Imagine . . . one day, eight weeks into your second pregnancy, seeing life and death at the same moment. Twins. Two hearts, one heartbeat.

Imagine . . . at 15 weeks given the option to terminate the pregnancy but the emotional attachment was too strong to let go.

Imagine . . . the next 13 weeks bleeding and contracting everyday.

Imagine . . . denying on New Year's Eve that you are leaking even more amniotic fluid even though several days before you were informed that your "bag of waters" was leaking. You don't call the hospital because your OB was out of town for the holiday.

Imagine . . . the deafening sound of silence when your 28-weeker is delivered by c-section.

Imagine . . . almost passing out while sitting when you see him for the first time.

Imagine . . . a nine-year roller coaster ride with no end in sight.

Imagine . . . you and your preemie having chicken pox at the same time and sharing oatmeal baths.

Imagine . . . laminating the first picture he wrote his name on and professionally framing his preschool hand print.

Imagine . . . a new sibling born healthy and screaming - pure elation!

Imagine . . . your preemie accomplishing skills that you weren't sure would ever emerge.

Imagine . . . the day after your preemie's fourth birthday your "healthy" child being diagnosed with a rare form of children's cancer - the other shoe had officially dropped.

Imagine . . . your heart breaking again and no one can see how profusely it is hemorrhaging inside of you.

Imagine . . . suicide as a thought but knowing it wasn't an option. Three sets of beautiful eyes were depending on you.

Imagine . . . one day, soon after all the surgery and chemo treatments were finished, a summer afternoon rainstorm had left a double rainbow in the eastern sky. Selfishly, I immediately claimed the double rainbow, one for my preemie, one for my cancer child and equating it as a sign from God that one day, all will be at peace.

Imagine . . . a metamorphosis of your life, because that is what has happened.

Imagine . . . being able to let go of that annoying feeling called fear . . . I can't imagine that.

Imagine . . .

BJ mom to
Zac - 28 wkr now 9
Mac - cancer survivor now 6
Lindsay - FT+ now 12
Ashton Emmalea - Zac's twin