Aching void when you lose the other half of you
Everyone knows twins share a unique bond. But no one ever talks about how it feels when one dies — until now
LIKE any sixth birthday party, there was pass-the-parcel, jam sandwiches and lots of laughter. But at the celebration last month there were also tears — particularly when Mia Humphrey’s parents sent a cascade of balloons into the air to remember the beautiful little boy who shared the same birthday as their daughter — her twin brother Myles.
Tragically Myles was hit by a rare and aggressive form of cancer aged just two in May 2013. He fought for nine agonising months before he died in February 2014.
Since then the pain for his family has been excruciating.
It’s devastating enough for a parent to lose a child. But when that child is a twin every moment of joy is inextricably entwined with grief and an acute sense of loss.
‘Every birthday, every milestone Mia reaches is bittersweet because it is a constant reminder of what should have been,’ says Rachel, 44, a human resources manager who lives in London with husband, Jonny, 45, a management consultant, Mia and her older sister Lara, nine. ‘I so desperately want to see two little heads of orange curls and two little figures holding hands.
‘I never want Mia to feel less loved or less special. But it will always be Myles’s birthday, too, and he will always be part of our family.
‘Taking her to school for the first time — two years after Myles died — was heartbreaking. Each Nativity play and sports day has been almost unbearable. In fact Jonny still can’t bear to attend. It’s just too painful. And I know it’s going to be like this for ever. I can’t even bear to think about graduations or weddings. Mia was meant to spend her life as a twin. I was meant to be a mother of twins —– that’s still how I describe myself.’
Rachel is acutely aware of her loss. With immense effort she has managed to find ways to cope (she recently ran the London Marathon to raise money for the Dreams Come True charity, which helped the family) but she’s conscious that for Mia, the wound may never heal.
Child psychotherapist Stella Acquarone, an expert in twins, says: ‘From the moment they are conceived, twins have such an intense, symbiotic relationship that the loss of one is devastating for the survivor,’ she says.
‘That sense which twins develop in the womb of being part of an entity with four hands and feet, not two, stays with them for ever. So when a twin dies, the survivor truly feels like a part of them has been taken.
‘We can all imagine the devastation of losing a child. But the feelings of loss, horror and impotence a twin feels on losing the sibling are even deeper and more devastating.
‘In fact the bond is so deep that the survivor often has an eerie sense that their twin is still there — walking beside them.’
That’s certainly Rachel’s experience with Mia. While Lara, her older daughter, accepts her little brother is dead — when she draws pictures of him, he’s always a toddler — for Mia, he’s still a part of her life.
‘She tells me he’s in a safe place, doing all the things she’s doing,’ says Rachel.
Mia may be only six, but that profound ache, of something being missing, affects adults, too.
Clair Betteridge still can’t accept the death of her identical twin sister Jay Sherrell. The civilian police worker died of a brain tumour two years ago, aged 43.
Clair and Jay had been inseparable and lived doors apart in Havant, Hampshire, sharing everything from clothes to confidences.
‘I tell myself that Jay has emigrated to Australia and is so happy and busy she’s not got time to ring,’ says Clair, 45, a school business manager, who is mum to Josh, 27, Megan, 18, Kaitlin, 12 and Oliver eight. ‘I dream about her constantly. They are such intense, vivid dreams, I can almost smell and touch her.
‘We were always getting into mischief. As kids we’d swap classes to confuse the teachers. And as teenagers, we’d go to a party and swap clothes half way through, to tease our friends.
‘Although I’m very close to our older brother Mark, and sister Linda, our bond was unique. Now I feel part of me has died, too.
JAy moved to be close to me when her marriage broke down 13 years ago. We were in and out of each other’s houses. When my marriage also ended in 2013 she was my rock. She knew me better than I know myself and knew the right thing to say.
‘In my dreams we will be whirling around a dancefloor as teenagers or sliding down stairs on a mattress.
‘I still have a jumper of hers in my wardrobe. I can’t bear to part with it because it smells of her, although really I just need to smell my own skin to bring her back to life.
‘It’s my way of keeping her alive — my brain can’t accept she’s gone and I will never see her again.’
In one way Clair does see her twin — every time she looks in the mirror. ‘I’ll be applying my mascara and see Jay looking back at me,’ she sighs. ‘It’s painful because I’m reminded of her constantly. But it’s also deeply comforting — it means I take her with me wherever I go. I will always feel one half of a whole.
Indeed, the belief that, in death, a twin lives on in their sibling can also be a source of huge solace.
For Jay’s daughters: Bethany, 17, and Izzy, 15, who have moved to be with their father, Mark Sherrell, a civil servant, outside Portsmouth, Aunty Clair is a living memory of their mum.
‘I worried they would find my presence painful but they say it’s like their Mum is still here because I look and sound so like her,’ says Clair. ‘When we cuddle on the sofa, it’s as if it’s her giving them a hug.’
But while Clair mourns Jay, she is also racked by a level of guilt over her death that the rest of us, who aren’t twins, might find baffling.
‘I know it’s not rational but, we were born together and we always expected to die together,’ says Clair. ‘I don’t just miss Jay so badly it hurts I also feel horribly guilty that I’m still here.’
