I remember that I was scared going into the room. I wasn’t scared, I don't think, of her, but I do remember being terrified of looking into the bassinet. It was like being in a horror movie, coming slowly around the corner, like a camera shot. I slowly saw her face from the top down, and she looked just so close to being alive. Like the right burst of breath into her lungs might just start her up again. I didn’t want to touch her, but Elizabeth asked me if I wanted to, and I knew I had to. There was a lot during those first days that I “had” to do, it was the only way to get them done. So she picked her up and then handed her to me. I remember that she was still warm, or maybe I only remember her in relation to a few days later, when I held her on the day of her funeral. But it quickly became easy to talk to her.
I remember the moment they put Ruby down in that little bassinet in the operating room, the same room Isabelle was delivered in, next to the one Julia was born in, that Ruby looked JUST like Julia. Same hair, same button nose, same tiny face. I wonder if my family would have children in the same order as my parents – dark complex, light complex, and so on. That would make me Julia. If this had happened to my mom, I would have died, and no life, no memories, no life with Cam, no Isabelle, no Ruby. What other lives were stamped out when Julia died? How many lives were changed forever for the worse, never even knowing what they were missing?