One of my twin daughters passed away three years ago, but on her first day of first grade, her teacher remarked, “Both of your daughters are excellent students.”

“meningitis” came to us the way the most terrible news usually does, softly, almost cautiously, as if the physician was attempting to deliver it delicately.

Cole gripped my fingers so tightly that my joints hurt. Faye’s twin sister, Hope, rested in a lobby seat with her little feet dangling above the ground, not completely grasping the situation, munching on the biscuits a caregiver handed her.

And then, four days afterward, Faye passed away.

I do not recall a lot following that moment. I recall the drip bags and a roof I gazed at for what seemed like months. I recall Sarah, Cole’s mom, talking quietly to somebody in the corridor. I recall putting my name on documents they slid toward me.

I have no idea continue reading …