It seems like the world is intrigued by multiples. They are exciting and seem to have this wow factor that singletons just don’t have. We watch and wait patiently for celebrities to have their twins, there are countless shows on raising multiples, we can’t help but ooh and ahh over the twin toddlers dressed identically in the grocery store. People love multiples.
I probably did, too. Until I had them.
I couldn’t believe it when the ultrasound tech told us we were having twins. I was shocked. Like beyond belief shocked. Twins don’t run in my family. My family has a history of fertility issues, not hyper-ovulation. And yet, somehow I was pregnant with two perfect little girls.
I am sure I told everyone I could with a huge smile we were having twins. I felt special. And all that was taken away from us. Our twin girls were born too early. Goldie was strong enough, and three years later, she is as perfect as any other threenager. But Ilana had too many complications and I have to wait a lifetime to see my baby girl again. Ilana passed away three days after birth.
Now when I see twins, my heart hurts. Now when I hear people ooh and ahh over multiples, I feel angry and jealous. I’m nervous sharing this side of my grief, although I am sure people expect it to be there. How can you not? Mom loses one of her twins; mom is still infatuated with seeing and hearing about twins. That scenario just doesn’t make sense.
These days I am dealing better with that aspect of my grief. Seeing twins or hearing about a mother who birthed quads who all lived doesn’t force me to hide in the dark, back corner of my closet. But that doesn’t mean I am healed. And I don’t think ever will be.
I was a special twin mom. That was me. —Julie