I’m gonna lighten it up again soon, folks. Just gotta get through this week.
My twins would be 7 today. In my mind, they’re all arms and legs and sandy blonde hair. For some reason, my mind gives them kind of a bowl cut… they look like the MOG at that age. Of course, they are fraternal twins, not identical, so there are differences between them. I don’t have a clear image of who they’d be, who they are in heaven. Just boys, blonde hair, tank tops and gangly legs.
Despite it being the beginning of the end, and an all-around crisis, today was a good day, 7 years ago. For a moment in time I had twin sons, my babies that I could see and dream about. Their story is here.
It’s still surprising to me, the ache, the empty space left by babies I never knew. You never, ever get over your children. In the space of 7 years, I feel like I’ve lived a lifetime. I think I turned 40 the year they died, and I was 25. I remember thinking back then, there is no redemption. Nothing good can ever come out of this, it is only bad. I was wrong about that, too.
First, the whole “better to have loved and lost” is true. I am richer for having carried them for 6 months, for having them in front of me for 2 days, for the impact their short lives had on me, on the MOG, on Radiant. In addition to that, I feel like the whole world opened up to us, the shared weight of human suffering. That’s not as bad as it sounds, because it’s shared. I’m part of a community of loss, of grief and hope and rebuilding. Richy and I have a perspective we never understood from the safer zones, and it has made our love for people deeper, I think, as well as our love for each other and our living kids.
I miss Evan and Rees. For weeks before their birth/death dates and their due dates, I have a physical ache in my chest. I feel tired and heavy and slow. Once these 3 days are over, the weight lifts a little and I can get back to “normal”. It’s right to grieve them, because they’re my sons.
Happy birthday, boys.