I will never forget April 25, 2000, the day before my 48th birthday; the day my childhood companion, my best buddy, my imaginary friend came back to life. A mind-boggling event shook not only my life but that of my parents. That’s the day so many personal questions were answered, but so many more questions rose to the surface for my family.
Some background information is needed before I give away any more details of this day. On April 26th, 1952 at Camp Carson Air Base near Colorado Springs, Colorado I entered this world. April Diane Krueger, first born daughter of Staff Sargent Art and Neva Krueger. At almost 30 years of age, my mother had been particularly anxious about this birth. Having had four miscarriages, the last one in the third trimester, she desperately wanted everything to go well.
Neva and another Air Force wife were pregnant at the same time although her friend was due two months before mother’s due date. It was only natural to compare their progress through pregnancy. Early on mother noticed how her belly was growing at much the same rate as her friend’s. In fact, there is a photo of the two women standing belly to belly, and they are the exact same size! She remembered markedly showing by the fourth month. My mother’s doctor nagged her about too much weight gain, but she seemed to have little control over that.
The delivery went smoothly enough - she guesses. Mother has little memory of my birth because she was heavily sedated during, and for the two days following giving birth. My father has no memories of the actual birth because in the 50’s fathers weren’t allowed in the delivery room. Being first time parents, they didn’t know if being separated from your healthy infant the first couple of days was standard operating procedure so they didn’t question the physician about any of this. On the third day I was presented to my parents, and my dad took the family home.
Mine was a typical infancy, at least typical for a baby with older-then-average parents; Doted on, dressed in hand-made outfits, fed the moment I squeaked, rocked to sleep and never put in a crib to “cry it out”. Walking by nine months, and developing a vocabulary that put the average two year old to shame, I grew into a confident, energetic toddler.
One of my first memories is looking out a wintery cold window, breath freezing into crystals on the pane as I excitedly watched for Daddy to come home from work at the air base. Mother’s days were filled with sewing, cooking, and cleaning so I learned to occupy myself in play with a constant companion, my invisible twin. I don’t remember a time during early childhood when I didn’t have that imaginary twin close by. In later years, I heard others had imagined friends as youngsters, and thought they must be referring to an imaginary twin like mine.
After all, a twin is really much more then just a friend. A twin has all the same life experiences as you. A twin knows everything there is to know about you because the two of you are so connected. A twin feels your pain, and shares your joy like no other can. So of course everyone would want an imaginary twin, not just a friend. My twin came to school with me because I carrier her there in my pocket. I placed her in my desk the moment I arrived, and took her out just before I left. She was always there to play with at home. And we kept each other company at night when we went to bed.
As I became too old to have an imaginary twin, I continued to be fascinated by those who experienced the real thing; a physical twin. I often searched the mirror to find another pair of eyes like mine looking back at me. What a wondrous thing if my eyes could see those eyes, but without the mirror. Sometimes I found myself searching a crowd for my doppleganger. Then I’d say to myself how silly I was to think there was someone out there who looked exactly like me.
Two more girls were born to my parents; however they never took the place of my twin, or fill the longing which I could only daydream about. In adulthood, a television program about twins would leave me with a sadness I assumed others felt as well. In all those years I’d never spoken about my imaginary twin or my longing for her. It was something in side of me that was sacred, and much too personal to share.
The day before my 48th birthday, my husband and I drove toward Vancouver, British Columbia, for a geology conference. We’d decided to sleep over at my sister’s home in Tacoma, Washington on the way up, and celebrate my birthday with my folks as well as my sister. Just 15 minutes outside of Tacoma my husband, Jay, off-handedly commented while driving, “I didn’t know you were a twin.”
Turning to look at him, I just stared at his face to see if he was serious. Jay glanced back at me with an intensity that gave me the answer. Yes. He was absolutely serious. The powerful emotions that rose up in that moment cut my voice off.
He continued, “I brought a copy of your birth certificate along since we’re going across the Canadian boarder tomorrow. I read it, and it says you are one of two babies born at this birth. One died. One lived. You knew this, right?”
Silence. Memories of my invisible twin pushed their way into my mind. I couldn’t speak.
