The Double Cart.
Today I took my big shopping for school supplies. We did the same thing last year — just the two of us — and I'm growing to love this little tradition of ours so much.
When we are one-on-one (read as: she's not having to compete for attention with middle and little) her personality truly shines. I am also reminded in these moments how fast my little girl is growing up. Possibly because she isn't "playing down" to the level of her (much) younger siblings, but whatever it is — it's both thrilling and terrifying.
And all the mamas said, Amen.
But there's something else that happens a lot more when I am alone with my big — and today was no exception.
She talks a lot about her sister.
For those who don't know, my little girl was born with a twin. They got 36 weeks in utero together and only 31 hours on earth. But I have learned more and more over time just how eternal their bond truly is.
Today, it occurred like this —
L: "Mama, can we get the double cart?"
M: Sure, babe. (Typically, I say no if it's just her because we don't "need" it.)
L: As she's jumping into one of the seats... "Mama, if Emmy were here, we'd FOR SURE need this double cart."
M: Yep, we would babe <sad but happy smile>
L: "And, we'd have to buy TWO of EVERYTHING on our school supply list!"
M: Yep, we sure would.
L: "That would be really hard...to have two of us."
M: Yes baby, having twins would be really hard. But I would love having you and Emmy together. It would be so worth it.
And just like that, the conversation was over. She wanted to know where in the store we were going to start, hoping expectantly that it would be the "art section" for her crayons, markers, Et. al.
Just like that. The sweetest, fleeting moment where I get a glimpse of the inner-thoughts of my little girl navigating life without her twin sister.
It's (almost) always in everyday ways...
Where would her carseat go in the minivan.
If she and Emmy shared a bedroom, where would Lakyn sleep.
What "number" would Emmy be in her class (each kid is assigned a number in alphabetical order...)
When I answer "three" to the question "How many kids do you have?" she always corrects me. ALWAYS.
She talks about her often. And I imagine thinks about her more than I will never know.
And knowing this makes my heart swell with joy & pride, and then breaks it wide open.
Because I hate it for her. I hate that she has to live her entire life with such a substantial loss, when many of us are full-grown adults before we experience the death of someone so significant in our lives. I hate it that when she sees other twins (which happens way more frequently than one would imagine) her first thought is, why don't I have mine? I hate it that her relationship with her sister, while incredibly powerful and beautiful, is (in reality) hypothetical. I just...hate it.
The fact that she talks about the logistics of her sister so often is evidence of this gaping hole in her heart. And it breaks mine to know — there is no way I can fill that hole for her. It will be there until the day she joins her sister with Jesus.
Being a bereaved parent is hard. In all of the ways I expected — and in so many ways I did not. But being the mama of a #twinlesstwin... that's even more complicated. And heartbreaking. And even if I wouldn't change Emmy's story for myself... I might change it for her.
It is on these days — in these moments — that I most have to rely on blind faith that God's plan is greater than mine. That there is significance in not just the life, but in the death of my baby girl. A purpose in her story. That there is meaning to be found in raising her sister to navigate life knowing there is something missing. There is always something missing. Because on days like today — I'd do almost anything to have her back.
Lord, please help me continue to cling to the truth that YOUR plan is the best plan. And please help me continue to say “YES” to double-cart moments with my daughter 💜
