On October 20, 2006, my then boyfriend, now husband, and I took a pregnancy test and it was positive. I cried so hard that night. I was overjoyed. I always knew that I wanted to be a mother, and now I was. I couldn't wait to tell everyone, though he wanted to be cautious, but I made the calls anyway.

I called my mother (she was shocked), my brother and sister-in-law (they were ecstatic), and finally my sister (she thought I was playing a practical joke). Slowly, over the next several weeks, we continued to tell everyone important to our lives, ending finally with my father-in-law. He too was so happy. Completely overwhelmed, we began to plan for our future with a child.

On December 9 I woke to spotting and I was terrified. I didn't know what to do. Finally I went to the emergency room, thinking I was only 8 weeks along. I feared I was having a miscarriage. We went through several hours of tests, finally ending with an ultrasound where we saw for the first time our baby. It was amazing.

The ultrasound technician verified that we were in fact 12 weeks pregnant and we couldn't believe it. She said I would be due on June 23. After all the tests were finished, the doctor diagnosed me as having a threatened miscarriage and sent me home telling me to take it easy for a few days.

On January 23, we went in for an ultrasound and were told we were going to have a daughter. I didn't believe it because I was sure it was a boy, but not daddy. He knew that he was going to get daddy's little girl. I had chosen a name many years before that I always loved for a daughter, and we agreed it would be the one we used, Hannah. Then we settled on Michal as a middle name after her uncle and godfather.

After that, we had a relatively uneventful pregnancy until I found out that I had gestational diabetes but I was reassured that I need not worry because we could handle it through diet. I was assigned a nurse and taught how to test my blood, and my doctor said I did beautifully where the diabetes was concerned.

We spent all of May preparing the nursery. Daddy worked so hard to get it done and it is beautiful. On June 2 my sister and sister-in-law gave me the most beautiful and wonderful shower. We were just under 38 weeks and almost ready to go.

My feet and ankles had started to swell and I was getting tired. The following Monday, June 4, I saw my doctor, who was concerned about the swelling and said, "That is it; you are not going back to work." They checked me and I was starting to dilate. The baby's heart beat was strong.

I spent the next several days preparing the baby's things, washing clothes and getting things together for the hospital.

On June 7 I went in for another routine doctor's appointment, only this time it wasn't so routine. The doctor couldn't find Hannah's heart beat. She sent me downstairs for an ultrasound and it was confirmed, Hannah was gone.

I know that I was instantly in shock, but felt an odd calmness. I called my mother first and asked her to come, then I called the baby's dad and gave him the worst news I have ever had to deliver him, his daughter was dead. He met me and my mother at the hospital where I was given another ultrasound to measure the baby because her size seemed very off. It was determined that it might not be safe for me to deliver vaginally so I would have a Cesarean section. Hannah was measuring around 13 pounds, which I knew was wrong, but something didn't seem right.

Slowly my husband's families and mine started showing at the hospital for what would prove to be the longest night of all of our lives. I would not be able to have surgery until 10 p.m. so it was just a waiting game. Eventually the stress of the situation put me into actual labor and I was now not just in mental anguish, but the worst physical pain I had ever felt. I was given pain killers to ward off the labor pains while waiting for the spinal.

Finally, around 9 p.m. the nurses came to prepare me for surgery. My husband would be in with me. I was taken into the operating room at 10 p.m., given the spinal and finally at 10:24 p.m., she was here.

She never took a breath but my heart beat for her. My husband went across the room with her; I had not yet seen her. I could see him from where I was, cutting her cord. He was so proud, and then he brought her to me. He held her so that I could see her, and I had never seen a more beautiful vision in my life.

The doctor finished up the surgery, I was moved to a gurney bed and Hannah was placed for the first time in my arms. We were moved back to the room we had been in earlier where our families were waiting for us. My husband, with the help of the nurse, bathed her and then everyone reveled at her beauty.

Finally, around midnight, we were alone, me, Steve and Hannah. The nurses took her. They dressed her carefully and took pictures of her.

I slept off and on until we were moved to my room, where they later returned Hannah to us. We kept her until 5 a.m., when the nurse suggested we move her to the morgue because the room was getting warm.

I slept off and on for the next several hours; family was in and out. Arrangements had been made for a charity organization of photographers to come in that day and take pictures of her, and then the next day, Saturday, we were to have a blessing performed. On Sunday I was to be released, and Hannah would be released to the mortuary, so we spent as much time as we could with her.

I had three of the most wonderful days of my life to spend with my daughter. I held her as much as I could bare. I was sore, tired and completely overwhelmed, not knowing how I would go on.

We left that evening to take the next step in this journey. I had to go home not only to begin to heal the loss of my daughter, but also heal my body, which had been through a pregnancy and a surgery.

Two days after I was released, I was taken to my doctor to be checked, where it was confirmed that I had a post operation infection. What else could happen? Later that night, I was taken to the emergency room, where I was found to be in extreme fatal danger. I was given a blood transfusion, four units, quite a lot, and admitted into the hospital. I was there for a week, required to take IV antibiotics and have specialized wound care.

The funeral for the baby had to be postponed due to my health concerns. When I was finally released a week later, I went home with a pick line in so that I could continue to get the IV antibiotics, and home health care nurses came to my house daily.

Finally, on my original due date, we were able to have a proper memorial service for our daughter, and I was allowed to be there. It took the next two and a half months for me to completely recover from the physical ailments, and then I had to face going back to work. My mental recovery was stunted because of the physical recovery, but now it has been 9 months, and I can see the light.

I miss my daughter every day, but am beginning to have an understanding about her not being here. This is not an easy journey, and unfortunately, I will be on it for the rest of my life, but in it, I have come to a greater understanding of what love is.

On October 20, 2007, one year to the day I found out I would be a mother, I attended a walk to remember. At that walk, I did something I would have never guessed myself brave enough to do. I stood in front of more than 300 people and I told my story. I know that I must take this experience and turn it into something beautiful, and teach, lead and help others in my place. My daughter has taught me so much, and for that I thank her. Hannah, I loved you then, I love you now and I will love you always.