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They didn’t know their father was gone.
They didn’t know their mother had left.
They only knew that someone needed to hold them.
So I did.
I held them both.
And I made another promise.
“If nobody else stays,” I whispered, “I will.”
The next morning, I began figuring out how to become their legal guardian.
At 56, I had never imagined raising children again.
I thought those years of my life were long behind me.
But life doesn’t always ask what you’re ready for.
Sometimes it simply hands you responsibility and waits to see what you do with it.
Becoming Their Mother
The following years were exhausting.
I worked two jobs.
There were mornings when I was so tired that I could barely keep my eyes open.
There were bills.
School supplies.
Doctor’s appointments.
Clothes they quickly outgrew.
Birthday presents.
Homework.
Parent-teacher meetings.
Two children meant twice as many things to remember.
But somehow, we managed.
I learned their personalities.
Jennifer was thoughtful and observant.
Lizzie was more outspoken and adventurous.
They were twins, but they were never identical in spirit.
They fought over silly things.
They laughed until they couldn’t breathe.
They sometimes drove me crazy.
They also made my life worth living.
I attended their school events whenever I could.
Sometimes I arrived straight from work.
Sometimes I sat in the back of the auditorium trying not to fall asleep.
But I was there.
And I made sure they knew it.
Because I never wanted those girls to wonder whether someone would show up for them.
They had already experienced enough abandonment.
The Question They Eventually Asked
As the girls grew older, they began asking about their mother.