Sometimes, when she is babbling, happily, proudly. I can almost hear another voice, a similar voice, pulling on the outer frequencies of my hearing. Sometimes.
Sometimes, when she moves, rolls, pulls herself to her knees, to her feet. I can almost see another set of movements, just out of my field of vision, on the very edge, a barely perceptible flurry of similar clumsy movements. Sometimes.
Sometimes, when I pick up the sweet, slack, heft of her asleep. When I smell the gentle little curve of her head and the new hair that is growing, reluctantly, covering that precious skull. I can almost smell another. Another child impossibly grown, another set of thin, twig-like limbs replaced by chubby heaviness. Sometimes.
Sometimes, when I see her determination, her tenacity, her endless throwing of herself forward to other children, on to obstacles including her own mother's face (which deserves to be trampled if it is in the way), on to toys which are too large for her but that she will somehow manage to pick up and wave triumphantly. I can almost see another face, another look of determination. A similar look. I can almost hear an echo of those strange little cries that presage yet another assault, yet another try of something that is actually just slightly, oh so slightly, beyond her. Or so I think. Sometimes.
These shades, these echoes. These vague, intangible, ungraspable glimmers that always seem so tantalizingly close. Just at the edges where the light trembles. If I could hear a little more clearly, if my vision were a little less cloudy, if I could turn my head a little quicker. I could catch a glimpse. A glimpse of something similar to what I see in actuality.
That is all I want. Just a glimpse. So that I know she is alright. I miss her so much. I miss my little girl. I miss my Georgina. I'll always wonder.
Sometimes. It all seems too unfair. That I am searching for a child who isn't here. Who never will be here. That my focus is drawn from the one who is here before my eyes. Broadcasting at frequencies that I can receive with my paltry human equipment.
I'm sorry my sweet girls. I'm no good at this balancing act.
big hug to you, Catherine
ReplyDeleteWhat a beautiful post.
xx Ines
Catherine, you are such a beautiful writer. The tears are rolling down my face. I know. It is so unfair to have to balance. To try to remain present, but have a part of you somewhere else entirely. I go through this always, as I love and appreciate my living child, but wonder eternally where my other child went and why. Sending you love, and crying at the injustice with you.
ReplyDeleteoh Catherine....so many tears for you. A post of such beauty and such poignance. I often look at my Batsman and find myself wondering what his twin would have been like....much love to you, suz xx
ReplyDeleteCatherine,
ReplyDeleteI wish Georgina could be there with you and I'm so glad Jessica is progressing with her toddler business.
I see shadows of Rosemary playing alongside her sister. I wonder what Jessica and Millie see and the other twinless twins see. Maybe they think everyone has a little spirit following them around.
TracyOC
'when I pick up the sweet, slack, heft of her asleep. When I smell the gentle little curve of her head and the new hair that is growing, reluctantly, covering that precious skull. I can almost smell another.'
ReplyDeleteGorgeous, Catherine. I can smell that baby smell just reading this.
For what it's worth, you seem to be pretty amazing at this impossible balancing act.
x x x
Perhaps, just perhaps, she is there, Catherine, just out of sight, but there. You see her in the corner of your eye or smell her in the passing wind.
ReplyDeleteSometimes, I swear I see shadows at the top of the stairs when I am sitting downstairs... As though a child has passed by or is playing by the spindles... I've even sworn that I hear laughter every now and again. I like to think that they live here with us but I just cant see them as clearly as I'd like.
Thinking of your sweet girls with you and sending hugs...
Carherine I can't even imagine what it is like to have one who is here and one who is not. It must be a constant reminder to you of what is missing, that Gerorgina is missing. I am so sorry. I wish they were both here and we had met on some multiples forum instead of here. I just wish that so badly for all of us. Thinking of you and your beautiful daughters. xx
ReplyDeleteIt's so unfair. I'm sure you're better at the balancing act than you believe you are.
ReplyDeleteI know both of your babies love you.
xoxo
Catherine - I agree with Michele. Perhaps Georgina is there... always with you. Just out of sight. Just out of reach. But always there, playing in her own way with her baby sister. Always in your hearts.
ReplyDeleteThank you for such beautiful words.
I feel the same when I look at my boys. Nicholas was the spitting image of his oldest brother. I often look at him and wonder and dream about Nicholas...
For what it is worth, I think you are doing a damn fine job.
ReplyDeletexo
Catherine-
ReplyDeleteI want to believe, like the others, that Georgina IS there-right there with you. I know that doesn't really help. But I want to believe it. Sometimes I wish so much that even just one of my babies would have survived, but I know the difficulty that you endure as well.
This is so unfair. I wish Georgina were here. Please keep writing.
(((Hugs))) Thinking of you and both your girls. They're lucky to have you as their mum.
ReplyDeleteBalancing the needs of both your children, the one that needs earthly mothering and the one that needs spiritual mothering is hard ...but moms do it beautifully..Just like you are.
ReplyDeletethanks for sharing your gorgeous girls. Your words are amazing, and very touching.
ReplyDeleteGorgeous, Catherine. It's such a bittersweet way to be haunted, and I wish there was a way to get a really clear glimpse.
ReplyDeleteBalance - one of the hardest things for any mom to obtain, I would imagine. And here your circumstances make it doubly difficult. . .
ReplyDeleteFor what it's worth, *I* believe that you're doing a wonderful job. I believe that both of your girls are loved without end, and I believe that they are fully confident in that. What more can a child ask for. . .
So much of my life now is lived in the past. At least that's how it feels some days. Holding on to a day, a few brief hours, with a child who came home in an urn, not in my arms. I so desperately want to know what he would have looked like, who he would have been. And when I look at my living children, I wonder. He's there, somewhere, maybe only in my mind and heart, and I don't think I always know how to give the ones who live enough of me.
ReplyDeleteAs always, a beautifully written post.
ReplyDeleteAs much as we can share our grief, I cannot imagine what it would be like to parent one without the other.
I also think you are doing a fine job of balancing, parenting. I'm sure as Jessica grows older and begins to really understand the death of her twin sister, she will grieve Georgina and also her lost sisterhood. I know a little piece of you left with Georgina, but it seems only natural that a little piece of Jessica left too. I have a feeling as she matures she is going to understand you, and your pain and this balancing act better than most adults.
It's not fair. But, while I don't know first hand, I have a suspicion that there is so much love and affection and attention in that house of yours that Jessica is going to grow up just fine, better than fine, happy.
xo
What a hard feeling--if only you could only be faster about it, concentrate a little more, look in just the right light, you could catch her. I think I'm going to be doing this for the rest of my life--trying to catch E. I see his tiny body reflected all the time in my daughter's--the shape of those legs they share. But that's so literal. As hard as it must be for that twinning you feel with Georgina, I guess I wish I felt a little more of it, his presence here, even if just on the edges. I love how you write about that terrible divide here for you and in doing so how you honor both of those children and how they grow in their own ways. Such a lovely post.
ReplyDelete