Finding Light in the Dark Moments: Our Twin Angels as Teachers
“Turn your face toward the sun and the shadows fall behind you.”
Losing Our Twin Boys
A couple of months ago, I announced my twin pregnancy—and, shortly after, I shed some light on my previous failed pregnancy in a blog post. I wrote about the trying aspects of my miscarriage, but noted that we, as human beings, have the power to get through anything. Little did I know I was writing that message to myself.
A month later, Michael and I experienced yet another failed pregnancy due to twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome. We lost Twin A, Oliver, directly after I underwent surgery in effort to save our babies. Ten days later, we lost our Twin B, Dax, due to further complications that stemmed from the surgery.
Of course, this summary of plain facts provide zero justice or illustration for the darkness we experienced in effort to save, and ultimately lose, both of our precious sons. After all, we were halfway through my pregnancy. Our babies were, well, babies — sucking their thumbs, kicking their legs, making expressions in the womb. We fell in love with the core essence of our children, and in a matter of two weeks, we went from looking at cribs to cremation.
It all happened so fast, and indeed, the pain that pours throughout the process stings differently than the pain that sits once there is conclusion in the matter. Although I’ve processed a lot, I still have hard moments (I’m not sure I ever won’t have hard moments). What I recognize now, though, is that neither son was ever meant to make it to this earth. Without the surgery, the boys would die. With the surgery, the boys would die. It simply wasn’t meant to be, and I find more peace with this truth as time passes. Rather than resisting nature, I have chosen to accept it with less attachment to my own desires and agenda.
Challenges: Gifts in Disguise
I’m sure this statement might frustrate people (it sounds more or less like a bland cliche), but I deeply believe that our darkest moments are gifts in disguise. Speaking personally, when Michael and I have hit our lowest lows, we crack in a way that exposes a beauty that we may have not seen otherwise. Throughout our hospital visits, Michael kept reminding me of my bravery and strength. I felt his love as he cared for me on bedrest, pushed me around in wheel chairs, drove hundreds of miles for our boys’ treatment—and he did it all with grace. Our care, devotion, and commitment is always there, but the challenging moments bring light to the miraculous love that is often buried by the day-to-day ebb and flow.
The night after we lost our sons, Michael and I laid in bed to go to sleep—something that happens literally every night. This night, though, I remember how deeply I cherished Michael’s arm around me. I kept thinking to myself how grateful I was for Michael, for this health, for his beating heart, for his warm flesh next to my own. I kept thinking about all our fortune: for our home, our resources, our mobile bodies, our friends and family, even our five sensations that allow us to experience the world’s richness. I kept thinking about all I had in that moment and wanted to hold onto.
I became overwhelmed with gratitude I have for all the things I’ve had for so long, yet, in new ways, valued for the first time. I also recognized that, despite all my sadness, I cannot be upset with the world when I am surrounded by so much beauty.
Choosing My Narrative
Do I still suffer? Yes. Of course. We all suffer—pain is an inevitable part of living in this world. I cannot deny this truth. However, this world is also full of lightness, beauty, and miracles. This truth cannot be denied either. When I wake up in the morning, I could choose a lop-sided approach to life—and focus solely on the pain and suffering—or I can choose to understand that both darkness and lightness coexist, and from there, carve a narrative that leads me towards progress, growth, and happiness. Maybe it’s just me, but I consider this a freaking blessing: I get to choose and practice my narrative (call it neuroplasticity, if you will)!
If I get to choose my inner narrative, why would I not actively aim for the more positive one?
Despite all the darkness, I choose the positive. I choose to wake up grateful for what is working in my life. I choose to give myself love—whether it’s through nutritious meals, physical exercise, or simply pampering myself—so that I can shine brighter in the world. I choose compassion and kindness for all beings, myself included. Life is way too short for me to go the other direction, I’ve realized.
Motherhood: A Twofold Job
Oliver and Dax taught us a lot, but as their mother, our boys taught me this important realization: being a mother is a twofold job. In essence, being a mother isn’t solely about mothering my offspring—I have to mother myself too. I have to remind myself to eat my vegetables. I have to remind myself that everything will be okay, no matter how hard it all seems. I have to remind myself to live in love, not fear, and to never take what matters most for granted.
I have to remind myself that, through the darkness, there is opportunity to level up into a stronger and more loving human being.