I imagine them getting ready for school, side by side, eager for new adventures

Maia Charlotte and Arlo Charles would be turning 4-years-old now.

I often imagine them getting ready for school, side by side, eager for their new adventures. I picture them teaching their younger brother, Theo, the little things only older siblings know – how to stack blocks just right or how to make him laugh when he’s feeling down.

I wonder about their laughter, their voices, and how they’d light up at every new discovery. They were meant to be here, growing, learning, and sharing life together.

Maia and Arlo were born on December 14, 2020, far too soon. They were due in April 2021, and I like to think that by now, they’d be inseparable, their bond growing stronger with each passing day.

I think about them often – what their personalities might have been like, how they would have grown alongside Theo.

December 14, 2020, is the day that changed my life forever. We lost our twins. It’s hard to believe it’s been almost 4 years. Some days, it feels like it just happened; other days, like a distant memory I can barely grasp. 

And then there are moments when I feel numb, like I can’t connect with the pain or the memory, and that scares me. It’s a different kind of grief – feeling distant from the very emotions I want to hold onto.

Back then, we didn’t tell many people I was pregnant – just family, close friends, and colleagues who saw me every day with my pregnant belly. Everything happened so fast. I went into labour at 5 months and 1 week, completely unprepared. 

I delivered Maia and Arlo naturally, without anaesthesia, and in the following days, I experienced a baptism, a funeral, and a D&C surgery. It was an unimaginable whirlwind of emotions and heartbreak.

Seeing and holding them was devastating. They were so small, so fragile, yet perfect. I wanted to protect them, to hold onto them longer.

The hardest moment came when Maia was born, and the neonatal team of doctors told Oliver that nothing could be done to save her. I blocked it out, knowing I needed to keep going, to find the strength to deliver Arlo, and hold onto some shred of hope that maybe this wasn’t real. But it was. I was in labour with Arlo, knowing I had already lost Maia.

Seeing and holding them was devastating. They were so small, so fragile, yet perfect. I wanted to protect them, to hold onto them longer. But they arrived too soon.

In the aftermath, I found myself lost in “what ifs”. What if something had been done differently? What if I had noticed a sign earlier? We went through so many tests, searching for answers, but no cause was ever found. No infection, no clear reason. It was frustrating, but I knew even answers wouldn’t bring Maia and Arlo back.

In the aftermath, I found myself lost in “what ifs”. What if something had been done differently? What if I had noticed a sign earlier?

In the midst of the grief, one thing gave me comfort: they were fighters. Both Maia and Arlo had strong heartbeats throughout delivery, even though their little bodies weren’t ready for the world. They fought with everything they had. They were our troopers, and I’ll always be proud of them.

After we lost them, I was overwhelmed by the love and support we received. So many people shared their own stories of pregnancy loss, something rarely spoken about. Oliver and I hesitated to share at first, but we realized how important it was to acknowledge our grief and trauma. 

Maia Charlotte and Arlo Charles may not be here physically, but they will always be with me. I think about them often – what their personalities might have been like, how they would have grown alongside Theo.

All the love I have for them gathers in the corners of my eyes when I think of them, in the lump in my throat when I speak their names, and in the ache I feel when I think about what could have been.

There’s an empty space in my heart, a space where all the love I have for Maia and Arlo lingers, unspoken and unspent. As someone once said, “Grief is just love with no place to go.” All the love I have for them gathers in the corners of my eyes when I think of them, in the lump in my throat when I speak their names, and in the ache I feel when I think about what could have been.

Motherhood changes you, and although my time with Maia and Arlo was brief, they changed me forever. I carry them with me every day. Their memory inspires me in everything I do, especially in the love I give to Theo. 

He may never get to meet them, but I will make sure he knows about his big sister and brother – how strong they were, how deeply they are loved, and how much they are missed.