You say “Gotcha” and my mind races back to those days….with no regard to what it might be like, was like, is like. There is no room in the word “gotcha” for me. And while I can understand the feelings of joy my son’s parents had…heck, I comforted myself with the fantasy of what it was like for them..to balance it out, to give the pain some meaning, some purpose besides myself…I like to think that they did think of me..wondered too..if I was sad and feeling alone, empty. Like I thought of them..full of joy..loving my child