CONSuLTANT clinical psychologist, Emma Citron, says this sense of survivor guilt is common in twins. ‘That special bond forged through proximity in the womb and cemented by sharing every experience means that all the emotions of love and jealousy that normal brothers and sisters feel for each other are intensified,’ she explains.
‘So, when a twin dies, it’s common for the survivor to feel immense guilt and that it’s somehow wrong to still be alive. It’s like surviving a war. you come out blinking from the wreckage and all your fellow soldiers are dead. you need to know “‘Why me?” ’
This sense that it’s ‘wrong’ to be alive can even affect twins whose sibling died at — or before — birth. Karen Wade was brought up knowing that her non-identical twin sister, Kathryn, was stillborn. But, while she has no conscious memories of her twin, she is convinced that her sister’s death has cast a long shadow over her life.
‘I’ve always struggled with a feeling of loneliness,’ says Karen, 48, an optician, from Corringham, Essex. ‘Even in a crowd I often feel achingly lonely. I’m sure that’s because I’m missing my twin.
‘My husband, Simon, is a firefighter who works shifts and my sons James, 21, and Anthony, 18, have now left home, which means I’m alone in the house a lot. It makes me feel lost and vulnerable. I go shopping. Or, if it’s late, I put on the TV or play music loud — anything to feel I have company.
‘Conversely, I fight shy of close friendships. I’m afraid of getting attached to someone who will then abandon me — as I feel that my sister did.
‘It took huge effort for Simon to break down the barriers. I will often pick girlfriends who already have a “best” friend. I’m sure it’s a defence mechanism against being abandoned. And, if I sense I’m getting too involved, I move on.
‘From talking to other survivors I have met through the Lone Twin Network, I know this is typical.’
Stella Acquarone agrees. She has treated several twins who have lost a sibling while very young. Some have never even been told they were one of twins — but feel the loss nevertheless. ‘The most striking case was a seven-year-old boy
who was only happy when he was playing with a doll,’ says Stella. ‘I watched him put the doll in a cupboard and then plead with her: “Come out, come out. I love you.”
‘He was in mourning, talking to his twin sister — trying to make sense of her death. His mother was stunned. She had never even told the little boy about his sister, who died in the womb.
‘Once she started talking to him about her death, he was able to vocalise his grief and gradually move on.’
The uncanny empathy between twins is something that Hannah Fitt feels very strongly. She knew to the second when her twin, Lucy Dickenson died in a motor accident, even though she was on a different continent.
‘I can’t shake off the sense of responsibility I felt for her. We were meant to be there for each other for ever,’ says Hannah, 36, who runs the SAFE foundation (Support Aid Fun Education) which Lucy founded. It aims to bring sustainable development to small communities in the developing world and the sisters were working on projects in different places when Lucy died.
‘Lucy was travelling in Zambia when a tyre burst on her pick-up truck,’ says Hannah, from Barry, South Wales. ‘She was thrown out of the truck and died a few hours later in hospital.
‘I was in India at the time, but woke that morning with an overwhelming conviction that something bad was going to happen. I even texted Lucy begging her to be careful.
‘Later that day, I was travelling in a car being driven by someone else, and I had drifted off to sleep. Suddenly, I woke with a terrible start. I literally shot out of my seat — convinced we had crashed. I now know that was the moment Lucy died.
‘I have two older sisters who miss her terribly as do our parents. But our bond was special. We understood each other inside out and loved each other unquestioningly. Although we looked identical, we had very different personalities. Lucy was always more dramatic and appeared more outgoing. In fact, I was the more confident one.
‘All my life I didn’t know where I ended and she began. When she hurt, I hurt and vice versa. I understood her every thought.’
Since Lucy’s death in August 2012, Hannah has thrown herself into working even harder to help ensure her sister’s legacy survives. She has also become a mum to Matilda, four and Stan, two. ‘Matilda was born less than 12 months after Lucy died,’ says Hannah, who has since parted from the children’s father. ‘It was an accident — I certainly didn’t think a baby could replace Lucy.
HOWEvEr, other mums told me that, as soon as she was born, I would feel the same bond with my baby that I had with Lucy.
‘They were wrong. While I adore both my children, the relationship is completely different. With Lucy I felt physically one. It’s not the same feeling I have with my children.’
However — while it hasn’t replaced her bond — becoming a mother has eased Hannah’s anguish. ‘After Lucy died, I found it impossible to look in the mirror. I saw her staring back at me and the pain was agonising,’ she says.
‘When Matilda was born she was the image of us both and I found I couldn’t look enough at this gorgeous little baby.
‘Now, watching her grow, I can see us both and that’s comforting. She’s like Lucy in so many ways — down to being a bit of a drama queen. When I look in the mirror I see “our” freckles and “our” soft skin and it doesn’t pain me as it once did, because they’re Matilda’s too.
‘I know I will never feel whole again. But I am proud of how I’m learning to live on my own.’
It’s a feeling that rachel Humphrey hopes Mia manages one day. ‘I hope the bond she shares with Myles will spur her on to live an exciting, wonderful life for both of them.’
To donaTe to Rachel’s fundraising page for dreams Come True go to: http://uk. virginmoneygiving.com/ RachelHumphrey