My Twins Turned Four—and I Found Myself Grieving

Today, my twins turned four years old.

For months, they have been counting down to this day. They talked about their birthday constantly, asking how many more sleeps were left, wondering when it would finally arrive. Their excitement has been contagious.

And as I watched them wake up this morning with huge smiles on their faces, I found myself trying to make sense of my own emotions.

I wasn't expecting grief.

Four years ago, I gave birth to my twins.

It was one of the happiest days of my life.

It was also one of the most terrifying.

My blood pressure was dangerously high. My life was in danger. After months of an incredibly difficult pregnancy—one where I often counted the minutes until delivery just to get myself through the nausea and sickness—I had finally reached the day I had been waiting for.

I thought I had made it through the hard part.

I had no idea that it was only the beginning.

The months and years that followed were some of the hardest of my life. Between medical complications, emotional exhaustion, physical recovery, the demands of raising four young children, and the struggles my husband and I were navigating in our relationship, I spent much of those early years simply trying to survive.

When I look back, there are pieces I don't remember clearly.

There are moments that feel blurry.

There are memories I wish I had.

Sometimes I grieve that.

I grieve that I wasn't always fully present for their babyhood. I grieve the version of motherhood I imagined—the one where I had the emotional and physical capacity to soak in every milestone, every cuddle, every ordinary Tuesday that now feels like it passed far too quickly.

I know I loved them deeply.

I know I cared for them the best I could.

But survival has a way of narrowing your world. When your body and nervous system are simply trying to make it through the day, there's often very little left over to fully absorb the beauty happening around you.

And yet...

Another truth exists alongside that grief.

There is tremendous gratitude.

Gratitude for two healthy, energetic, spirited children who fill our home with laughter, curiosity, mischief, and joy. Gratitude for how much healing has happened over these past four years. Gratitude for the work my husband and I have done to strengthen our marriage. Gratitude that I can show up for my children today in ways that once felt impossible.

Healing doesn't erase what was hard.

It simply allows us to hold it differently.

Today, I watched my older daughters, Henny and Nava, excitedly picking out birthday presents for their younger siblings. They couldn't wait to celebrate them. Their excitement wasn't forced—it was genuine, wholehearted joy.

Watching them reminded me of something I often forget when I get lost in what I wish had been different.

Something beautiful has been growing here all along.

A family.

Not a perfect family.

Not a family untouched by hardship.

But a family that has continued choosing one another through sickness, exhaustion, uncertainty, mistakes, growth, and healing.

As a therapist, I often talk about how two things can be true at the same time.

We can feel grief and gratitude.

We can mourn what we lost while deeply appreciating what we have.

We can acknowledge that something was incredibly painful without allowing it to define the rest of our story.

Today reminded me that those aren't just ideas I teach.

They're realities I continue to live.

So today, as my twins celebrate turning four, I'm celebrating too.

Not because everything has been easy.

But because we've made it here.

Because healing has happened.

Because connection has grown.

Because even through some of the hardest years of my life, love quietly continued building a family.

Happy fourth birthday, Simcha and Miri.

Being your mom has been one of the greatest privileges of my life—even on the days I wasn't able to fully appreciate it.

And maybe that's what healing really is.

Not forgetting what was hard.

Not pretending we don't grieve.

But learning that grief and gratitude can sit side by side, each making room for the other.