I lounged in that chair often while pregnant with my girl… The chair carried me as I carried my daughter, even just for two short months.

This was probably the first time after Eleanor had passed that I felt happiness in knowing new people and being social. Nothing felt forced. We were all allowed to smile and feel some joy without the need of adding a caveat or disclaimer that we were still profoundly sad about our losses.

Grief doesn’t leave, it changes form. Some days it’s a weight, and other days it’s a whisper. Losing two sons has taught us more about love than we ever wanted to know. It’s taught us to listen to silence, to be gentle with one another, and to find beauty in endurance.

One thing that I've learned about being a mother is how beautiful and deep our love for our kids can be. I have only spent a few minutes with my son and have no idea of what sort of teenager he would have been by now - but I know I love him and I miss him.

Grief is a journey. You can’t ignore it. It will continue reminding you it is there, even if you look away. The weeds will spread until you have no choice but to garden in the cold rain. My love for Bree is not only light and love, as much as I wish it were.

Hudson’s short life has changed us in many ways. I’m a better wife, mother and friend because of him. We have found several ways to honor Hudson in our everyday lives.

I would have never anticipated the connection that I have with my daughter, Ava, even after her death. I get to talk to her whenever I want, I get to take her everywhere with me.

Nearly five years later, we’re still climbing. Still learning how to carry both the weight of our loss and the joy of raising our two living children.

I’m learning that life is very short and to just live and be happy, over this last year I’ve struggled so much and felt so alone, all I wanted was to talk about my daughter but found that it was making people feel uncomfortable and my feelings were just pushed down.

Writing has always been my way to work with the both/and of life, and I’ve written a lot on the topic of this loss, so you may see me sharing links as relevant in this space if I think they will help one of you feel less alone.

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.

Sharing my son's story and listening to others' narratives provided a sacred space for me to unravel, only to gradually piece myself back together. In the gentle embrace of shared experiences, I found the strength to confront the depth of my pain.

I often say that the support I experienced and continue to experience from this community of loss moms has been a life raft. Without it, I may have drowned in a sea of my own sorrow and tears.

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

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.

The act of volunteering helped me heal from my own trauma by reshaping the need to bare my story as something that serves others–as well as RTZ HOPE’s mission–with people who might be too afraid to reach out for help.