Finding Out I Was a Twin
Losing a twin at birth is part of my story. I can’t remember exactly when I found out I was a twin. I wasn’t raised by my parents, so I didn’t hear it from them directly.
I think I first came across it through adult conversations, overhearing fragments here and there. It was never a full story, just pieces that stayed with me.
As I grew older, those fragments stayed in my mind until one day, about ten years ago, I asked my mother directly. I needed to know the truth.
That’s when she told me I had been born a twin. She explained that my sister died shortly after birth. We were both very small, weighing around four pounds, and because of neglect by a nurse in Freetown, Sierra Leone, my sister didn’t survive.
What My Mother Told Me
It must not have been easy for her to lose a child. Losing a twin at birth isn’t something many people talk about, yet it creates a quiet grief that lingers throughout my life.
I live with a shadow.
A missing piece.
A sibling I never got to meet, but one I still feel connected to somehow.
This year, I brought the conversation up with my sister. I told her I had asked Mum whether my twin and I were identical, and Mum had said she didn’t know. That confused me. How could a mother not know if her twins were identical?
My sister explained that after giving birth, my mother never got to see my twin. At that time, babies were separated from mothers, and after my twin died, it was my father who buried her.
“My mother never even saw her face.”
Now I understood why she didn’t have much to tell me.
Hearing that broke my heart.
Living With the Absence
I often find myself wondering what my twin looked like.
Would we have looked the same?
Did she have the same beauty spot I carry on my forehead?
Was she the quieter one or the louder one?
Would we have been best friends, or completely different?
I will never get to know the answers, but I still ask the questions in my mind.
Losing a twin at birth is more than just a tragic moment in time. It shapes how you see the world.
I grew up feeling alone in many ways, and sometimes I wonder if that loneliness came from always knowing, deep down, that someone was supposed to be beside me.
Someone who was meant to walk this life with me.
Holding On to Her Memory
In my culture, twins are given special names.
My name is Kehinde, which means “the second-born twin.”
My sister’s name would have been Taiwo, the first to arrive.
Even though she didn’t get to stay in this world, she was here.
She had a name.
She had a soul.
She had a beginning.
And that matters to me.
There are days I feel her absence more than others.
On my birthday, for example, I always think about her. I imagine what it would feel like to share the day with someone who came into the world with me.
Someone who might understand me in a way no one else could.
I wonder if my path would have been different. Maybe I would have made different choices. Maybe I wouldn’t have felt so alone.
A Silent Grief That Stays
I know some people might find it strange to mourn someone I never met.
But the grief is real. It lives quietly inside me.
Sometimes it comes as sadness.
Sometimes it shows up as curiosity.
And sometimes it simply feels like silence, like a part of me that never had the chance to speak.
Losing a twin at birth is the kind of pain that doesn’t leave a visible scar, but it never truly heals either.
It settles into your story.
It becomes part of who you are.
Even though I never got to hold her hand or hear her laugh, I miss her.
She was my sister.
My other half.
My twin.
And I will carry the pain of losing a twin at birth with me for the rest of my life
Join the Conversation
Have you ever experienced a loss like this?
I’d love to hear your story in the comments below. Sometimes sharing helps us feel less alone
