You were just a blurry orb on the ultrasound screen. Your twin was moving around like crazy but my eyes were fixated in the lower corner of the scan. No movement. No flickering heart beat. I squinted my eyes, maybe I was missing something. I couldn’t make out your arms and legs but your twin, she looked perfect in every way. I could barely hear what the doctor was saying – muddled cheerful words about how “Baby A” looked great. All I was doing was staring at you. The doctor put the heart scan over your quiet body.


She moved it around hoping to catch something. She zoomed in closer and there you were, still.

Still and silent.

I don’t get it, baby. You were just here, fighting to keep up. You were triumphing. You were our under dog, our black horse. Making strides against the odds. But I guess it was too much to handle.

I understand. I hope you are with my other baby somewhere safe and warm. At least you have each other.

We are left here missing you. There won’t be a day that goes by that I won’t think of you. You saved your twin. You saved us. You knew you had to leave so things wouldn’t be worse for us. I’d rather you here. But I would never want to force you. I want you to be happy because your twin is doing so well. But my heart hurts. A part of me is now gone, taken with you to wherever you are. Pieces of me are floating out in the universe with my babies lost. Pieces of my heart, my soul. You are there but you’re gone. I’m sorry.

L said today that she wanted two little sisters. I said what if mommy and daddy brought home only one? She said, “No, I want two sisters because I want to hold both babies.” I’m so sad she’ll never get to hold you.

I looked up that the sky tonight and the stars were extra bright. My eyes immediately met the Little Dipper. I pictured you scooped up with all the ether between the stars nestled in that consolation. I hope that’s where you are. Up above the earth, shining down on us. Twinkling to remind us that even though we can’t touch you, you are here.

They say you will be absorbed by me and your surviving twin. So really you will always be a part of us, part of our blood, our cellular makeup. I fell in love with you the moment I saw that second gestational sac on the scan. I saw the second dark flicker come across the screen before the doctor did and I knew before she even said it. Now you will never leave me. And when I look into your sibling’s eyes, I will know you will always be a part of her, too.


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