Lorenzo was in The New York Times! I add exclamation because I can still rave about my son. I can still bellow with pride, as any mama would, so here I go. The New York Times Motherlode blog published my essay, “23 Weeks Pregnant, With ‘No Good Choices’“. It’s not the first time I’ve told the world what we felt we had to do for our son, nor will it be the last. But it gave Lorenzo’s story the visibility that only a publication like the Times can deliver, one that reaches beyond this supportive circle of blog readers and heart collectors into open, unpredictable water.

When I woke up to the news that the essay was live, that it had been circulated around the White House, that it already had over 90 comments in under 24 hours, my breath caught. What would this really mean? What would people who didn’t know us really think?

I thought about not looking at the comments, but I haven’t come all this way for fear to hold me back. So, I read one compassionate comment and then another from people who read my 950 words and articulated how our story moved them, inspired them to talk about a choice of their own, or made them understand another angle on the issue. They took the time to honor Lorenzo with the simple repetition of his name (I will always love hearing it, seeing it). They expressed their condolences, shared sorrow, sympathy for me and Ryan as parents, admiration for our courage, and hope for our future. That was 90 percent of the commentary, and I can live with 90 percent.

The other 10 percent did not understand our choice, questioned our medical advice, and wondered if our situation was dire enough to warrant its outcome. If dying quickly without extreme interventions or pushing death slowly back with those extreme interventions isn’t dire, I’m not sure I know what is. Several asked why I simply didn’t let nature take its course and let him go after birth. I’m compelled to answer. In simplest terms, we weren’t allowed. Rather, it was not advised because it posed an ethical dilemma for the hospital: once he was born, there was something to be done, medicine to administer, surgery to schedule, heroic efforts to be made. Had it been our preferred choice, we could have involved an ethics committee, but we did not have that kind of time—another reason why I speak out against these 20-week bans. I should also mention that with other fetal diagnoses, carrying to term presents additional health risks for the mother. It isn’t always the answer, medically or emotionally.

But how curious this question really is. On the one hand, those who ask seem to agree that Lorenzo’s heart should have been allowed to go the way it was designed—not to survive in our world. In essence, we are talking the same language. It’s the fact that I intervened that is problematic, even though I did so before most medical professionals have assessed my son could feel pain. I fully respect women who are permitted to make this choice, and I trust their babies are made as comfortable as possible in their passing. For me, I knew I could not carry my baby for three to four more months of growing and bonding and heartbeating only to let him go. So, I did what I could do, what I felt was as natural as possible by consciously delivering him, which was another choice. It bears repeating that we were legally and medically allowed to do so as his parents. It is only up to us, not strangers, to wrestle with the leftovers in our hearts.

Still, I am grateful the piece provided an arena for largely respectful debate and examination of all sides. I can thank The New York Times for that. But thanks to the snaking ways of the Internet, to which I have willingly volunteered our story, this visibility also meant that someone found an old blog post and decided not to remain respectful in our differences. Instead, he decided to serve up hate, sarcastic hate at that. Does it get any lower? Honestly, I expected it much sooner. After all, it’s been 18 months since I started posting about Lorenzo. By now, I thought maybe it wouldn’t come. But there it was in my inbox, pulsing. I won’t give it more ammunition by quoting it, but rest assured it intended to cut deep. It may have cut deeper had it arrived, isolated, on any other day than one that also offered such compassion. Or maybe I’m now strong enough to take it. Ryan and I are still standing after all, our root systems stronger on account of the long storm.

Still, I’ve been thinking about what we say with our commentary, be it on screen or to the faces of those who make different choices than we might make. When I told Tara, my grief mama group leader, about it, she offered a stellar twist, exclaiming: “You got hate mail!” That meant people were engaging and grappling with an issue most don’t want to examine so closely. It’s OK that not everyone would or could make the decision we felt was best for our family, she said. It’s enough to spread awareness in Lorenzo’s memory because it’s actually not about sides, though we operate—we comment—in a political climate fueling us to believe otherwise. We are constantly, it seems, trying to get other people onto our side.

I, for one, know that I cannot judge what I have not lived—one of countless lessons from Lorenzo. Standing where I stand, it can still shock when people do. But I can also rest in the difference.