Twins

I remember when A and M were about 2, I was babysitting E and M for Jeanne.  She had some meeting at work so A, M, D and I had to pick up E at kindergarten.  I remember carrying D in one of those baby carriers and  while walking across the parking lot trying to get A and M to either hold my free hand or grab onto the carrier.  Another mom came up to me and said, "Wow, you've got your hands full, twins and a baby!"  I quickly corrected her and thought about how cute they were together, cousins, as close as siblings.  They're only 12 weeks apart and have always had a very special connection.

A few weeks after the accident, A told me that he knew that God knew the accident was going to happen.  I said, "Probably, buddy, (not really wanted to get into God's omniscience), but why do you say that?"  "Because," he said, "that's why God gave you all boys, he knew that your girls were coming."  My little philosopher.  At the time we weren't planning on taking the girls, but I remember getting tears in my eyes and saying, "Maybe, pal, maybe."

This summer, while still living at home with her sisters, M decided she was done living at home and wanted to be at our house.  We had decided that the girls would finish out the summer at their house to finish the swim season and give them and us time to get ready for the move.  M would have none of it.  She slept every night on the floor, inches from A, refusing to sleep in her new room.  Every morning, K drove her back to her neighborhood so she could go to swim practice and see her little sisters.  Every night, she curled up next to A, her security blanket, her only comfort.

M is really struggling.  Her grades are awful.  She moans and whines, makes up fake injuries, unable to articulate what's wrong.  She yells at her sister, rolls her eyes at me.  She's obviously depressed.  We're trying to get a handle on it, but it's really upsetting and hard.  I try as much as possible to shield the boys from it, but they know something is not right with M.  They are reminded every day of her parents death.

For the most part, A keeps a pretty even head.  Every once in a while, he needs a break, to just cry and get it all out.  Tonight was that night.  He sat at the table and cried and cried.  He didn't know why he was upset.  He just said he was tired and just couldn't think.  His brain wouldn't work and he couldn't finish his homework. 

A and M are so connected.  I think he's really starting to feel the strain.  It's hard for him to see her so sad and weird.  He tries to help her rally, but at times he just doesn't know what to do to help.  That's a lot of pressure for a little boy.

My poor little boy.  My poor little girl. I wish I could take all of this away from them.  I wish I could go back to those happy days, holding hands and calling for E coming out of her classroom.  Giggling.  Happy.  Safe.