Love that began before sight

It was 24 May 2013. A date etched into my soul like a scar and a miracle rolled into one. I was in my second trimester, carrying not just one life, but two. My heart danced with the rhythm of two more heartbeats, my body stretching with dreams bigger than anything I would have ever known. I was going to be a mother of twins. My heart was full. But life, as it often does, had a curveball waiting.

Complications had crept in, uninvited. The doctors explained the risks, their words muffled by the pounding of my heart. I was just a 23-year-old, naive, wide-eyed, and barely beginning to understand the depth of what motherhood truly meant. Uprooted in a foreign land, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, I felt displaced and alone. Clueless about what lay ahead, I was thrust into a world of medical jargon and life-altering decisions. I underwent a medical procedure. One I had no choice but to face, with trembling hands and a prayer in my heart. Lying there, all I could do was clutch the hope that my babies would hold on… that I could hold on.

And hold on, we did.

It was the day I truly understood what it meant to love someone unconditionally even before I could meet them.

Not because of what they said or did or how they looked. But just because they were. I hadn’t even seen their faces, hadn’t felt their fingers wrap around mine, and yet, I would have traded my every breath for theirs.

Today, twelve years later, I look at them. Healthy, joyful, mischievous, kind. And my heart swells in ways I can’t quite describe. They have their own voices now, their own laughs, their own stories. They are vibrant, full of life, arguing over silly things, laughing at inside jokes only they understand, and growing into their own unique selves with every passing moment.

A boy and a girl. So different, yet so deeply connected. They are the chaos and calm in my days. They are my reminder that miracles exist, not in grand gestures, but in the little things: the way they call out “Amma” after school, the way they still look for my eyes in a crowded room, the way they somehow know when my heart needs a hug.

Motherhood didn’t begin when I first held them. It began when I first feared losing them.

And so, every year, this day is a gentle reminder to remember how close I came to losing what I now hold so dear. A chance to say thank you—to God who made me realize my own strength I didn’t know I had.

This photo of you two today is more than a picture. 

It is a prayer answered !

A past healed !

 A future I once only dreamed of !!

To any mother waiting, hoping, fearing…know this: “LOVE is born in the ache of your heart and the hope that refuses to give up”.