next year. I thought about pumping and donating but what I really need to get back to my son who lost his mom for the past five months.

Thank you all again for the messages, the food, the flowers and the memorials to the March of Dimes. It is so comforting to feel so loved. Please don't shy away from us. We never want this to be the elephant in the room.

It's a beautiful day. It was raining when they died and now the sun is out. How appropriate. I have included a story below that was read at our friend Andrew's funeral last year. It impacted both Aaron and I profoundly and we want to share this about the will of God.

.....Sometimes when someone dies too soon, by an accident, as Andrew did, sometimes in
our grief, frequently, in fact, we look for someone to blame. Physicians know it. People who work in hospitals know it. Ministers know how natural it is to try to find someone who is responsible for this and occasionally in that process we blame God, or seem to blame God, by trying to reassure one another that there is a wisdom operating here that is beyond our own, that this death, or any untimely death, was somehow the will of God, part of God's plan.

William Sloane Coffin, Intelligence Officer in the Army (WWII), brilliant intellect, concert pianist, became a minister, chaplain at Yale during the Vietnam War, minister of Riverside Church in Manhattan, and became one of the great preachers of our age. His 24 year old son Alex, died in a traffic accident when his car skidded off the road in a terrible storm and plunged into Boston Harbor.

The next Sunday Coffin somehow managed to get up into his pulpit and preach a sermon,
Alex's Death. He said:

"When a person dies, there are many things that can be said, and there is at least one thing that should never be said."

And then Coffin explained that a well-meaning woman had said to him that she just didn't understand the will of God. His response was immediate and strong:

"I"ll say you don't understand, lady! Do you think it was God's will that Alex
never fixed that lousy windshield wiper of his . . . that there are no streetlights
or guard rails along that stretch of road?"

And then he reflected helpfully for his congregation in words that are important and helpful to us today, sitting in church in a similar situation:

"God is dead set against all unnatural deaths . . . The one thing that should never
be said when someone dies is that it is the will of God. Never do we know
enough to say that. My own consolation lies in the fact that it was not the will of
God that Alex die; that when the waves closed over the sinking car, God's heart
was the first of all of our hearts to break."

Aaron and I believe our son's came into this world naturally and left this world naturally. And when they passed it was God's heart that was first to break.

What happened...

Some background.. We learned in early February that we were pregnant with natural, fraternal triplets. Statistically we had everything going for us; the babies were conceived naturally, they were all in their own sac, they all had their own placenta, and I had already had a successful pregnancy. At 16 weeks they started baseline measurements for my cervix, which was measuring between 4-5 cm (anything over 3 is great). They would continue to measure every week to week and a half as that measurement was the indicator for going on bed rest.

As standard care for triplet pregnancy, my doctor told me to quit working by 20 weeks and prepare to be fairly sedentary for the duration. That was not a problem. I put myself on bed rest. My body was pumping three times the normal amount of blood and had a lot of babies to nourish. I was not able to even walk a block after 12 weeks or I would nearly pass out (quite a difference to my pregnancy with John when I was renovating and exercising up to the day I had him). But I didn't just slow down - I nearly stopped. I did not want to risk anything. This was it. This was our family in the making. With any luck I would not be pregnant again (my hormones were three times the normal level for pregnancy too so I couldn't bare to be so sick again). We were excited and amazed that this was really happening to us!

Making it to 23 weeks wasn't easy but the boys were doing great! They were thriving! They were measuring the size of a singleton babies of their same gestational age. Every time we looked at them on ultrasound they were super active and kicking each other. Aaron said it looked like a hot tub party with arms and legs all over the place. My cervix had not changed a bit but my uterus sure was growing. At my 19 week appointment I was measuring 34 weeks pregnant (40 is full term), by 21 weeks I was over 36 weeks pregnant and I imagine when I delivered on Monday my uterus was around 38 weeks pregnant. Triplets are born, on average, at 32 weeks gestation. We made it to just over 23 weeks. Viability is medically agreed upon to be 24 weeks. That was our next major milestone.

