![]() “I viewed it as my mom and my twin celebrating their reunion and they wanted me to know that they were together.” “Literally within 15 minutes after she passed, I walked outside and there were two yellow butterflies that came up right in front of my face and danced in front of me,” Cram recalled. That hardship sent her on a journey of self-discovery, and in 2019, when her mother died, Cram said that trial forced her to “practice all of the things she taught me about dealing with grief.” Her mother “challenged me to live my life as though (my twin and I) were sharing one body, and she encouraged me to see it as a gift rather than waiting to die.” But in 2013, shortly after her 40th birthday, she was diagnosed with neurofibroma, which led to three major surgeries over three years to rid her body of benign masses. It took Cram more than 40 years to embrace what she called her “eternal connection” to her twin. I didn’t die at 4 years old so that you could go on with your life doing nothing.’” “And when I’m really struggling, she reminds me, ‘You were screaming at God for 36 years, (asking) why am I still here? Now you’re here. All the time,” Cram told me, choking back her tears. With each city she visits, she said she’s thinking of Tonya and how understanding her connection with her sister even decades later helped save her life from a deep depression, when she’d wish for death. Salt Lake City marked the second stop on a countrywide journey from her home in Jackson, California, on a mission to hug 1,000 twinless twins, hoping to help them heal from a loss that only another twin would understand. Cram said she still vividly remembers running from room to room after her death, searching for her, screaming for her.Ĭram’s hazel eyes brimmed with tears. Tonya died 19 days before their 4th birthday after a battle with leukemia. “She brought the rest of the twin angels with her.”Ĭram doesn’t claim to be a therapist - but she’s a surviving twin who’s trying to build a community of twins through her business, Twinful, which she said is dedicated to supporting those who have lost their twin. “I’m like, ‘OK, she didn’t just bring herself,’” Cram said, recalling when she saw the gaggle of butterflies. The butterflies are one of many ways that her twin sister Tonya comes to her, she says, even five decades after her death. She told me she’d seen a kaleidoscope of them earlier in the day dancing in a patch of grass outside the meeting room at a condo complex where a handful of Utah-based twin-lost twins had come to meet with her. It wasn’t the first time Cram had seen a white butterfly since arriving in Salt Lake City. “There’s one right there,” I said, pointing out the window. But when we see the white ones, it’s like, ‘Oh, OK, their actual soul is with us.’” “Our twins come to us in the form of butterflies, and white butterflies specifically are very much a representation of an angel,” Cram said. ![]() Tasha Cram had just finished explaining to me that she and others in the “twin loss community” - those whose twins have died - believe butterflies are physical manifestations of “twin souls.” ![]() A single white butterfly fluttered in the window.
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