My identical twin sister, Angela, was born three minutes after me on February 27th, 1946. She was what was called in those days a “blue baby” because it was said that the congenital heart problem she suffered caused the person’s lips to appear blue. Apart from that we looked identical.
She was a gentle, sweet-natured child who was never able to join in games for more than a very short time when we played with our two older sisters or the neighbours’ children. In old black-and-white photos, she can usually be seen hunkered down to preserve her limited energy. At times, to my shame, I was envious of the special attention our parents gave her, but later I understood how fiercely protective they must have been of her.
They went to England to consult a heart specialist, who told them that her condition meant that she would almost certainly not survive childhood if she did not have an operation, which was still at a relatively pioneering stage. However, he warned them that the operation was not without risk. After much agonising, they decided to go ahead. The week before the operation, they had professional photographs taken with her so as to have as a final memory of her in case she did not survive.
Angela died during the operation on November 22nd, 1951. I was told she had gone to heaven, and I was sent to stay with relatives during the funeral. Neighbours’ children later told me she had a white coffin.
During my childhood I had the feeling of having only half an identity and was always introduced to strangers as “the twin”. In secondary school I discovered to my astonishment that the girl I sat beside had successfully come through the same operation at around the same time, in the same hospital, and that her parents had contacted my parents to offer their condolences when Angela died. An extraordinary and bitter-sweet experience for me.
I often wonder what her life would have been like had she survived and if we would have forged a close bond in adulthood, as twins often do, and I think of how fate destined our future as we grew together in the womb, and sometimes feel a pang of guilt that I have lived a wonderful life and have so much to be grateful for.
Ar dheis Dé go raibh a h-anam.
- The fee for this article has been donated to the Crumlin Children's Hospital
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