We as parents can hear the horrible news of the recent school shooting and feel our hearts breaking in sympathy. We know the love we have for our own children and can therefore imagine a small sliver of the devastation those parents must feel. Reading little details about the victims makes them seem familiar. One girl had just celebrated her birthday and one other loved horses. Yet another little girl had the most brilliant red hair. There was a little boy who was such a sports fan, I read that they laid him to rest in his favorite player’s jersey. These little details and photos combined make children of people we may never meet to feel as if they lived next door. The brutality leaves us stunned, but these human details have us weeping.
As I was reading about the Sandy Hook children, I learned that one boy was a twin. His sister survived as she was in a different classroom. Suddenly my heart, which was barely holding together at this point, fell into a million little pieces on the floor. This boy was no longer just like a neighbor’s child, he was like my own son. That night I could not sleep well as certainly was the case for many parents, so I found myself going into my twins’ room. I just needed to see them together. As much as I would like to always refer to them as Kieran and Clover, two separate people, they are “the twins.”
A package deal.
I think I can count on my hand the number of times they have done something without the other. Each of those times, I felt something was missing. I have thought of them as a team since I saw their flickering heartbeats on the ultrasound, sharing space in my belly. That has never changed. They sleep together, they play together. They fight and as soon as they are apart, they complain that they miss the other. They are two halves of something more than just siblings.
I can’t stop thinking about Noah’s family. His twin sister must be so lost. Her buddy, her built-in best friend, her wombmate is gone. She is only six years old. I don’t even know her name, but she is now never far from my thoughts. Every time I look at my twins, I will think of another mother and her twins. Alec and I have already discussed whether or not to put our twins into separate classes when they start school in 2014. We have a list of why we should and an equal list of reasons not to split them up. Nowhere on that list (as I am certain was nowhere on Noah’s mother’s list) is that if a gunman comes to the school, they have a better chance of survival in different classrooms.
Growing up, my friend’s parents would take two different flights to vacations just in case one of the planes crashed…I can’t live like that. I would not want my children to live like that.
I am at a loss for words about the debate over how to fix whatever is wrong in The United States. Heck, we packed up our family and moved to a different country because even five years ago, still living in Los Angeles, we just could not imagine raising our children there. My heart is broken for those families involved and for my home country.