It’s amazing how much this questions changes, at least for me, after you experience infant death. Before I had two daughters die in my arms, I had a clear answer for this.
Energetic, creative, artsy, bubbly, fun
Mother of twin angels, infertile, grief stricken, failure
This is not a joke. These are my honest feelings. I am NOT that girl I was before I lost the twins. I feel like an old woman with nothing to show for it. I failed at what is supposed to be instinct. I didn’t protect my children while in utero. I know I couldn’t help what happened, and I know I did nothing wrong, but that doesn’t change the fact that two helpless, innocent babies died because of the sheer fact that I was their mother.
I’m not a parent, but I am a mother and that’s hell. I didn’t chose to not be a patent. It was thrust abruptly on me.
I don’t even have a headstone for the girls yet. It’s not just the fact that they are expensive, but the fact that I can’t bring myself to looking at them. Putting it all in stone, knowing that dash didn’t span decades, but can be measured in hours and days. That dash was filled with struggle, pain, and a sterile, uninviting bed.
I have to live my dash for 3. I can’t waste it. I have to make every minute count. I have to somehow make a difference.