My beautiful Delaney was head-strong and iron-willed, and it didn’t surprise me that she was the stronger of the two. But the way she described it was almost morbid-one twin sucking up all the nutrients, sucking the life right out of its roommate… In layman’s terms, she had described it as one twin donating blood to the other. There was a name for my tragedy: twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome. And those words…her words would haunt me for the next fifteen years, probably longer. “Only one twin survived.” The doctor was soft-spoken and honey blonde I’ll never forget the contours of her face. A painful dichotomy of intense love and exceptional grief arose, gave birth to me that day. But in those beady black eyes, those chirpy pink lips…I still saw the son who didn’t make it: Dillan. And right on cue, my tiny fowl had opened her eyes and mouth, changing my life forever. The delivery nurse held her out to me in the palm of her hand, like a baby bird in its mother’s nest. When I think about Delaney, I think about Dillan.
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