Grief strikes when you are unsuspecting. Over the weekend, while I was getting dressed one morning, both kids were in our room. We have a dresser on top of which are some photos, including a photo of Zoe, taken shortly after her birth. It's the only photo of her we have in the house.

From time to time, Nellie asks who the baby in the photo is, and every time I tell her the story of her precious sister. (While it hurts a little bit that she doesn't remember, I can hardly blame her - she was only 14 months when Zoe died.) The amount of detail I give varies each time, depending on how much time we have available to talk.

I heard her take the photo off the dresser, and prepared myself for her usual question. To my surprise, instead, she got down on the floor with Nate and showed him the picture (Nate ADORES pictures and photos, almost more than toys).

"Look Nathan. This is Zoe. She's our sister. She died and now she's in heaven. But we still love her."

Although I tried not to show it, my jaw hit the floor, a full second before my heart splintered again. On the one hand, I was thrilled to see that Nellie has taken Zoe's story to her heart. I was also so proud to see how she's taken it on herself to teach her brother about his other big sister.

But it breaks my heart that we have to tell Zoe's story. It breaks my heart that Nate will never know his sister. At least Nellie met her. I know that she doesn't remember, but we have photos of the 4 of us together. She gave Zoe a teddy. She touched her and kissed her. I have the memories of those precious moments and can share them with her. Nate will never have that.

Of course, had she lived, he wouldn't be here, I know that, so they would never have met anyway. That's not the point. The point is that the black hole in our family that is Zoe's death continues to have an effect on our family life. Part of me wishes we could just forget. It would be easier that way. But I can't ever forget her. I could burn her photos, scatter the last of her ashes, chop down her tree or burn it, give away the last of her toys and clothes I've kept, erase every reminder of her in our lives, but I could never erase the memories of her, nor would I want to.

I was reading a friend's blog earlier (she's also lost a baby), and she made a comment about how different her two girls were in utero. I suddenly realised that I couldn't remember the details about Zoe's pregnancy - about her movements, the way her personality expressed itself. And that realisation was like a fire through me. How could I forget the only memories I have of my baby girl while she was alive? Thank God for this blog. At least I can go back and read what I've written about her before, remind myself about her.

I know that my memory is atrocious - I make no bones about that - but the fact that it has finally betrayed me in this area of my life is ... traitorous.