A Twin Thing: On Twin Loss, Twin Love, and the Bonds that Shape Us

I didn’t expect the news to undo me the way it did. When I learned that Connie—my former neighbor and fellow Bible study member—and her twin sister died within a single day of each other, I felt a physical jolt of recognition before grief even arrived. This wasn’t just a sad coincidence. It was something twins understand in their bones: a reminder that some bonds don’t loosen with age, distance, or even death.

I am no stranger to loss—I lost my youngest sister as a teen, my father as an adult, and my spouse in our retirement years. Each loss changed me in ways I couldn’t have imagined. Still, I cannot fathom how losing my twin would shake not just my heart, but my sense of who I am. That is why Connie’s story struck so deeply.

Connie wasn’t just the woman next door—she was someone who felt familiar in a way that’s hard to explain unless you’ve lived life alongside a twin. So many of our conversations eventually circled back to that shared experience. When we ran into each other by the pool or in the condo common areas, we might chat first about neighborhood news or family updates, but before long, we were trading stories about the shorthand language of twinhood.

Connie loved to laugh about the pranks she and her sister pulled as children, which always reminded me of the times when my own twin sister and I pretended to be one another on the phone, often fooling even our parents. We both agreed that being a twin meant always having a partner in crime—someone to share the blame and the delight.

She often talked about how her sister could finish her sentences or sense her moods from miles away. As she discussed these things, I felt a quiet recognition. I thought about the night I sent my twin to check on my husband because I couldn’t reach him by phone. Or the many times we reached for the phone at the same moment to call one another. In Connie, I felt deeply understood—no explanation required.

When I learned that Connie had travelled to see her sister, who had become ill, I knew the deep concern that was in her heart. Being separated by distance was always hard, she often said, but the bond of twinhood wouldn’t allow her to stay away. I knew I would cross states or rearrange my life in a heartbeat for my own twin, just as she would for me.

After her sister passed, Connie died the following day, the result of an abdominal bleed. The timing takes my breath away. It feels achingly sad yet strangely fitting—two lives so deeply intertwined that even their endings coincided. I have read that twins enter the world side by side, and sometimes, in rare and remarkable cases, they leave it that way too. For Connie and her sister, even their final journey felt like one last expression of the devotion that had shaped their nearly nine decades together.

Connie and I found endless fascination in comparing our twin experiences. When she talked about the secret language she and her sister created as children, I thought about the nicknames and coded phrases my twin and I invented—ones that left friends and parents completely baffled. We laughed about moments when we showed up at parties with similar outfits, or when we instinctively bought the same gift for each other at Christmas. Our stories were different, yet woven from the same threads: humor, empathy, loyalty, and the comfort of never being entirely alone.

On my website, I’ve written about how my identical twin sister is the keeper of my memories and stories. Connie echoed that sentiment often, saying, “She remembers things about me I’ve forgotten myself.” Now, those words feel especially poignant.

Since Connie’s passing, I find myself grieving her loss while also feeling deeply grateful—for her friendship, for the laughter we shared, and for the reminder she gave me of just how rare and precious the twin connection truly is. In the quiet moments, I hear her gentle advice to cherish those who walk beside us through life.

Rest in peace, Connie. The twin wisdom, laughter, and warmth you brought into my life will linger always.

Follow Me Here

On Jan. 2, my essay, “What We Carry, What We Share,” was published by the Chicago Story Press Literary Journal, voted one of the Top 20 Most Popular Nonfiction Literary Magazines of All Time!  

Jan. 1-31, I’m actively participating in “JanYourStory”, a 31-day writing initiative put on by MemoirNation. It’s been a fabulous kickstart to all sorts of writing projects. #JanYourStory.

February 4th, my audiobook for Twice the Family, A Memoir of Love, Loss, and Sisterhood will release on Spotify and where ever you listen to your books. 

Feb. 26 and March 18, from 1:30-2:30, I will teach a webinar for the Author Learning Center, titled “Essays That Echo: Crafting Personal Essays That Resonate.” Join me online for either date by registering here.

March 3 finds me at the Westchester Public Library in suburban Chicago where I will give a workshop on memoir writing. 

March 13-15, I’ve been invited again to attend the prestigious Tucson Festival of Books as a presenting author in the Adoptee Authors Booth alongside this impressive group of adoption writers:  EM Blake, Ken DeStefano, Ann Fessler, Dr. Abby Hasberry, Diana Kayla Hochberg, Ariel Rathbun, Emma Stevens (Linda Pevac), Jesse Scott, Diane Wheaton, and Jean Kelly Widner. 

March 20, Join me at the J McLaughlin store on Longboat Key for “Sip ‘N Shop” from 2-5. Julie will be signing books, and a portion of the store’s profits will be donated to the Longboat Key Library.

Follow Julie by visiting her website, subscribe to her bimonthly newsletters, and listen to previous podcast recordings where she discusses topics like adoption, identity, family relationships, sisterhood and belonging.

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