Some of you have probably heard about the rare phenomenon of twin-eating in utero, but many of you probably haven’t heard of the even rarer phenomenon of eating your twin OUT of utero. Well, it happens. And it happened to me.
Do I wish things had been different? Yes. Do I wish I had more than the brief 23 years I shared with Jerry on this earth? Of course I do. But life is full of unpredictable things that we can’t explain. All we can do is accept the things that are completely out of our control and move on—to build a better life from the rubble. That’s what Jerry would’ve wanted.
Often I wonder, “What did I do to deserve the insatiable hunger for Jerry’s blood?” or, “Why couldn’t I have eaten someone else?” I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t allow the “what ifs” to creep into my thoughts, but I try to stay positive and remember how lucky I am to have had such a delicious brother in the first place.
The worst part about knowing that you killed, cooked, and ate your own twin is the feeling of personal responsibility. I know it’s irrational, and that I shouldn’t blame myself, but some days it’s inevitable.
The other worst part about it is that I’ll never get to taste that tender, delectable twin meat ever again. Because you only have one twin, and you can only eat him once.
And that’s something I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life.