I don’t have many memories from my pregnancy, mostly because there wasn’t much time that I knew I was pregnant. I found out on May 11th, and by June 7th, she was gone. Less than a month. In that time, I found out I was pregnant, announced it to the world, got my official test, registered for baby gifts, started planning the nursery, picked out names for if it was a boy or girl. This was not a fetus, this was our child, fearfully and wonderfully knitted together by the Creator!
In the year and a half since then, I have come to treasure the few items I have that prove that Tzeitel existed. I know she was here, her Papa knows she was here, but sometimes I doubt my own memories. I look down at my necklace with her name on it and I question myself. Am I a mama? I look at her name, her ultrasounds, knowing the truth, but also knowing reality, my empty arms and quiet house play tricks on me. I don’t have a resting place to visit, knowing where her body is. We never saw our sweet girl, besides on the ultrasound. We had nothing to bury or to cremate. I will forever wish that I had video recorded that precious ultrasound, that I could hear her heartbeat again.
For all of these reasons, it means that much more when people talk to me about her, to give confirmation that they know she was here. I love to see her name written down, and I LOVE to hear people say her name.