Three years ago, I bu:ried one of my twin daughters.
Since then, I’ve lived every day carrying the weight of that devastating loss. So when Lily’s teacher casually said, “Both of your girls are doing great,” on her first day of first grade, I nearly stopped breathing.
Ava had died suddenly from meningitis after a high fever. The hospital days were a blur of harsh lights, machines beeping, and quiet, careful words from doctors. Four days after we admitted her, she was gone. I barely remember the funeral. There’s a blank space in my memory where goodbye should be. I just know that I kept going because Lily needed me.
