Thankful

When we left for our frantic drive to the hospital, I didn't bring my camera. I didn't grab my purse. I put on a heavy purple sweater and we flew out the door.  I knew, deep inside, that we weren't going to find a heartbeat on the ultrasound.  But a visual image would confirm. And seeing is really believing.

It took the ultrasound techs just a few seconds to confirm that Sarah's heart wasn't beating. That she had died.

Today I am thankful that my midwife took nearly 100 photos on that last day of October.  At the time, I recall the gentle clicking of her camera.  Unobtrusive.  It never occurred to me how important those clicks were.  That they would be the only images we'd ever have of our sweet Sarah.  I wasn't sure I'd ever want to look.  And now I can't imagine how horrible it would be not to have these photos.

When I wake up in the early hours, struggling with thoughts of her in my mind, I find myself wanting to see her face. To remember what she looked like. I only held in her my arms for a short time, but she'll be in my heart forever.