Tightrope Walk

This isn't a rainbow baby blog.  I remember being in raw grief and reading loss blogs that had turned into rainbow blogs, and in that raw grief it was just something I really couldn't handle.
So I rarely post here about William.  Or Evelyn, for that matter, except to share the complicated balance of raising a single twin.  My surviving children get plenty of love and attention on Facebook, so this is Elias's space, and a space for me to share my grief.  Anyone who believes I am "stuck" in my grief because this blog doesn't mention William or Evelyn often, well, they must not be people who know me very well, because I am batsh*t crazy over all of my children.  (They also must not understand how much of a trigger photos of babies can be for women who are in raw grief.)

Obviously then, I don't post photos here often.  In fact I barely have time to post here at all.  I maintain many of my relationships, connections, friendships, etc. via real life and Facebook. 
And the fact that life pulls me away from this space is a reassuring thing for me and my grief journey.

However, this relates to Elias.

Oh how alike these two look.  So much that people in public start to comment. 
And it makes my heart sing, and it makes my heart sob.

We will never know what Elias would have looked like at eight months old, as William is in this photo.  Evelyn and Elias were obviously fraternal twins, and many fraternal twins look nothing alike.  But those two certainly did at birth.  The fact that Will shared their features at his birth as well and is turning out to resemble his sister as he grows is something that just really pulls at my heartstrings. 

I know, I KNOW, that William is his own separate person.  His own amazing unique individual self.  Just as Evelyn is, just as Elias had been (and still is). 

And so here it is, another balancing act for me.  Catching glimpses of what might have been, what could have been, and by any outside accounts we have that "perfect family!" of one boy one girl.

Yesterday a nurse said, "You're so lucky" after asking what genders our children are.  (She didn't know our history at that point.  I wonder if she would have said that, knowing?)

We are lucky.  Even with the missing, and the grief, and all of it, we are lucky.  I know that.  But as time goes on, I realize more how complicated this life will continue to be as we perform these daily balancing acts, hopefully improving in our grace and agility to maintain our equilibrium.  Living the life that is while sometimes straying to thoughts of what could have been.