The moment I’d anticipated for almost nine months would never come.

I dab at my moist eyes with my overused handkerchief,

not even thinking about the mascara smeared all over my face. It’s just not fair. Life feels cruel.

I grab my coffee and step onto the porch, gazing at the beautiful garden below. I sigh deeply and sit down.

The stars are shining bright, like rays of hope, far away. To me, though, there’s no hope whatsoever. Right now, my world is dark and bleak. I gaze at my empty hands and try to hold back the tears.

Just then, I hear a piercing wail from one of the neighboring buildings, the cry of a tiny new baby.

I can’t contain myself any longer and allow the tears to stream freely down my face. It’s so unjust. The tears continue to spill over. I can’t handle the constant mix of emotions that envelopes me.

I’d waited so long to get married. At 27, I was an “older single.” My husband and I didn’t have to wait too long before we had good news to share. We were going to become parents!

Our joy knew no bounds. We were both so grateful to the One Above for the gift He was sending us. My husband, Yanki, was overprotective, taking utmost care that I shouldn’t get overworked and accompanying me to every obstetrician’s appointment. Each time we entered the doctor’s office, we marveled once more at the miracles the Ribbono shel Olam was performing for us.

Alas, it wasn’t meant to be.

I shudder when I think of the doctor’s face as he broke the news to us just a day before I was due. “I’m sorry, there’s no heartbeat,” he said, lowering his face, unable to meet my gaze.

I don’t remember what he said afterward. My mind went blank.

The pain. It cut through my heart like a knife.

I shake as I recall the hours that followed. The nurses were very kind and caring and stood by my side throughout the labor and delivery, but the heartache was so painful.

No one could understand.

I shiver as I think of those moments. Nothing but hollowness and pain. Pain penetrating so deeply inside, to my core.

This baby would have been the first to call me Mommy. Together we were going to conquer the world.

The moment I’d anticipated for almost nine months would never come. I’d never get to stroke my baby’s face and count his little toes. Oh, how I’d waited for that special moment when I’d get to bond with him for the very first time.

But my precious baby was too pure and too special for This World.

Getting back to normal life wasn’t easy.

What was normal anyway? A life where people were either be’agalah: pushing a carriage, or bizman kariv: about to have a baby. All I saw were expectant women and brand-new carriages. And my empty hands.

Every day was a fight to get up and face a world I didn’t want to encounter, to say thank You, Hashem, to accept His decree with love.

Accepting was hard enough. But out of love? It felt impossible.

Yet I underestimated myself.

A few months later, I still cry. But I’m stronger. And this is exactly why I’m putting pen to paper to share my story. Because in the darkest moments I was never truly alone. I was surrounded by a warm and loving community, by the wonderful organizations founded to support people processing loss, who help you realize it’s okay to be sad and maybe even angry, to wallow in self-pity and grieve.

And this is what allowed me to heal and accept the One Above’s Will with love.

I won’t forget a single note that arrived at my door, with or without a little present.

Every text message I received warmed my heart and is saved on my phone. Sometimes I still go through those notes and messages. They strengthen me and show me what true care really means.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 892)