A soul-shuddering cry

Dear J and L:

Like it was yesterday, I remember the tugging, the pulling and the rocking as the doctor pulled you from my swollen belly.
First, she delivered Baby A. Seconds later, a cry so amazing I can still picture myself lying there, crying, too.
Then, Baby B. Another soul-shuddering cry leaps from a tiny mouth, reinforcing my own sobs.
I still remember that first time I set my eyes on you, and couldn’t believe you were both mine.
All mine.

******

Look at the beautiful little girls you are turning into before my eyes. So full of wonder and amazement at every little noise, sight and smell.
The way you hop from place to place, the way you snuggle tight with your lovey blankets, the way you look at me, sometimes, with such innocence – like when you are reaching for something you know you shouldn’t.
Language is slowly forming in your minds and traveling to your lips. I wish I could understand every word you utter and sail away on those words. Still, you communicate better than many I know.
You’ve even learned to say that you’re sorry, in sign language.
Sorry is a word we have to use a lot these days. Sorry I threw that toy at your head, sister. Sorry I bounced a sippy cup off your forehead, mom. Sorry, I got mad and threw all of my food off the table.
Sweetness radiates from both of you: in your smiles, in your giggles, in your dog sounds, in your gorilla imitations, in your toddler dances.
And, in your wonderful, wet kisses.

******
Sweet girls, you will have learned the lesson I’m about to tell you a hundred times by the time you read this letter, if you ever read this letter.
People – human beings – will break your heart. They’ll break it in a way that the word sorry just doesn’t seem enough. But, it will have to be.
I wish I could prevent everyone and anyone from squashing your soul. I wish I could teach you to magically wiggle your nose to make the pain go away when it does happen.
Truthfully, you learned this lesson early, sitting on our front stoop, innocently waving at the passerbys and watching them pass with only a nose in the air and no response to your silly grin or your quiet wave.
You learned this early when Mama or Dada had to tell you no to something that would put you in danger. I see how it crushes you to no end when we have to get back in the car after having so much fun.
I don’t want to be someone who disappoints you.
I’m hoping that by the time you read this, you’ll understand human nature enough to realize that heartbreak and sadness is all just a part of the great circle of life, that with it also come great days of excitement, passion and happiness.
Like a giant roller coaster at some amusement park, your days will go up and down.
You’ll understand all of this, someday, when you are greeted with your own soul-shuddering cry -- that will be all yours.