Assumptions and blessings

From: The Boys: Raising Identical Twins
By TwinsMom
As a journalist, one of the first lessons I learned was never to make assumptions.
Don't assume that all siblings share the same last name. Don't assume that beer bottles in a car mean the driver was drinking. Don't assume that you can even begin to comprehend someone else's pain.
It is a lesson I have tried to apply to my personal life as well.
So when a woman I had become casual friends with through my oldest son began to drift away, I assumed nothing. We were not very close. Our children are in different classes now. She had taken a part-time job.
I tried not to assume that it was personal.
I learned yesterday that it was.
Her daughter and mine are in the same class this year and have become friends. They insisted on a playdate and it finally happened yesterday. I noticed that the mom watched the twins play when she dropped her daughter off and seemed interested in them, even drawn to them. But she kept her distance.
Soon after she left, her daughter told me that her older brother was a twin, but that his twin had died before birth.
When the woman returned to retrieve her daughter, I apologized for my ignorance and for any insensitivity I might have displayed during my pregnancy and after. I offered my condolences, unsure whether I was doing or saying the right thing. But relief seemed to wash over her.
And she talked.
She talked about learning that her son had died inside her body at 20 weeks. She talked about the doctors removing the baby and the sac, careful not to touch the surviving baby. She talked about seven long weeks in the hospital on full bed rest and the 1-pound, 12-ounce baby who struggled so hard to survive.
She talked about how blessed and grateful they are that the tiny little baby did survive and that he has no problems resulting from his prematurity. She talked about medical miracles and her familiarty with the NICU.
She did not talk about the pain of her loss or the pain that I now recognize on her face as she watches my boys play.
This time, I decided, it was safe to make an assumption: she is strong in a way that I am not sure I could ever be. I meet people like her around every corner, people who have lost children. And every day, I think of them. I think of them when the frustration mounts. When the twins are crying, the older kids won't do their homework, dinner is burning, the laundry is piling up, I have no time to write and I've barely slept for days.
I am reminded that I have four healthy children, a wonderful husband and a stepdaughter who loves us all. I might have frustrations, but I do not carry that sorrow in my heart that she will have forever. I do not have to be so strong.
Life is good.
I can handle it.