September 24, 2013
After Sofia died, we were told that there was an organization which would pay for a professional photographer to come and take portraits of her, of us, before I had to give her up. I did not have to think to answer that yes, absolutely, I wanted that to happen. My parents had been taking pictures using my mom’s camera and both of their phones, but to have proper portraits of my Sofia…
Well, a small package arrived in yesterday’s mail. Wrapped in tissue paper in a small gift box was the CD of 24 black-and-white photos. There were pictures of Sofia by herself, lying on the quilt my mom made for her. There was a beautiful shot of my dad holding her. There were pictures of my dad, Sofia, and me; my mom, Sofia, and me; and just Sofia and me. As I was opening the box and running to my computer to see the results, my mom asked if I wanted to look at them alone first. I said yes.
And there she was. My beautiful girl. My daughter who really and truly existed. I did not dream the last nine months. She is not someone I made up. I did once hold her in my arms.