Yesterday Tori had an epic play date; her best from school was here for about ten hours. Her friend E is adorable and sweet, and a straight up joy to have in our house. They play together perfectly with almost zero conflict, stopped only briefly to eat enough calories to do more jumping.
It was lovely.
At the end of the day when E’s mom came to pick her up, she brought me a handful of daffodils.
And just like that, I tumbled into the grief.
I remembered what I haven’t been wanting to poke at because it all hurts so much right now.
As most of you know, my twin boys Nicholas and Zachary would have been 8 years old around now; while their official due date was March 1st, with twins you don’t usually make it all the way to your due date.
At the small memorial service we held at our house after we lost them, my dear friends that came all planted daffodils in our front flower beds, knowing they’d flower right around when the boys were due.
I love daffodils (and Sarah – who gave me the daffodils – if you happen to read this, do not feel bad; I’m happy you gave them to me so I could remember. Thank you!), but for me they are now connected to the boys and their loss.
In the midst of all this stuff with my mom, I’d forgotten that I had this seething under everything too. It could be, in fact, part of why I feel so fiercely protective of Tori right now. It certainly has much to do with my stress and sadness.
They would have been eight. Eight years of loud, messy, chaotic boys. I can see it in my heart.
I miss you, my boys. My heart hurts thinking of you.