There is always a great stillness.

Silence.  There is movement around me, but I’m curiously alone, divorced from everything and everyone.  It’s as though there is a pane of glass between me and the world.

It feels like the day I fell off a jungle gym as a child and landed on my back, the breath completely knocked out of me.  I remember at the time desperately struggling for air, feeling the panic that I couldn’t seem to take that next breath.  I remember wondering frantically if anything was broken, how badly I’d gotten hurt.  How relieved I was when the air rushed in and there were no wounds.  For years, I’ve always been eager to draw the next breath, dust myself off. 

I don’t struggle to breathe now.

I know better.  Because I know that when I finally am forced to breathe in again, it will be indescribable.  I will not be as lucky this time, not to be broken. 

It sounds like wind, shrieking during a storm.  Suddenly, all the voices, all the movement comes into focus again.  I can’t understand the words, but I can feel.  As the blood begins to move again, as the nerves suddenly start to register, I know the extent of all the jagged edges.  The pieces that no longer fit together as they did just minutes ago. 

They are gone.  Gone where I cannot follow.  Gone where they will never be born to us.

I found out this morning that after two weeks of beautiful, perfect heartbeats and a single baby measuring right on track that the heart had stopped.  The living one has joined his or her twin. 

I don’t even have words for this kind of devastation. 


28 thoughts on “Gone

  1. Katherine and Arthur,
    I am so deeply sorry for your loss. I know these words are not enough. Please know that there are people who hold you close in their hearts and minds even though you have never met them. I am sending you peace and golden energy to help you through this part of your journey.

  2. Just reading back on your old posts and I wanted to say – your writing is a gift. I’m not sure what you do for a living, but you could be a writer. I have a PhD in literature, and your writing is up there with professional literature. It’s subtle, sophisticated and balanced. I’m also sorry for the loss – it sounds a bit like mine (twins from IVF, one didn’t make it to 7 weeks, the other stopped at 8 weeks, D&C). Glad you were able to move on, but I also know you never forget. I love your blog. xoxox

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