Without Her

Last weekend we had our first big event since Julia's death.  My brother-in-law was being ordained as a rabbi, and both of our families would be attending in Ohio.  It was an event that we had planned to attend with our daughter.  I was apprehensive about the weekend and what it would bring.  The weekend was not about us, but I knew that many eyes would be on me.  

Friday night services at the temple were horrible.  Crowds overwhelm me, and this was a big and happy one.  We sat down for services and could not help but see the parents with babies, bouncing them up and down on the sidelines.  Julia would have been 5 months old, and all the babies there seemed to be her age.  I cried throughout the entire service, and just could not pull it together.  When Mourner's Kaddish came around, we mistakenly thought that her name would be mentioned.  Josh and I both held hands and waited, but they never said her name.  It was no one's fault, but it just crushed me.  We left soon after that.  

I was that pathetic person that everyone was wondering about.  I felt the frustration of numerous people (me among them) who felt that I was ruining a special occasion for the Rabbi to be.  I hated the fact that I could not stop crying.  I hated the fact that I now felt tremendous pressure to be "happy."  But I  pulled my self together on the car ride over to dinner, and after numerous glasses of wine, managed to salvage the rest of the evening.

Saturday was more gentle.  No babies at the ordination itself, and I managed to pretend that the very pregnant women was not in the room.  But most importantly, Julia's name was listed in the program under those to be remembered.  As soon as I received a program I searched for her name, not knowing what I would do if I didn't find it.  But it was there, and that was all I needed.  My daughter was not entirely forgotten, the proof was right in front of me.

The celebration dinner Saturday night passed without incident.  We saw many people who had not seen us since her death.  

Would I have liked it if they had acknowledged her death?  Sure... 

Did it sting every time someone said, "Mazel Tov, you must be so proud..."  Definitely.  

But I was not bitter, just sad. I tried to remember that she was not forgotten.  I hoped that every person there looked at us and remembered our baby girl.  I knew that they didn't mention her because you don't talk about dead babies at a happy occasion.  

Instead, you pretend it didn't happen.