Having grown up with two older brothers, I had always romanticized a house of women and girls. We would be that house, and I was thrilled. Dominating bathroom counters and get-ready times. Un-shy about tampons and maxi-pads and midol. Borrowing clothes and scents and make-up secrets while the bewildered males looked on. Instead, you died.

I say goodbye to my husband and walk down the hall into the room. I lay down on the table and silently cry. The doctor holds my hand in her papery one. The anesthesiologist says “Here comes a big glass of wine,” and I go to sleep. Did you know your baby would not survive? Do you wish you did? Alternatively, do you wish you did not know your baby’s diagnosis? Since your child's or children's death, have you wrestled with any decisions you made during or about your pregnancy?