Dealing with the loss of a twin
Few people understand the emotional agonies suffered by twins when one of them dies – even before birth. A support group has now been set up to help them live with their loss In today’s super-sensitive society, hospitals photograph dead infants, mindful of the fact that the pictures will bring comfort to the bereaved parents later on. But when Simon and James Gledhill wer born this was unheard of. “We have no photos of James, nothing, and that’s a source of great regret to me,” says Simon. “He was buried, against my mother’s wishes, she would rather he had been cremated, but for me having his grave has been helpful. My mother and I used to take a bucket and trowel and go there to ‘tidy it up’; there always had to be that excuse. Since I joined the LTN eight years ago that’s changed, now we feel able to go there just to have a good cry.” (Like Patricia, he hopes that when he dies, some of his ashes will be buried with his twin.)
The LTN changed the way Simon relates to James. He grew up feeling special. “There were a couple of sets of twins at my school and I remember thinking, ‘I’m like them and we’re quite rare.’” And, of course, in his imagination his relationship with James was very special: “I fantasised that we would go through life as best buddies, but I don’t have to do that any more. Now I don’t think of him every day but he’s there, sitting on my shoulder in a comforting, background way.”
He has also come to terms with his underlying feelings of guilt: he had survived, therefore he must live James’s life as well as his own. “It gave me a feeling of restlessness, of dissatisfaction with my lot, of constantly striving to prove myself. And I’ve never been a team player, I’m not much good in groups.”
His discovery, through a therapeutic LTN workshop that these feelings are common to lone twins, did much to assuage them. Patricia, another loner, would say the same. When she reached middle age she had a successful career in management but a poor track record with relationships. “The first question I asked at my first LTN workshop was, ‘Does anyone here have trouble forming relationships?’ and everyone in my group said ‘you bet’. One woman had been married
three times. Just knowing that took such a huge burden off my shoulders. I felt normal. It didn’t make me behave differently but at least it helped me to understand why I continually pushed people away for fear of them getting too close and why I had such high expectations of relationships. I’m continually searching for something that doesn’t exist.”
Like Simon, Patricia’s view of her relationship with Joan is idealised. They used to switch the different coloured ribbons that were supposed to distinguish between them and collapse with laughter when their mother chided one for the other’s misdemeanours. When they were separated at school their tantrums were such that they were allowed back together.
Patricia recalls that either she or Joan needed a minor eye operation and the doctor refused to operate immediately because he believed the other twin would will herself into the same condition – which in due course she did. “Joan was the dominant one, she always decided what we’d wear, what we’d play, she looked after me,” says Patricia. Joan died after a severe asthma attack. “The hospital wouldn’t let me in to see her and I’ve spent a lifetime regretting that I didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t go to the funeral, I was sent next door and I didn’t even know it was happening.”
The death of Joan effectively brought Patricia’s childhood to an end. “I became a recluse. For a couple of years I wouldn’t or couldn’t talk to anybody. My parents tried to get me to play with other children but I wasn’t interested, they couldn’t play like Joan did. I feel cheated of the relationship we should have had.” Written by Serena Allott Read page 3 of the Lone Twins
This article was created: 4 October 2006.
This article was last edited: 15 February 2007.
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