A month ago, I wanted to write about the greatest news since sliced bread.

We were having a boy and girl.

Two weeks ago, I planned to share the powerful experience of being with my dad in the hospital as he slowly succeeded, two steps forward and one step back, during recovery from open heart surgery and the placement of a heart pump. Now he would live a longer life and would be in Portland come October to be with his grandson and two new grand babies. I would come to find this affirmation in my email box and think, “Damn right!”

“It’s not that your life totally rocks, kara, except for a few tricky spots, slippery patches, and challenges.

But that your life totally rocks, in large part, because of the tricky spots, slippery patches, and challenges.”


Life had been difficult and good and I was appreciative. The only problem was that Life had been busy and had kept me from writing these posts.

Now, in this early, early morning on Wednesday, April 3, I sit surrounded by darkness and silence as I write to tell you this.

I have lost our baby boy.

I am no longer the mother of twins.

I don’t know where to go from here. Last night, I fell asleep quickly, like a rock sinking and resting at the bottom of the lake. Crying had worn me out. Now, I find myself wide awake because the dreams have kept me from sleeping. I am a wide eyed, sleepless wonder trying to imagine how I plan to move on from all of this. I feel torn in two directions of grief and relief. I feel torn in pieces and broken all over again. I am at a loss.

I don’t know that I saw this coming. A few weeks back, I had shown concern because I thought I wasn’t very big for it being my second pregnancy and having twins. I also felt minimal movement and had nonchalantly voiced my concern to my family. Overall, the pregnancy had felt fairly mild and, in fact, I joked that I sometimes forgot I was pregnant because I felt THAT good.

Last week, I voiced my concern to my doctor who, at the time, did not have ultrasound available to do a quick scan. She grabbed the handheld Doppler so that we could hear the heartbeats. Oscar had come along with us for the appointment and when we heard them both, we walked out of the building relieved. The three of us holding hands and talking about what a good brother Oscar would be. Ahhh, life was good.

Oh, how I wish I could turn back the clock and pretend this wasn’t happening.