Coming Out of the Closet

Most often, I am fairly insightful when it comes to discerning specific issues or concerns with my children.  But yesterday I had something occur with my youngest that I still have yet to uncover.

Let me give you some background.  My husband and I conceived twins 16 years ago. I gave birth to death on July 25, 1996.  Our son and daughter were not even one pound each and died in womb.  We knew, for two excruciatingly longs days, that their tiny lives had ceased  before their delivery, but were uncertain as to their sex.  My husband, without that knowledge (of gender) declared their names: Joshua and Jennifer. The doctor's initial pronouncement was that they were girls, but after closer examination (they were so tiny and had already begun to decompose in womb) realized that one, in fact, was a little boy.  Our only son.  To maintain the focus of this post, I do not need to go into the detail of that season of our life... that may be for another day.

We have talked openly about the twins (and two miscarriages) with our living children.  We have taken them to the cemetery to see where their brother and sister are buried.  Our girls also know that, as sad and painful as it was for us, if Jesus had not taken Joshua and Jennifer home, we would not have them and we would not want it differently.

Shortly following their birth/death, my mother gave me a set of Lennox porcelain dolls.  Newborn babies. Twins.  A baby boy dressed in a blue sleeper with a tiny blue blanket; and a girl in the same but in pink. Both with their eyes closed... so peaceful.  I keep them "displayed" in my closet on a shelf.  The girls have been reminded countless times who they represent and that they are not toys.

Present day... I was in the bathroom yesterday, getting ready to come out, when I  noticed my youngest daughter (8yo)  standing in the doorway.  She was cradling the boy baby doll tightly in her arms and close to her chest.  She burst into tears and cried, "I WANT A BROTHER!"... more tears. She just looked at me with tears streaming down her face and then held "him" up to her face to nuzzle him more closely.  I simply walked over to her and drew her into my chest.  I assured her that she was certainly feeling a lot of emotions right now and was probably really tired too... what could I say?

I don't want to psycho-analyze her, but I do not want to ignore it either.  So I suppose this particular post is really to take in any of your thoughts, discernment or counsel.

I confess, there are days I am so thankful that some of my children were spared the pain of this life...