Bits and Pieces

Yesterday I went to the SF office of vital records to pick up Tikva's birth certificate.
It sits in a file folder with her death certificate, which was the first envelope I opened when we returned from the mountains.
Atop a pile of incredible condolence cards - which I never thought I'd be reading so soon in my life, much less about my child.
I've never seen a death certificate before.
It was sent to us by Sinai Memorial Chapel, which took care of preparation for her burial and arranged the burial itself.
All for free, including her small grave plot at Eternal Home Cemetery.
Same cemetery where David's relatives are buried.
My grandmother is buried down the street at Hills of Eternity.
Now when I drive by Colma on 280, I think not only of her but of my Baby Girl.
Strange.

I think of Tikva more when I drive by UCSF, though, which feels like it happens several times a day.
It is a place that is impossible for me not to notice.
In case I forget it's there, atop the mountain looms the huge Sutro radio tower to draw my attention, and the tower is red.
But it's not the tower that pulls me, it's the fact that my daughter lived her entire life in that hospital.
And now she's not there anymore, she's nowhere I can go to see her, touch her, feel her.

In that real concrete way, I mean, not in the abstract way I now have to get used to feeling her.
That all sounds lovely, but in reality it feels really hard right now.
Today while I had lunch with Ellen in Hayes Valley, outside a cafe, a butterfly flew in between us above our table a few times.
There's Tikva, I thought. She must know we're talking about her.
Then a friend of Ellen walked by with his baby boy, who was two and a half months old.

Where's Tikva, I thought?
Would she look like him if she were healthy in a stroller right now?
What happened to that possibility I felt when I first became pregnant with her?
Those feelings - that hope - feels like it has dissolved.

I feel like I've been launched out of one of those 15th story windows, flung far across the sky, and landed really far away from where I started.
I didn't ask for this...

Barbara gave me a book today.
It's called Empty Cradle, Broken Heart.
It's about me, so that I know I am not alone.
Some guidance on how to proceed now.
Because honestly I'm not sure how to proceed.
But I know that I am supposed to proceed somehow.

My biggest thought today: I had a pregnancy. (I even had a baby that I got to know.) But I don't have the child.

Barbara reminded me that in her short life, TIKVA KNEW ONLY LOVE. ONLY LOVE...