For three months after my wife died giving birth to our twins, her mother barely spoke to me. I thought she blamed me for choosing the babies. The truth was something I couldn't have imagined.
My wife's mother didn't speak to me for three months.
Not at the funeral.
Not afterward.
I'd send photographs of the girls.
"Thank you," she'd reply.
Nothing else.
And I understood.
Mary's pregnancy had been difficult.
There'd been several scares.
But at our last appointment, the doctors told us both babies were doing well.
We'd started to relax.
That morning at the hospital, we'd even been arguing about names.
Mary said twins didn't need matching names.
I said we should have settled this months ago.
She laughed and asked me to pass her the water.
A few hours later, everything changed.
Serious complications developed during the delivery.
The doctors warned us they might not be able to save all three.
Mary squeezed my fingers.
"The girls. Obviously the girls."