Last Monday night I ended up getting very sick in the night, vomiting and body aches. It knocked any bit of energy I had right out of me. I had Aaron take me in on Tuesday morning to get fluids. They gave me two liters of fluid and sent me home (dehydration is a major cause for preterm labor so I needed to stay hydrated. I was already needing to drink over a gallon of water a day to keep up with the babies). The rest of the day I didn't leave my bed, same thing on Wednesday. The nurses said there was a GI bug going around but it was typically lasting 24 hours. By Wednesday night I felt well enough to take a bath. Around 11pm I noticed I had leaked some fluid and it was time to head back in to get checked out.

A very simple test, called a fern test, is used to determine whether or not the fluid leaking is amniotic fluid. They just wipe it on a glass slide and when it dries it has a fern pattern. The doctors looked at my cervix - still over 4, phew. They said I was probably just a little crampy from my uterus now being nearly full term and that would likely continue the rest of the pregnancy. The doctors and nurses were sure the discharge I had was likely not amniotic because there wasn't any more of it and it seemed too thick. We realized once we got home we never got the results back from the fern test. It was 2 a.m. when we came home and had already had a long week. Aaron gets up at 4:30 so we just went to bed.

Friday I stayed home and rested. I so badly wanted to make the trip to Mankato with Aaron for Andrew's Memorial but I had not been able to ride in a car for any length since early May and I couldn't risk it now. Saturday I finally felt good again. Until Saturday night. I hadn't left the house all week (except for the hospital) so I decided to go with Aaron to get some groceries. As I walked about 20 feet to the front door I knew I wouldn't be able to walk the grocery aisles. So I used the MartCart (aka "rascals")! It was hilarious. I got a lot of looks but oh well. We zipped through the store and got what we needed. That night by 11pm I was having discharge again and my already rock hard belly started contracting. We were headed back to the hospital.

After a long night the resident came in and said "I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry." The tests we had done had determined I was in fact leaking amniotic fluid and for the first time my cervix had shortened to 2.7 cm (which was still totally fine). I'm not sure it really hit us even then what was about to happen. When I had John I roomed with a woman who had a leak and they kept her in the hospital until she delivered nearly two months later. I thought, okay, I can sit in the hospital for 8 weeks. I can stand on my head for 8 weeks if I have to. This will be okay.

Before we knew it they had a neonatologist come in to speak with us about the probability of our babies living if we delivered and what our options were. It started to hit me then. Soon the Maternal Fetal Medicine doc on call came to consult with us. I asked him what the chances were that I would start to go into labor. He said there was a 70-80% chance that labor would start within a week. What I heard was "there's a 20-30% chance labor will not start." I would play those odds anytime - for things I can actually control. This, however, was not my call but I was naturally optimistic. He said we could be admitted and wait or we could go home - where ever we would be most comfortable and least anxious. That was home.

Sunday we tried to get some rest after a long week and another night without much sleep. We slept most of the day and Aaron proceeded to make a planned family dinner for Father's Day with my dad, mom, brother, and his dad. I got off the couch to eat for about 10 minutes and shortly after started cramping. I laid there until about 10:30 pm and knew it was time to go in. This time I knew I was staying at the hospital, one way or another. (They were not concerned with me moving around - membranes do not rupture prematurely because of physical activity but because there is an infection or something else biologically causing them to do so - this is what happened with John as well. We thought it was a fluke but are now wondering if it's something else). When I went back in the cramps were getting worse but my cervix had not changed. We still were not sure we were in labor. There was plenty of fluid around the babies and the were doing wonderful.

It wasn't long before I was having very strong contractions. They admitted me into a labor room and had me lay flat on the bed - no getting up - at all. We decided to start an aggressive antibiotic and fluid therapy to get the contractions to stop. If I could just get them to stop my cervix was still fine.

