She sits on the floor chewing her soft Winnie the Pooh block, absentmindedly watching Treehouse whenever a song comes on and catches her attention. She is round and soft, cherub like in her divine plumpness and oh so very kissable. The setting sun shines through the glass patio doors enveloping her in light, casting a soft glow around her fuzzy head. She throws her hands up and looks towards the ceiling and squeals in delight, a huge smile on her cute little face. She is transfixed on something I can't see so I ask her "Do you see him Georgia, do you see your brother?" We've been having moments like this since she was born and since Calvin died. At first I didn't know what to think, I'd be feeding her and all of a sudden she'd be straining to look over my shoulder or up at the ceiling. Then one day Shane asked her if she was looking at Calvin and the look on her face was beyond recognition, as if to say, "finally...you've figured it out." I've often wondered if the bond between my twins would transcend death, if they would stay connected through eternity. Who really knows what happens in the womb during development with twins? How do we know that there isn't some spiritual connection that grew along with their little bodies as they lay touching each other, cradled together in my belly? I'd like to think that Georgia does see him, that he hovers above her, reaching down as if to touch her, to let her know he is still with her. I know she misses him at times, I know she misses him with a deeper more primal yearning than I do. He is her other half, conceived two days before she was according to the growth measurements in the early days of my pregnancy. He was always there, right from the moment she came to be. Part of me believes he is an angel sent to bring her to us. Georgia my earth angel, Calvin my heavenly angel. Part of me is soothed by the thought that he is watching over her, that he is still around to be in her life if that's the case. Part of me is skeptical, that she's probably seeing shadows or dust. I want it to be him. If I miss him this much, imagine the separation she must feel. I love her so much. I love her because she's my daughter. I love her because she was with him, and is part of him. I love her for both of them, always. So at night, I whisper in her ear, "If you see him, tell him we love him..." Just in case.
1 week ago