When only a few breaths separate birth and death

"Do twins run in your family?" These words started us on a journey that changed our lives forever.

There we sat in the exam room at the beginning of May, 2016, in complete shock. This was our first pregnancy, and while we did not know what to expect, the possibility of two babies to start our family never crossed our minds.

We made a plethora of doctor appointments, as having multiples requires more monitoring, and then we left. We drove home in shocked silence.

The next few months are what I imagine your run-of-the-mill pregnancy entails: telling people the exciting news, going to checkups, spending hours doing research on everything, reading baby books, and starting to plan the nursery.

Then came the questions: Will these babies be two little boys or two little girls? What is labor going to be like? Will I be a good parent? We continued on like that, blissfully unaware, until the night of Sunday, Aug. 21.

Shortly after going to bed, I woke up with some pains, so we called the doctor and were advised to monitor them. The doctor said that if they got worse, it was worth a trip to the hospital.

Monday at 4 a.m. I woke up my husband and told him we needed to go, that something was wrong. We arrived at the Edward Hospital emergency room in Naperville and were wheeled right into Labor and Delivery.

After an exam, the nurses and doctor confirmed I had started to go into preterm labor at just 20 weeks and 1 day. We would be admitted into the hospital to try to stop things from proceeding. My first thought was, "OK, then, we will stop this."

I was put on an IV with drugs to stop labor, antibiotics and the usual fluids. Once we were in our room, there was a steady stream of doctors.

Our high-risk doctor made it clear we had to get to 24 weeks for the babies to have any chance of survival. I was determined and optimistic, stating, "OK, then, let's get there."

I was on strict bed rest, with no thought of going home until the babies were safe. Monday and Tuesday came and went with such small contractions that I couldn't even feel them. Things seemed to be calming down in my body, but, in the back of my mind, something still didn't feel right.

Around 3 a.m. Wednesday, Aug. 24, I woke up with all the labor signs the doctors said to watch out for. We called our nurse, who paged our doctor. The doctor did an exam and told us I was dilated to 8 cm, and we would have to deliver the babies. My mind started racing: "This can't be right." The doctor kept talking, but I don't think I actually heard her. All I remembered was that the high-risk doctor said we had to get past 24 weeks, and we were nowhere near that.

Then, like a ton of bricks, it hit me. I will be delivering these babies and they are not coming home with us. It was made very clear that if we couldn't get to 24 weeks, these babies were not going survive.

In the middle of this chaos, our nurse brought in one of the SHARE nurses to talk to us for a bit. She was very straightforward with us on what we could expect and what our options were moving forward.

Our babies could be alive or already passed; there was no way of knowing how the labor would affect them. If they were born alive, we would need to contact a funeral home for arrangements. We could have them baptized if we wanted and have pictures taken if we wanted; everything was up to us.

These decisions seemed impossible. How are we supposed to do this? This isn't how this is supposed to go. Rather than worrying about how to care for our babies once we get home, I was making arrangements to bury them. My head was spinning, and my heart was broken.

After our discussions with the nurses, it was time to call our parents. I think any phone call at 4 a.m. is a parent's worst nightmare. All of our parents were able to come in and see us before the contractions became unbearable.

Everything happened so quickly that it was too late for an epidural. The pains gradually got worse and worse until it was time to push. I had completely forgotten that we had not found out the sex of our babies. We had wanted it to be a surprise.

At 6:25 a.m., I gave birth to a living baby boy and, seven minutes later, to his living brother.

The nurses cleaned them up and we got to hold them. It was so nice to feel their weight on the outside of my body. They were so small but so perfect. Once the nurses and doctors were done getting me situated, our parents came in and we were able to baptize the boys. Shortly after, their heartbeats stopped. They had passed.

We spent the next few hours in our room with everyone getting a chance to hold them. They were taken from our room for a bit to take pictures while we fell asleep; physical, mental and emotional exhaustion took over.

When I woke up, I hoped the last few hours had been a nightmare, but that was not the case. Our babies were here much too early, and we were going to leave the hospital with empty arms and a gaping hole in our hearts.

Our parents contacted a funeral home and made arrangements for our boys to be picked up when we were ready. I never imagined having to give birth and talk about a funeral home in the same day, but that was our reality.

We were allowed to go home that day since everything with me checked out OK. Around 3 p.m., we decided it was time. The funeral director was called in, and we were given some time to say goodbye to our boys. When we were ready, our nurse came in and wheeled them out of our room.

She wasn't just wheeling our babies out of that room. She was wheeling away all our hopes, dreams and plans. Our previous selves had died that day. We watched those precious boys being wheeled out of our room, and we watched our former selves leave with them.

The next week was spent surrounded by tissues, with phone calls and visitors checking in on us. My body went through all the normal postpartum symptoms even though there were no babies. We would watch only Netflix for fear of seeing another diaper commercial. The doorbell rang pretty consistently with deliveries of flowers from family and friends as well as cards in the mail with people's condolences.

Every hour hurt just as bad as the one before it; I just wanted the pain to go away. I wanted to feel normal.

We went back to work the next week because one can only sit on a couch for so long. I hoped it would help at least conceal some of the pain. It did not. Reuniting with my work family only meant more tears and more sharing of our story.

This became one thing I didn't mind doing - telling our story. I was able to talk about the boys, and I liked that - as any mother would.

We had a memorial about a month later where we sent paper lanterns into the night sky. It was the perfect way to remember our boys with close friends and family. Friends bought us two trees to grow and nourish, and represent our angels.

A month or two went by, and mornings started to get just the slightest bit easier. Attending SHARE meetings helped with this immensely.

We were surrounded by people with the same feelings and thoughts. The way my mind works had changed. I think of things in terms of "I should have been pregnant for this" or "I should have had two little boys for that."

When the Cubs finally won the World Series, I should have been pregnant for that. This past Mother's Day, I should have had two little boys to celebrate with. I daydream that there are four little feet running into the living room to play and rough house. I can hear it and see it, although I know it's not there.

Our sons, Noah and Zachary, taught us more in the short time they were here than we realized at the moment. They taught us that we are not in control of every aspect of our lives, and that we need to enjoy life as it is - the good and the bad.

They taught me to ask for what I need. We understand how even normal questions about children can be a sensitive topic, as it is to us, and we never presume to know or understand someone's situation.

Symbolism has become more prevalent, from rainbows to butterflies. These everyday objects have a whole different meaning now, meanings of hope and understanding that the boys are all around us in spirit.

We will never forget our angels; they are part of our daily lives. We are adapting every day to our new reality: We are here on earth and they are watching over us, protecting us, and helping us get through this unexpected life.