Mirror

When Jessica had been living at home for a couple of months, I decided to put her on her sheepskin rug, take down the hallway mirror and prop it up next to her. I had some toys with stickery type bases and I thought it would be fun to stick these to the mirror and let her look at her own reflection and that of the toys. Poor old Jessica. She is always having such impromptu entertainments thrust upon her.

When my husband came in from work, he paused in the doorway of the room. He said, "do you realise what you've done, what that looks like?". I don't think he was angry, more disturbed or distressed perhaps? The strange thing was that, despite the fact that I am constantly imagining Georgina, I honestly hadn't thought of Jessica's reflection in that way. It never once crossed my mind. Perhaps because my daughters were not identical twins, perhaps because once they were born they became very separate to me. Whilst I was pregnant they were always 'the twins'. But when they were born 'the twins' ceased to be. They became 'A' and 'B', 'twin I' and 'twin II' and later, Georgina and Jessica. All of Georgina's patient identity bracelets say 'W twin I'. I wish I had named her more quickly.

Jessica's medical records all read 'rank 2/2'. I don't know why that was necessary. The labels on these medical records were printed out long after Georgina had died.

I was not completely pleased to find out that I was expecting twins.
In my defence, I can only say that I didn't know that I expecting Georgina and Jessica. A very different proposition to the anonymous twins of the first instance.

Before my first ultrasound I had many, many 'no baby' nightmares. I'm sure that these can't be uncommon and, tragically, not always unfounded. I dreamt I would go for that first ultrasound and there would be dead space, nothing, a vacuum. My anxiety, and lots of first trimester bleeding, had me very nearly convinced that this particular nightmare would be coming true.

So I went. The first words the sonographer uttered are ingrained in my brain,"there are two babies". You could have heard a pin drop. I went white, jaw flapping in the breeze. The sonographer asked me if I was going to pass out. It was completely unexpected. And I saw them. My girls. My little tiny girls. Both hearts still beating. Both sets of limbs still moving. My daughters. And I became something in triplicate.

I was quite worried about having twins. I have seen a very good friend of mine, my sister in law and my next door neighbour all parent twins. In close up. It is no walk in the park. Perhaps because I have seen twins 'in action' I was very, very nervous. About whether I could actually pull this one off. I only wish now that I had the chance to try.

My main consolation was that I was having siblings or, as I later found out, sisters. Sisters. Always together. Someone to confide in. Someone to play with. I have a slightly rose-tinted view of sisters. I only have one sibling, a younger sister. I love her very dearly.

When I found I was expecting twin girls, I hugged them to me and thought to myself, sisters.

But it wasn't to be. I feel as though I had the most precious gift in the world to give my daughters, something precious beyond measure, something that money can't buy, something that can't be replaced, something that I thought I had a firm grasp on, had wrapped up, with name tags on. Georgina, here's your sister Jessica. Jessica, here's your sister Georgina.

But these presents, these precious gifts, they slipped. They slipped through my fingers, they shattered and I can never, ever repair the damage that I caused. Jessica will always be the eldest, but not the eldest. An only child perhaps, but not the only child. A twin. A single twin.

I sometimes wish that I could rescue her from it. From the knowledge that her mummy can't actually protect her. From the knowledge that, faced with the biggest monster that hides in the closet, mummy is actually as helpless as she is. I can tell her she's safe until I am blue in the face but I can hear how hollow I sound. I can't protect her from death. I can't actually protect her from anything much. The innocence that died in our family. Jessica is going to have to grow up much more quicky than I did. Dead siblings do that to you.

I didn't realise my own mother could even make a mistake until I was ten.
Hmm, perhaps that is slightly disturbing the other way?

Any other children that I may be able to have will also have a missing big sister. Georgina. She will be there. On the edges. That tiny, big sister.

One of my daughters went off into the dark alone. She had never been alone before. Never alone. She was conceived with a companion. From when they were a few cells.

But she went into the twilight of the NICU alone. In an incubator. In an isolette. A quick google reveals that isolette is actually a brand name. Who came up with that one? What a cruel word. Isolated. And then she left us. Alone.

I couldn't hold her, I couldn't keep her here. She left. Alone.

I'm so sorry.

I have photographs of Georgina. To show Jessica. But I haven't actually managed to show these photographs to anyone outside of my family. I think I see two images simultaneously.

My girl. My Georgina.
A tiny, purple, ill, swollen baby. Not even a baby really.
My girl. My Georgina.
A tiny, purple, ill, swollen baby. Not even a baby really.

But will anyone else see my girl?

What will Jessica see? Will she be frightened? Disgusted? Will she be angry with me? Will she be able to see that sweet sister of hers. That sweet sister that flickers around the edges of that tiny, purple being with the blue, blue eyes.

I hope she can. It is all I have left to offer her. That and a plastic bag full of ashes. Marked Baby Georgina W. Wrapped in a blanket. I need that blanket to be there.

I'm so sorry.