The pearl necklace

My step-dad is an amazing human being. He loves my mom, treating her with care, deference and respect and above everything, I am most grateful for that. But beyond loving my mom, he shows consistent care and love for me and my sisters too. In fact, every Christmas, he gives each of us - me, my sisters, and even my little niece - a piece of jewelry. About 4 years ago, he gave us each a pearl necklace. Mine is a beautifully thin, gold chain with a single pearl dangling from the end.

I love this necklace. I wore it in my wedding, and it was the perfect accessory for a beautiful day. And when I came home, I tucked it back in its velvet box, to be taken out for the next meaningful occasion. But lately, I seem to feel that many days are special. You see, I found out that the pearl is the June birthstone, and that realization has given my pearl necklace - and subsequently, every day - new meaning.

There is no way I could rewind the last year even if I wanted to. And quite frankly, there is no way that I would want to go through this all over again. At the same time, I don't regret getting pregnant and I don't regret having twins. Yes, I'm heartbroken at the way everything turned out and as my due date approaches, I feel that pain a little more acutely than I did before. But in it all, I can't believe that my sons were a mistake and I never want forget them. And I want to build a way to remember, a memorial of sorts.

So that is what my pearl necklace has become. It's a silent reminder that two precious, beautiful twin boys lived for as long as they did -- and they lived for a reason. So every morning that I open my eyes to the familiar ache of loss and every morning that I wake up from a dream of lost motherhood, I will put on my pearl necklace - the one that their grandpa gave me - and I will silently acknowledge that my sons lived.