My daughter woke up today screaming, "I miss my sister. I need my sister."
I figured that she had had a nightmare and I figured this was a long time coming.
My living children have made more frequent mention recently of their dead sibling. This day was bound to come. In some ways I have willed it here because I want Eva to be a part of our family, not just my private thoughts and fantasies.
Recently, my older daughter (well, by a minute, anyway and just now I realize how strange an idea that really is) came running, exclaiming, "I found Eva! I FOUND EVA!" and brought with her a doll with no face dressed in a hospital gown. The social workers gave our son two of these dolls to prepare him for his twin sisters' birth and NICU stay (the other doll is in Eva's box).
My son, ever-obsessed with and taunted by villains in his cut and dried world of good vs. evil recently chided his sister because he does not like to talk about real death, which makes him sad. Last month, we resurfaced his worry dolls and he told them that he wanted them to help him not think about "villains, sharks, Eva and death."
But then my daughter, who is not yet 3, told me that she wants to die so that she can cuddle her twin. I have no response for her. I am utterly bereft.
And my son told me that he wants to find a scientist who can turn him into a wizard so he can bring her back, and that one kind of made me smile.
All this was scrolling through my mind as I walked down the hall to my daughter where I found her, "looking everywhere" for her ... slipper.
This started as an online journal in early 2006. At the time, it was a carefree spot for silly diatribes and the occasional photo. Since then, I got pregnant with mono.amniotic mono.chorionic twins, learned one of our daughters had a heart defect, spent 11 weeks in a hospital room and 29 more days with Eva in the NICU and PICU before losing her. We have two children who are alive and thriving and one who didn't make it. For me, this has become that place in between.
I wonder about this day, some time in the future. When my younger daughter, by 25 minutes, will start to realise. Yes, bereft. I'm bereft even merely thinking about it.
ReplyDeleteYesterday on the anniversary of her brother's death, my surviving twin (age 4) broke down crying she missed Drew. I have no response for that either.
ReplyDeleteShe also wants to know if we can drive up to heaven and visit Drew and come right back. That one makes me less sad.
It's a sick and terrible thing to be put in the position of explaining to tiny ones why their brother or sister couldn't come home to stay. It weighs on my mind too, and my living son frequently mentions his brother and says that he would love to visit him. We have established a story of sorts for my son (who is almost 3) where his brother lives on the Island of the Wild Things (a la Where The Wild Things Are) and my living son can visit him in his dreams. It's shabby and sad, but it's all we have.
ReplyDeleteOh, man, this is so heartbreaking. My daughter is almost three too, and just doesn't really say these things yet. I wonder when it will happen, because I don't mince reality. She knows her little sister died. She just says things like she is going to paint her family--her WHOLE family, with Lucy too. Sending you love and strength. Bereft. Perfect word. xo
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