Over the years, I’ve come to accept who I am. My life has taken many twists and turns, but I’ve found joy in the chaos. I’m married to a wonderful partner, I have a darling daughter, and two little ones watching over us from above. I have a supportive network that feels like family, no matter where they are in the world. But anyone who has experienced the pain of losing someone knows that in a heartbeat, everything can change. A simple trigger can pull you right back into that sea of sorrow. This summer, I faced one of those moments, and I’m not particularly proud of it: my grief transformed into jealousy.
My husband, Mark, and his childhood buddies planned a fun-filled weekend in Omaha, Nebraska, bringing families together to watch the kids play and catch up. I was thrilled for Mark to reconnect with his friends and for our daughter, Lily, to finally meet some of these supportive families. However, due to our surviving triplet’s health issues, her first three years were mostly spent at home to avoid infections. This get-together was a long-awaited opportunity to introduce our miracle child to loved ones.
As we arrived at the zoo, surrounded by four men who have been friends since childhood, I felt a swell of happiness watching them engage with their kids. But then, reality hit me like a sudden thunderstorm: Mark and I were the only couple with just one child. Every other family had at least two kids. In that instant, my grief came crashing back, drenching me in sadness.
It’s been three years since the loss of two of my triplets, ample time to learn how to hide my tears. As we strolled through the zoo, I focused on Lily, delighting in her laughter at the giraffes and her awe at the giant ape. Yet, as the hours wore on, feelings of envy clung to me like a shadow.
I watched as each family juggled toddlers and soothed crying babies, effortlessly managing the chaos. Their all-American families made parenting look like a walk in the park, while I felt like a fish out of water. Luckily, my sunglasses shielded the tears that threatened to spill.
The weekend was a success. The kids had a blast, and we all returned home, exhausted but happy. I was genuinely pleased to witness Mark’s friends flourishing as family men. But during our long drive home, I broke down. I shared my heartache with Mark, confessing how difficult it was to see his friends enjoying sibling interactions, something our daughter might never experience. With her triplet siblings gone, she often plays alone or with us.
As I bared my soul to Mark, a realization dawned on me: the jealousy I felt was really grief manifesting itself. I truly felt joy for our friends and their families, but the absence of my triplets made my heart ache. We all have our struggles, some more visible than others. The grief over losing my two triplets will remain with me, though it evolves over time. I wear that grief like a badge of honor, a reminder that my children existed.
I’m uncertain if we’ll have more kids in the future, but as I glanced back at my sleeping daughter, a wave of happiness washed over me. My heart may carry scars, but I count my blessings when I think of my family. It’s perfectly normal to feel sorrow when I see other families or when Lily plays alone. That’s part of the journey of being a grieving parent.
Yet, as I look at Mark and Lily, I’m grateful for how my grief has transformed. That fleeting sadness always gives way to pure joy. Our little family, though different, is perfect in its own unique way—a testament to resilience and miracles.
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Summary
Grief from child loss can sometimes manifest as jealousy, particularly when witnessing other families with more children. The author shares her experience during a family outing that triggered feelings of envy and sadness over the loss of her triplet children. Despite these emotions, she recognizes that grief evolves over time, and she finds joy in her current family dynamic. It’s normal to feel sorrow while also being grateful for the love and support that surrounds her.