I don’t know much, but I do know this: I am forever changed and wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m still alive, still hopeful, still soft, still a mother, and always living for the children I’ve carried and will continue to carry with me

After enough of those moments, you look back at where you have been, and realize that hope has somehow snuck its way back in.

From the moment I said hello and goodbye all at once, I made a promise that I would honor her memory with everything I had.

The reality is that we can hold both the pain and sorrow of grief with hope and healing. I am determined to let others who have been impacted by these devastating losses know that as well. This work is my lifeline, my purpose, and my commitment to make a difference in the lives of those who share in the heartbreak of loss.

After attending the Return to Zero BIPOC Pregnancy and Infant Loss Support Group I became very close with a couple of the other women who attended and have since gone through pregnancy after loss and now parenting after loss with two of them. I consider them sisters and know we will be lifelong friends.

Even though DJ is no longer here physically, he is ALWAYS here in spirit, because I carry him with me. He is my motivation. He lifts me up on the days I want to quit. He inspires me to help others.

I had to come to terms with the fact that bad things happen in this imperfect world where death and darkness exist. Joshua’s death was not caused by any “mistake or choice” I made. I eventually came to accept this.

Despite feeling like a complete failure because I was unable to protect him, I focused on how I could use my experience to be the voice for change.

The present and future are mine to create, and while I’m still finding my way, I see such calm in the skies, and that helps me feel whole.

My child, once torn from me,
Seems close.
I feel her.
She is mine,
I am her mother.

I was only prepared to expect the future with my babies, not expecting the reality of losing them both.

I’m here now without her, but I still carry her with me. All of the plans we made are unfolding, and instead of her being in my arms, she’s brought along in my mind.

Parenting your dead child is like painting by numbers but there are no numbers to paint by… All the rules and directions have been lost. How does one know what color comes next?

Once you are able to take some deeper breaths, you may notice life isn’t moving past you so much, but life is beginning to move in you. In a new way. No, nothing will ever be the same, nor after your loss would you want it to be.

I realized I was done waiting for others to heal me. My childhood was trauma-filled, and I believed that my healing needed to begin here first. It was important to me to be extra gentle with myself through this process. I welcomed all of my emotions. I cried when I needed to and laughed as much as possible. I see my inner-child as my true spirit.

I wish you the very best as you trek through your grief journey. I hope to see you on the other side of grief, in your own timing. And that one day you will find the courage to use your voice not only to share your story, but to also be a light for a mother following in your footsteps. That is how we will illuminate the pathway for others and be able to move our baby loss community forward.

In the beginning, the colors were gray and dull, with shades of pitch black and searing white blinding me from all other colors. But the colors are brighter now, full and vibrant. The birdsong is louder in my ears. When color and sound returned, they were brighter than I remembered, more beautiful.

Everything remains so much brighter, so much darker, so much more beautiful and more terrible than I could have ever imagined. But I still love him, and seeing the world with the eyes he gave me, learning the song of his silence he gave me, is part of how I show him that.