Julia

Camaron's mom and dad walked onto the delivery floor less than five minutes after I had gotten the news that Julia had died.  I remember the stony silence from the nurses as they walked across the floor, the way Camaron's mother Trisha closed her eyes and buried her head in Russell's shoulder as they made their way to me.  Within moments, Trisha was demanding to see the baby, saying we had to hold her.  The idea immediately struck me as both morbid as well as terrifying.  At first I just wanted to get to Camaron before she woke up; later, after Elizabeth (our midwife) helped me to hold Julia and speak to her for a little while, I went back to Camaron.  Over those (four?  six?  nine?) hours, when I wasn't with Julia, when Camaron wasn't touching her, she was in Trisha's arms.  She held her for hours.  When it was finally time to go to our room, and the horrible daylight was peeking through the windows, I like to think that it was her grandma that placed her gently back in her bassinet, wrapped her in blankets, kissed her forehead, and said goodbye.       -Joshua