Our mom tried to forget us, but couldn’t. But did she really want to?

Our lives were brief. We didn’t even make it more than six weeks and never were bigger than a blueberry. If we were still alive, we would have heard the shock in her voice when the doctor told her there were two of us. Her worry would have been palpable when the technician told her we still didn’t have heartbeats, despite our expected age. We would have heard and felt her grief the next week when we still hadn’t grown any more.

Everything was a waiting game to her and our father - waiting to see if we’ve grown and they made a mistake; waiting to get closure when we should have greeted them for the first and last time. When she finally did get closure though, it wasn’t what she really wanted. What they wanted was us: Twice the diapers to change, twice the exhaustion as we scrambled to get into stuff, twice the giggles, and twice the hugs.

The pain that was left behind when we weren’t was unbearable. It still is. She’s gotten good though at trying not to think about it. She grew a thick skin - she had to, just to be able to go on living. She tried to forget but didn’t at the same time. For those brief few weeks, we were very precious to her, our father, and our brother.

But she can’t forget, no matter how hard she tries. She can numb out to it, but only until she sees another baby, a cute video, an expectant mommy-to-be, or other twins. She still cries way too easily, even though she hates to cry.

If we were still be alive, we would have just turned a year old.