One year and one week ago today. My sister met Beth at a local bloggy meetup, and told me all about her awesomeness. How Beth had this adorable baby belly, how she had a dry sense of humor that she knew I’d connect with right away. How she was so excited to have twins.
One year ago today. I read what I prayed I’d never have to read from any friend, new or old.
They couldn’t find the heartbeats.
The first time I met Beth in person was a couple months later. It was the first time my small tribe that I now adore and love and talk to regularly, ever got together. We ate dinner at one of Beth’s favorite places. It was one of her first nights out since losing the twins. She probably felt like she had to appear normal, appear to have fun. The atmosphere was relaxed, we laughed and cracked dirty jokes, but we all felt the weight. The weight of her sadness, of her loss. Of our loss.
Since that day I’ve grown attached. To Beth, to her twin angel babies James and Jake, to her other two children and her husband, to her love for them, to her love for life, to her love of graham crackers, to her struggle to learn how to grieve, to her strength, to her perseverance, to her vulnerability, to remembering the boys. To every ounce of her life that she lets me in on.
The way Beth listens, the way she understands my own struggles with my kids, the way she notices when I’m noticing things. It makes me feel so blessed to know her. I’m a better person for knowing her, for knowing James and Jake.