There was a time in my life that I would have considered myself a solid 7 emotionally on a scale of 1-10. I had friends who experienced a 2 and a 9 on the same day, and that just wasn’t who I was.

Of course, there were times that my number dropped, as I learned that loss and grief were a very real part of life. When I was 5, I was hospitalized and had my appendix removed. I went home after a few days, but another girl who was also hospitalized didn’t. A few weeks later, my mom brought me to her funeral, and I remember seeing the guilt and sorrow on my mom’s face, and I could feel the sadness and torture from Melissa’s mom.

In high school, I lost a 4-H friend with a heart of gold to cancer, and I recall that first taste of “why can’t the good ones live forever?”. A classmate, a track friend, and acquaintances dying too young, they all shocked me and left me remorseful.

Knowing my parents had lost infant twins taught me the importance of not taking life for granted. We always felt their presence in our family, and always wondered, and still do, who they would be today. Losing three of my grandparents, all of who I loved very much, was very difficult and sad. I struggled with wishing I had one more day, to say I love you one more time, to hold their hands, to hear their laughter. I know in my soul, one more day would never be enough.

In my profession, July is probably considered the most relaxing month for many. School is out, the end of year stress and craziness has slowly dissolved, but we are not truly gearing up for the next school year yet. Teachers often take family trips, complete house projects, etc. in July.

I’ve come to terms with July being my biggest emotional rollercoaster of the year. Bittersweet doesn’t come close to describing the highs and lows I feel during the month. Obviously, February will probably be the worst from here on out, but July is different.

On July 4th of 2006, came the happiest surprise of my life at that point, when Aaron asked me to be his wife during a lull in the Rochester fireworks show. I spent the rest of the night beaming, and the next year planning the wedding we had dreamed of. The evening before we were married, his mom and dad hosted the groom’s dinner at their beautiful home, and as he often did, Aaron lit up the world with fireworks and laughter.

On July 7, 2007, Aaron and I were married, and we shared and celebrated our marriage with our families and friends. It was truly a day that represented who Aaron and I were, and we loved everything about it. It was a joyous and love filled day.

2 years later, after an ectopic pregnancy early in our marriage, and struggling to conceive, I was elated to find out I was pregnant. Aaron was working, and when he came home to celebrate our second anniversary, he found me sobbing, as earlier in the day I lost the pregnancy. After a long and miserable road filled with three more losses, in 2010 Aaron and I had made the decision to try in vitro fertilization. After one failed attempt, we learned were were expecting in early 2011. In the spring, we were all kinds of elated to learn there were 2 babies.

We bought cribs, bedding, clothes, supplies, and were looking forward to the anatomy ultrasound, which was scheduled for July 1st. I was driving myself crazy with anticipation, and was overjoyed when the day arrived. We saw the beautiful heartbeats, perfectly developing organs, chambers of the heart, and brain. And finally… one girl, and one boy. We were in 7th heaven for about one minute, until I saw the look on the ultrasound tech’s face. She told me not to move. A doctor came in, I was dilated, needed surgery, headed for prep, anesthesia, and a cerclage, to hold the babies in. It’s a spinning blur, but I remember that day being the only day that I hit a 10 and a 1 in my whole life. I was put on bedrest, and later hospitalized in hopes that both babies could stay put long enough to survive.

Apparently, God had other other plans, and for reasons that I will never understand or be at peace with, on July 28, 2011, our beautiful twins, Savannah and Charlie Dubé, were born. Shortly after their birth, they were baptized, then called back home to dance with Jesus. They were held, loved, sang to, and truly cherished for every second of their existence.

I know today that they get to celebrate their birthday with their daddy, for the second time. I know that their grandparents and mine, are singing, dancing, and celebrating in a way that we won’t understand until we get there. I only wish that that enormous celebration was here.

Eight years ago, two tiny souls were born, and made a huge difference in many lives, and many huge changes in my heart. I cry more, I love more. My perspective is different. I try to celebrate everything… every milestone, every friendship, every blizzard, every rainbow, and every thunderstorm. I try to cherish the times that Maizy and Layla are driving me crazy, because I know in 8 years, I might wish I had this moment back.

July is the 7th month of the year, but I’m no longer a solid 7. I feel more. I hurt more, and I love more.

Savannah and Charlie, you were here, you existed, you mattered, and you changed my world. You taught me more in your tiny lives than I could ever have imagined. You are always in my heart, and the power of my love for you is immeasurable. Thanks for the house-shaking thunder this morning, I felt you. Give your daddy a big hug, and then another. He loves being squeezed tight. Happy birthday, my beautiful angels. Love, Mommy