In Memory of My Beloved Brothers

Christopher James and
Tom David Herne
Stillborn 26/7/93

When I found out in January, 1993 that my mother was expecting triplets I was ecstatic. I was excited by the prospect of having three babies to play with. Two were identical twins. The third was fraternal.

At first things started off smoothly with mum going to rest in hospital until the big day. My sister Catherine, then nine and I even went to one of the ultrasounds. We didn't want to know the sexes then, we decided to be surprised when they were born. We could hardly wait, it would be so great. I had never looked forward to anything more in my life. Three stuffed toy rabbits also sat waiting for six little hands. I often prayed that everything would turn out all right, I had a small fear it wouldn't but joy and excitement far outweighed any other feelings. Everything was fine so far, the babies were healthy and often moved around.

I was at school while my parents went to another ultrasound. I had no doubt I would come home and hear that all three of the babies were developing fine. I arrived home and asked my father how everything was with the triplets. (Mum was still in hospital). He sat down with my sister and I sat in a chair across the room. He said he had something to tell us. I thought that maybe there had just been twins after all. Or another baby had showed up and there were actually four. But I never expected to hear what I did. 'At the ultrasound today, we discovered two of the babies have died.' The words cut through me like a knife and I really screamed. At first I refused to believe it, but then it hit me. Two of our babies had died. I couldn't believe it. This was what happened to other people, but never you. It was always someone else.

There was still one left. The twins died at around twenty-five weeks gestation. They were not delivered until thirty-seven weeks so we had three months of worry for the last one. The last survivor was nearly born premature a week after we found out they had died. That was scary. We had lost two and were faced with losing the last one, too.

Then at thirty-seven weeks, the babies were born. I was at my grandparents at the time. My father rang me to say Robert had been born alive and the twins had been stillborn. Up until then, I had had a faint hope there had been a mistake and the twins hadn't died. But there was no mistake. They were gone. Robert came home at eleven days. I was glad he was safe. The twins who had also been boys were named by Catherine and me, Christopher James and Tom David. They had died of twin transfusion, a syndrome where one twin has all the blood going to it and the other hardly any. Like most identical twins Chris and Tom had shared a placenta, but theirs had the vessels joined up unevenly, so Chris had all the blood going to him and Tom had had hardly any, so his heart became weak and he died. Chris died about an hour later because he most likely became distressed when Tom died. Robert had a separate placenta, so he was safe.

The next few months were rough. People said things like 'At least you have one left,' or 'You never knew them, why should you be sad?' and 'Things like that were meant to be.' I often became depressed and withdrawn. November, 1993 was especially hard, I had a few rough days then, so I contacted Natalie from Compassionate Friends and we talked over the phone. I was always wondering how I would survive in later years, when Robert was older and having to do things on his own which he should have been doing with his two brothers. He'd tell people he was a surviving triplet and kids would probably say he was making it up.

In July, 1994 when Robert was coming up to his first birthday things felt down again. I had trouble sleeping the last two nights before the triplets' first birthday. I had a dream that the past year was there again and all three babies lived. On July 26 we had two candles lit sitting on the table with Robert's cake in the centre of it. There was a drawing done by Dad on the wall with Robert, Christopher and Tom wrapped together in a bunny rug at birth. I often looked at that for a long time and tried to figure out what Christopher and Tom would look like now. Since they were all boys it was possible they could have been identical triplets. But we would never know. That was a very sad thought.

When Robert reached 18 months I felt like really crying. I wondered what they'd be doing now. We had a few copies of Dad's drawing around the house. I'd hold Robert up to the one in my room and it was weird. Robert only touched the other two babies faces, he didn't take much notice of his.

It's been nearly two years but the pain is still there and always will be and so will the twins' memories and the months we had with them. They will always have a place in my heart as my little brothers. I miss them very much and always will. I sometimes go to visit the rose garden at K.E.M.H. where they are buried. It's a special garden for babies to be buried in. Christopher and Tom have roses growing around their little grave. We take Robert and show him the grave. 'Those are your brothers', I say 'That's Tom and Christopher'.

Madeleine Herne, 14 years old.