By BB Curtis

[Originally published by SCPE Inc. April 7, 2007]

They (whoever they are) say that what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.  In times of adversity, we have to wonder why we need to be so strong.  Maybe weakness isn’t so bad.  Maybe it isn’t necessary to be so internally powerful.  Maybe that isn’t really the key.

Some of what we are forced to endure as “learning experiences” come on us as 500-pound dumbbells.  Believe you me, we can prove to be strong.   If one is looking for lessons, they are certainly out there waiting to drop boulders on us; and, if one attempts the “that could never happen to me” approach, be aware that, yes indeed, whatever it is, it can happen.  We do not expect our three-month-old to be dead in her crib.  We do not expect the “authorities” to take our other children away because they seem to think that we killed our baby; so that, when we are grieving more than we ever thought possible, we are doing it alone and are afraid for our remaining children.  We do not know what pain and trauma were caused to the twin of this three-month-old infant, and there lies the biggest lesson.  She had never, ever been alone.  Suddenly, she finds herself not only without her sister, but her mommy’s disappeared as well.  Her two-year-old brother is wondering why he and one of his sisters is at their aunt’s house; but the other sister is, according to him, home with Mommy.  Do you suppose he might have thought that Mommy didn’t want them?  At least he can talk and be spoken to in an attempt to explain that his other sister is gone and never coming back, but what do you suppose was going through the mind of the three-month-old:

“Ah, ah, ah,”  Anna called to her twin.  “Ah, ah, ah.”  Why isn’t she answering?  She always answers. I feel kind of empty.   “AH, AH, AH!”Anna screamed, then started crying.  My (I think the big people call her) “sister” is gone!  She cried and yelled to her sister until she was hoarse and exhausted.  Finally, she fell asleep.  When she woke up, she called her sister again, “Ah, ah, ah,” but again there was no response.  Something smelled different.  Something wasn’t right.  Everything was all wrong.  Anna could hear voices, somewhat hushed voices.  She pushed hard with her arms and got her head up (more wobbly than usual), but she couldn’t see her sister.  The sounds weren’t familiar.  The room wasn’t right.  The smells were all wrong.  “Ah, ah, ah.”  Another desperate attempt to have her sister answer back to her.  There was nothing, nothing but things she didn’t know.  Anna started to cry again.  Someone came, picked her up, and tried to soothe her, but the lady didn’t feel right, didn’t smell right, didn’t sound right.  She yelled out for her sister again, “AH, AH, AH!”  This is our language.  Why isn’t she answering me?  Ever since they were born, they had spoken to each other with a soft “ah, ah, ah”.  They seemed to continually check for the presence of the other, even when they were sleeping. I’m alone.  I’ve never been alone.  I don’t know how to BE ALONE.  WHERE IS SHE? WHERE IS MY SISTER? WHERE IS MY MOMMY?

The lady tried as hard as she could to calm the baby, but all Anna could do was cry.  She cried so hard that she threw up.  She cried; she didn’t sleep.  She kept hearing things, things that sounded bad, really bad.  The other thing she heard was silence – no one answered back to her calls.  She tried more times to call her sister, but there was never an answer.  No matter how much it hurt her already raw throat, she called out to her sister. She kept looking around for her mommy.  She saw the boy they called “brother”.  So where did they go?  Wait, someone else is talking – I wonder what “dead” means.

Although within 48 hours the Coroner’s Office had determined that there was no sign of neglect, abuse, or foul play, the children were kept from their mother for a week.  I guess it wasn’t enough that the mother had lost a baby.  The county officials found it necessary to rip her other two children from her AND keep them away.

We have not as yet reached the moral of this story.

It continues:  On the day that the children were returned to their mother, she had to rush the living twin to the emergency room.  She was hospitalized and diagnosed with RSV (Respiratory Syncytial Viral Infection) – possibly what caused her twin’s demise.  (As of the original writing of this article, April 7, 2007, there was still no formal Coroner’s Report – 24 days after that beautiful baby’s last breath.)  Within a couple of days, Anna was moved to a Pediatric ICU at another hospital.  Three days later, she was basically dying before her mother’s eyes.  Preparations were being made to transfer the infant to a specialized children’s hospital in a larger city nearby.  That evening, a large group of people from all over the world was praying, lighting candles, sending healing energy, and using whatever modality they practiced.  By the next morning, the doctor pronounced a “miraculous recovery” and moved the child to a regular hospital room.  She was released a couple of days later.

Here’s the moral, folks:  Considering what this three-month-old child had just been through over the course of just two short weeks, she managed to fight for her own life.  She was on her way back to full health, gained weight, and acted like a baby – laughing, cooing, playing.  Anna did not suffer defeat!  Anna overcame!  When you start to feel sorry for yourself, think about the strength and determination of a three-month-old.  I will be.

She does stare at the picture of her sister every time she gets near it.  I wonder if, in her head, she’s still saying, “Ah, ah, ah.”

Live in the Light!

UPDATE 2015:  Although Anna spent most of her first year of life in and out of the hospital, on forced oxygen and on a special, expensive formula that was, for her, digestible, she is now 15 years old, beautiful, smart, demure and willowy.  She is a breath of fresh air with a sweet voice and winning personality to go with a wry sense of humor.  She has some health issues that do not get her down nor stop her from acting like a normal child, and they are not apparent to those she meets.  She tends to keep to herself and find quiet things to do, reading is one of her favorite pastimes, but she is also an avid swimmer.  She does her best to behave as she is expected and is both helpful and compassionate, often putting the wants and needs of her younger sister ahead of her own.  She still has conversations with her twin.  Personally, I doubt that she will ever allow that bond to be untied.  If you are nearby and paying attention when she lets down her guard, you’ll notice the dark circles around her sad eyes.  You’ll see part of what is under her well-maintained façade.  I may be too close to her to be totally objective, but what I see there is not strength.  What I see is fear that someone will see her vulnerability.  So, is it strength or fear that facilitates our abilities to overcome?  I wonder.

Be well!

©  Bobbi Bartsch Curtis 2007, All Rights Reserved