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Anonymous Mom: I Lost Twins
I don’t even know how to define it. Was it a miscarriage? Or was it a neonatal death? Perhaps a stillbirth. Who the hell knows. All I know is it wasn’t just a miscarriage. I tend to use “miscarriage” because it fits much more neatly in this little box in my head, my heart and my soul that I have created just for it. Maybe miscarriage just sounds a little better.
Next week will be seven years since I felt my twins moving in my belly. It’s been almost seven years since I’ve been gloriously naive of what it means to lose a child.  Seven years since my water broke a day before twenty weeks. Seven years since I gave birth to my son…all nine ounces of him.
In a little over two weeks, it will be seven years since I gave birth to my daughter. My beautiful, perfect, precious little daughter. She was eleven ounces. My son died during birth. My daughter was ten days later and a little stronger. She lived for two and a half hours. She died in my arms.
I thought some piece of me would instinctively realize when she passed, especially since I knew the moment was imminent. But I did not. The nurse had to tell me. And just like that, the cautious optimism I had begun to let myself feel for the past ten days while they tried to give her just a few more weeks, burst.
We have since had four beautiful, healthy children. At least once a day, I hold them each just a second longer than necessary. I look into their faces and am occasionally reminded that one day I will have to explain to them that they have two very special angels watching them from heaven.  I will have to tell them, probably around the same time they are old enough to hear me stumble just a little bit when a stranger asks how many children we have. I still have no idea how to answer that question.
I hope they don’t resent me for not telling them sooner. I doubt once they find out they will be stricken with grief. I tend to think when they learn of their lost siblings, the thought of an older brother and sister will be an abstract idea for them. But I once heard, “Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies”. So, just in case, you’ll have to excuse me for wanting to prolong their childhood just a bit longer.
My loss redefined me. It redefined my thoughts, my actions, my beliefs, my relationships and my way of life. No more do I take life for granted, as I have been shown just how fleeting it is. No more do I look at the homeless man on the street with disdain. I now give him the change in my pocket. I have no idea if his problems are of his own making or if he is the victim of misfortune. And to tell you the truth, it doesn’t matter.
I no longer just go through the motions of my particular religion. I see there is a greater purpose. I won’t pretend to know what that purpose is but I do believe there is a reason for everything. The fact that my overwhelming grief did not managed to eat me alive is proof of something greater. No more do I look at my marriage and wonder if we’ll end up like 50% of all marriages do..in divorce. We have made it through something that many couples do not survive. And not just this, a few things, and yet somehow we manage to persevere.
Most importantly, I have learned, as many of you reading this have, while life’s misfortunes sometimes threaten to destroy you, you can and eventually you will grow just a little bit stronger.
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(Photo:Â OpopO/Shutterstock)