I sat staring at my newborn twins, tears flooding my tired eyes. How perfect they were, these two tiny angels I'd just given flight to. They lay bundled in warm blankets, tucked safely in my aching arms. Their eyes closed, their soft red hair brilliant against pale skin, their tiny fingers relaxed. I almost expected them to let out a wail of contradiction at any moment.
What plans I have made for you, my daughter and my son, I spoke in my mind. My voice was gone, hiding somewhere as to not to betray my agony.
Then I sighed. What plans I had made for you, I corrected myself. I had planned for them to have the best of everything. In all of my power, they would never want for anything. I had promised them life .....
My twins were born into this world too soon. Too little to live. Too precious to die. I had already failed as a mother ...
The doctor came in to take my angels away. My contempt for her welled up inside my heart. She was to have been their savior. Did she do everything she could to save my babies? But that thought dwindled away as I realized everything I could have done differently.
I admit my faith in Our Father wavered a bit. The usual questions (Why me?) and the usual accusations (How could you let this happen?). But that feeling, too, fell away as I realized everything I would do differently next time:
Maybe next time I wouldn't make any promises - because now I know we control nothing in this world. We are just expected to take it as it comes.
One day I'll be able to move on from this moment. One day I'll be able to think about my darling twins and not cry, only smile in fond memory of the way they made me feel when they were still with me. One day I'll be okay.
But right now I need to cry and mourn the children Ty and Jenny will never become.