I was on a narcotic drip all night. It was enough to take the edge off but laboring flat on your back for 12 hours with three babies inside is tough. Really, really tough. I knew these contractions were too strong to not have an effect on my cervix. We met with the neonatologist again to make a plan (more on that later) if I did in fact deliver these babies. We were all cautiously optimistic that we could get the contractions to stop. I had a scheduled 7:30 am ultrasound and consult with my MFM doc. The plan was to check my cervix again to see if it was changing. If not, I was going to be wheeled up to my appointment. They didn't want to check too frequently because they feared introducing infection. The doctor checked me around 6:40 and immediately said, "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. I see the sac of baby A and you're dilated to 6." Just then the baby dropped and I need to push. They told me to hold off pushing (that's hard to do) until we got in the room. Good thing Aaron's a pro at changing into scrubs - he had about 30 seconds and we were literally running into the room with everyone trying to get their gloves on quick enough. Seconds later, baby A, Charlie was born. He had a faint cry and was put into our arms. We didn't know how long we had with him so I baptized him. He was with us for two hours while we laid there waiting.

The plan was to deliver A and then wait to see if labor could be stopped. There are cases where one twin is delivered and then the uterus stops contracting enough to keep the other baby in for several weeks. We were going to wait for an hour. If the contractions went away they would stitch my cervix and I would try and get the other two further along. For about 40 minutes it seemed as though this may be an option. Then the contractions kicked up again. I labored holding Charlie for 4 more hours as the other two lowered in the uterus. Our deacon was with us during the next few hours and was ready to baptize the other boys.

Baby B, Cal, was next to come. He was breech. Within five minutes, Baby C, Harry had arrived as well. By this time our family members were at the hospital. We were wheeled back with the babies, Harry still alive, so they would get a chance to see and hold our beautiful boys.

The boys stayed with us, wrapped in their receiving blankets for the rest of the day. They were put in a bassinet together and stayed with us in our room until morning. It was a precious experience. They looked so perfect. They looked like their brother John. They were all so, so beautiful.

That is what happened. There are more posts I will make about our decisions and all the wonderful people that helped us out that day and the agony of what we're experiencing.

I'm writing this blog for information but also for our healing and for helping others who may be going through the same thing. I followed a lot of triplet blogs during my pregnancy and they were unbelievable helpful in knowing someone else had walked in my same shoes.

Aaron and I now know there are a lot of people who have experienced the loss of a child. If anything, we have learned there are too many. On Monday we didn't just lose our boys, we lost our reality, we lost our future as we had been preparing, and we lost a lot of dreams we had. I know we will be fine. We are surrounded by love and so thankful for that. Life will go on and as Father Nick says, we will learn to walk with a limp.

Calling My Children Home

There will be a private burial service for family on Thursday the 17th in Mantorville. The boys will be buried together next to my grandma Jean. We welcome friends to join us from 3-7pm on Thursday at my sister's home (where the wedding was -directions below). Please know we would love to see you - it has been so comforting to hear from you and we appreciate every message we have received.

Our boys are so lucky to have such a talented and loving father. He is in the garage now making their casket. He has a beautiful piece of curly cherry that he has been waiting for the right project to use. This is it. While he won't have much time to make it intricate in true Aaron fashion, it will be absolutely perfect.

There are songs that make up the soundtrack of our life. All day yesterday I had the Emmylou Harris song "Calling My Children Home" playing in my head. As part of our own healing we will continue to update the site with our story. Thank you again for all the prayers.

Directions:
http://www.mapquest.com/maps?city=Mantorville&state=MN&address=60452+260th+Ave&zipcode=55955-7056&country=US&latitude=44.074872&longitude=-92.718278&geocode=ADDRESS

With heavy hearts.....

This morning Aaron and I welcomed three beautiful baby boys into this world, however, their arrival came too early for them to survive much more than a few hours with us.

Charles (Charlie) Monroe Mueller was born at 6:45 this morning. His brothers Calvin (Cal) Joseph Mueller and Harold (Harry) Chris Mueller arrived at 10:45 am and 10:50 am. Charlie and Harry were with us for nearly two hours while Cal hung on for 30 minutes.

The boys were born at 23 weeks - 3 days on the morning of June 14th; we did not intervene and they died peacefully in our arms. They were all perfectly healthy and beautiful - just born too soon to have a fair chance.

Kellie should be leaving the hospital sometime in the morning to head home. We will post more about the pregnancy and the events leading up to their birth as the week goes on. Any thoughts or comments can be posted on this site - we will be checking it often. Right now we are heart broken and we need our privacy. We appreciate all the love and support of our friends and family.