“It’s time,” my husband whispered in my ear. He clutched Samuel’s picture frame close to his chest as we slowly squeezed our way to the end of the line. All the young couples in front of us were happily holding their babies.

One mom glanced at me and said, “I have the same dress.”

I feigned a grin and stared at my blue lace maternity dress, barely able to see my feet over my postpartum belly. My mind instantly filled with flashbacks of flat-liners, my baby’s crib replaced with a casket, and my shattered innocence about healthy, blissful pregnancies. Would our presence make everyone feel sad? Should we really go up there?

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