I opened an old family album today to look at photos for Throwback Thursday on social media and instantly knew I had to post the three photos I have of me and my little sister, Karina. Karina was born with a true knot in her cord, the first that the doctor delivering her had ever seen. My mum had miscarried her twin at 25 weeks. My darling little sister was with us for four months. Four precious months, and for that time together, I have a grand total of three photos of the two of us. Three. That’s it.
I started wondering what she would be like now. If she hadn’t died from Cot Death. If she and I would share similar interests, if she would be a girly girl, what subjects she would have liked at school. Then I started wondering what would have happened if both twins lived, how different our lives would have been. And then I stopped for a moment and realised just how much of my mother’s child I am and always will be.
I don’t remember hearing conversations about these things when I was younger. I remember a daddy long-legs flying in and out of the car on the day Karina died, lying beside me in her carry cot. I remember days later, the flowers that arrived. I remember Mum crying. Being told that Karrie would not be coming home. But even over the following years, I don’t remember Mum ever voicing those queries.
I do remember Mum asking similar questions about other things, about what life would have been like had my Nana lived. And it’s left me realising that I have internalised, learnt those what ifs at my mother’s side. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. It’s just that these things still take me by surprise, even thirteen years after Mum died, I’m finding myself becoming more and more like her as I age. Not just in looks and mannerisms, but in the thought patterns that go through my head. I’m proud to be her child. And I hope, that if she is watching over me, I make her proud each day.
Oh and in case you were wondering, here are the photos: