Last night, my niece lost one of her tiny, twin boys. Her history reads like a classic drama. Married the man of her dreams. She is widowed before they even reach their first anniversary thanks to a roadside bomb in Afghanistan.
With time she found another man. They got pregnant. Then she had a miscarriage. After two rounds of Clomid, they were beyond excited to find out they were expecting twins. They were born premature, but both seemed to be strong enough to make it. We were all just waiting for them to gain enough weight to bring them home from the hospital.
But last night that all went to hell. My poor niece got a call from the hospital that one of the boys needed emergency surgery. She was able to see him before the operation, but unfortunately, he’s gone now.
Honestly, I don’t even know how to feel. Of course, I’m terribly saddened to hear a life has ended before it even began properly. I’m saddened to know that one boy will grow up and know he had a brother, but that they didn’t grow up together.
I imagine my niece in her house with two matching cribs knowing there is only one boy to bring home now. Two high chairs. A double stroller. But only one baby. And she’s too far away for me to physically comfort.
I still toil on my own road to motherhood. But I wonder now if it’s meant to be. Her travesty is her own and in the long run does not have anything to do with me. And yet, I’m affected by it. All of these meds and all of this heartache. Is it worth it?
If you are the praying type, send one out for my niece, Heather. And if not, please send positive thoughts. I will light a candle for her tonight.