Jay looked over at me worriedly, “Oh, April. Tell me you knew this.”
Silence. I couldn't find any words.
“I would never have just said it like this if I thought you didn’t know. April, are you alright?” Jay pulled the car over. “April, talk to me!”
Tears welled up in my eyes. Thoughts ran faster then I could keep up with. Emotions stuck on overload. Questions popped up one after another with no answers. I looked straight ahead, but not really seeing anything. I began slowly shaking my head back and forth, hands covering my mouth. Finally, I looked at my husband. “I’ve got to see my birth certificate right now.”
The birth certificate was in my husband’s luggage in the back of the van. He exited the car immediately without argument to retrieve it. The next thing I knew I had this precious piece of paper in my hands. Sure enough, there were the lines in old-fashioned typewriter font in the middle of the 8X10 document that confirmed it all.
“Children born to this mother at the time of this birth: 2
How many other children of this mother are now living at this time of birth: 0
How many other children were born alive but are now dead at the time of this birth: 0
How many children were born dead at this birth: 1”
My childhood companion, the invisible twin, suddenly came to life. This was a real person; a person recorded on my birth certificate! A person who I never got a chance to grow with, play with, love with. In that moment my heart broke.
Then I thought, did my parents know about the dead twin? I couldn’t ask them this question on the phone. It seemed too important to ask something this big over the phone. Besides, I wanted to see their faces as they read the birth certificate. My sister came out to greet me, as I stood in her driveway crying. I explained to her what I’d just discovered and asked her to call our folks, and have them come over immediately.
Fifteen minutes later they stood in the living room. I requested my parents sit down, and I handed my dad the old piece of paper. “Read just those middle typed-in lines, daddy. And read them out loud. This is my birth certificate.”
He sort of chuckled and grinned as he began to read the first line. With each line his smile receded, his speech slowed, and his brow carried an expression of deep consternation.
For the first time in my life I saw my dad speechless. I didn’t take my eyes off his face. I would know immediately if he was lying to me.
“Oh, this couldn’t be,” he adamantly stated. “It’s a mistake. Somebody made a typing error. This just isn’t right.” My dad kept turning the thin piece of paper over, as if he would find an explanation on the back.
I responded quickly, “Whoever typed it would have had to make two different typo’s, and make the same mistake on both lines. Look at it! One live birth. One death."
Mother, in bewilderment, cut in, “What does all this mean” I don’t understand.”
When my sister and I finally got our mother to understand what those lines meant, she began to cry, as I had. It was as though we had just received a phone call about a death in the family. I was satisfied my parents didn’t know a thing about any of this. But how could this be?
I could see on my mother’s face that she was searching the past for explanations of things she didn’t understand then, and was only now accessing answers for. Mother spoke of her unusual weight gain, her being the same size as her friend even though her friend was two months ahead of her, being heavily sedated . . . Then silence again. Frustration arose because she simply had no memory.
Then daddy added other memories. Mother could hardly walk for two months after the birth. When mother delivered my next sister the attending physician asked, “Who mangled you during your last delivery?” Evidently the doctor on the Camp Carson base did such a “hatchet job” that the physician who delivered my sister had to spend some time doing reconstructive surgery on mother. He told my dad he’d never seen any woman so terribly disfigured.
If the doctor who delivered me botched a simple episiotomy, isn’t it also possible he messed up a difficult multiple birth? Maybe the twin was born dead, and the powers-that-be decided to spare my mother, who’d already gone through so much loss, the unnecessary emotional distress, and just send her home with one healthy baby without the painful details of a dead infant.
I would love to have this multiple birth, which is recorded on my birth certificate, confirmed by medical records. I could discover the sex of my twin, although I have a strong premonition that it is a girl. My parents thought they remembered a fire at the hospital, and my records were lost. Later that month my dad attempted to get more information, but wasn’t able. Now I truly know what it is to experience something bittersweet.
The sadness of this event is balanced by a validation of something I’ve felt all my "remembering" life; I have a twin! I think of my twin often, and wonder how different my life would have been had she lived. I got something she was denied; life. So I live it for both of us.
Mother and Daddy with month old April Diane Krueger.
