Something?

I still see them, here and there. Perfect tiny dolls with heads that were too big and hearts that were too big but voices too small.
One tried to tell me his name. Tried to tell me his story but was interrupted by his destiny.
I wish I knew what his small purpose was. Maybe I'd sleep a little easier.
I watched a birth too soon into a world that just wasn't ready for it yet.
And, to add insult to injury, 15 minutes passed and his brother came toddling behind.
I can imagine that's how it would have been - one always following the other into adventure and trouble. Dirty knees and dripping noses, they might have fought and cried together.
Loved together. Always joined in that secret knowledge that only twins have.

She, in shock, couldn't bear to face the fact. Couldn't bear to look into their little faces so soon so I took them away.
Couldn't take them to the demise room, there would be time for that later. Couldn't leave them alone but I couldn't be far away so I took them to 218 and held them close. The strong one gasped every now and then, surprising me. His chest didn't move but with each heartbeat.
For lack of anything else to do but wait, I sang them lullabies. I sang them to sleep, to death, to heaven or limbo. I sang quietly and tried to keep the notes from catching in my throat.
"Hush, little baby, don't say a word..."
I sang and waited. Checked the clock and their tiny chests over and over again. Kept them warm and tried not to move too much.
Replayed that first moment in my mind, seeing that pink translucent skin and heaving ribs, hearing that first gasping breath, too short.
All too short.
I wondered, "isn't there something we can do?"
Anything? We have to do something, what if? What if this is the one-in-a-million? I'm a gambling person, can't we intubate? Umbi-lines? Do we really have to just let go?
Misplaced hope tumbled over me like so many hard, cold rocks. I know the truth, I've seen the consequences of 'doing something'. The pokes and stabs and exams and X-rays. The infections and head bleeds and pain and pain and more pain that their little lives would hold. That their chances for living a quality life approached their chances of becoming President. Close, but not quite.
23-week twin boys just don't make it. I know this.
So I shift my hope to something new. I hope that they were comforted by my songs. That they heard their father's wracking sobs and felt some sadness and some understanding. I hope that they were relieved to be out from the squeezing pressure and stress of their shared apartment. I hope we were able to make a horrible and tragic day the best it could be for a woman losing her dreams, her heart, for the 6th time.

I hope that those little souls hang around for a while and maybe make it through her body again, this time to sing their own songs to their own children someday.