I was informed that my twin girls passed away on the day of their birth. I grieved for five years. Then, on my first day of work at a daycare, I noticed two young girls who shared my distinctive eyes—one blue, one brown. “Mom, you came back!” exclaimed one of them as he hurried toward me. I was haunted by what I found next.
On my first day, I wasn’t meant to cry.
On the way over, I had repeatedly reminded myself that this job was a new beginning. that a fresh chapter would begin in a new city. that I would be present, professional, and okay when I entered the daycare.
On my first day, I wasn’t meant to cry.
When the morning group arrived, I was at the back table unpacking art supplies.
Two young females entered the room holding hands. curls that are dark. round cheeks. the distinct self-assured gait of kids who take control of every space they visit. My twins would have been around five years old, so they couldn’t have been older than that.
I grinned like I do when I saw little kids. When I got a closer look at the girls, I froze. They had a striking resemblance to my childhood self.
They had a striking resemblance to my childhood self.
They then sprinted directly in my direction. With the impatient hold of kids who have been waiting a long time for something, they encircled my waist and clung on.”Mom!” the taller one exclaimed with delight. “You arrived at last, Mom! We repeatedly pleaded with you to come get us.
The room fell silent.
I glanced up at the lead teacher, who mouthed “sorry” and gave me an uncomfortable laugh.You’ve finally arrived, Mom!”
The remainder of the morning was a struggle for me.
I performed the rituals of outside play, circle time, and snack time. However, I continued to gaze at the girls. I continued to notice things that I had no right to notice.
When she was contemplating, the shorter one cocked her head. Before speaking, the taller one squeezed her lips together. Their gestures were the same.
