I wrote a letter almost four years ago to the day.

When I first wrote it, I never expected it to get the traction it did. Lots of people seemed to want to know where Mila came from and it got shared around, a lot. Since I’ve written it, it still gets a lot of views and will get more some weeks than others. People are nosey or are just discovering my journey of motherhood with Jensen and Mila.

This past weekend has been weird and re-traumatizing for me. I know it’s been worse for others, but I’m allowed to feel too.

In the past three years, I’ve worked a lot on myself. Healing after being in a narcissistic cycle is not easy. It took time, changing my phone number, speaking to authorities, and learning how to trust myself and others again. There was a ton of ups and downs and I’m proud of the person who I am today.

All of the sudden on Friday, it seemed like a whole wave of emotions filled me. I felt horrible for the innocents impacted, I felt happy that Mila was safe. I felt validated in my decisions since the first time every thing happened. I felt sad and protective for my past self who loved and then wanted to do the best thing when those rose-colored glasses were slapped off. It was a whirlwind for me after being uninvolved the past three years.

I gave myself the weekend to tiptoe around the feelings and let myself somewhat try to process. Then this morning after working and doing some self care, I let my toes dip. I’m a letter writer to remember my feelings/emotions or what happened.

In 2020, I wrote another letter that I’ve never published on here because it’s damning and raw and hard and what I had to get out. But it’s… it’s too much for others.

My words from that letter aren’t too much for me. They’re my truth, what I felt. I also had pictures too. Screenshots from text messages, him and I smiling together, and one that made my stomach sick: him playing with toys with Mila.

I’ve felt that pit in my stomach before, a few times in my life — they’ve all stemmed from pictures because they’re proof. Proof of death, guilt, innocence, and the past.

It could’ve been her.

He was right there beside her in that picture. The thought of her being physically/sexually hurt by him kills me. I am so disappointed I ever let her beside him, but I didn’t know until I did. He will never get the chance to hurt her.

But I wanted to share a paragraph and a sentence that I wrote from there that feels even more true now:

I felt the freedom for Mila and myself knowing my life isn’t going to be affected by the storm you’re going to go through. I felt freedom knowing Mila will never, ever be away from me. Freedom from the fears I had before about her being treated badly if she’d ever be there is gone. I felt freedom from every type of abuse she’d have to encounter with him as her dad. Freedom from the years of emotional abuse I’ve been through. I felt freedom to let go of it all.

Everything I felt trapped by is gone now.

I felt freedom three years ago because I walked away from it all. Because I knew the truth and couldn’t stand by it. I couldn’t ever let anything bad happen to Mila and I never will.

I wish I could’ve told myself three years ago that I would feel even more free in the future. That one day everything would come to light. That a picture would help make me feel free instead of that dreadful pit.

A mugshot which symbolizes a person being locked up would become an image of freedom for us.

I don’t owe anyone this letter or explanation of my feelings. I don’t care that I was villainized for doing what I thought was best. At the end of the day I protected myself and my daughter. I did what was right as a mother.

I hope and wish those girls will be able to heal.

And to the rest of them, to those who never deserved my daughter, I have no words, just a picture.

April 5, 2016 is a day that forever changed my life. It’s the day my son, Jensen, was born.

I never thought I could love one person as deeply as I love him. He’s touched my heart and life in ways I can’t even explain. In a way not even death could steal.

There are days I replay all the songs I would listen to when I was pregnant with him. I can recall how his movements felt in my belly, how I felt at every ultrasound when I saw him, and the feeling of the newly washed clothes I packed for him in the hospital bag.

I have a terrible memory, but I can remember so much of his life.

With all those memories, I still have so many more questions. There’s seven year of memories I’ve missed out on with a lifetime of them to go.

At seven, what would he be into? How would his looks change? Would he think I was weird yet?

Even though I only got to see him as a baby, I still picture what he’d look like at every age. I still think he’d have curly hair and I go between seeing green or brown eyes. For some reason, I think he’d be quiet, until you got to know him and then you’d have your ear talked off.

I wish I could hear about all his likes and dislikes. I wish I knew what his favorite meal was. I wish I could watch his favorite movie with him. I wish I could know what his favorite school special was. I wish I could hear his annoyed voice. I wish I could soak up every moment of Jensen.

I will never think that losing him was the right thing or what was supposed to happen. My son died and it completely changed me and every thing around me. If I could bring him back right now, I would.

It’s a little odd that seven years has came and went so quickly. When you have kids, that’s sort of how life change. Time goes by because you focus on them. What they don’t tell you is if your child dies, time goes both excruciatingly fast and slow at the same time.

How can that be?

In the first two years after, I hated time, but I counted it so very closely. Every Tuesday hurt, every 5th of a new month stabbed me, and the holidays were unbearable. I wanted that pain though.

Now, time goes so fast and we’re so busy that I felt guilt. Guilt that I’ve learned how to bury my pain when I need. Hurt when I don’t take make moment of my life the most it could be because he couldn’t. Shock when I realize it’s been so long since I’ve felt him.

The grief and pain of my son dying is something I could never prepare for — but I will say the amount of love and the way I look at life now is so different.

Seven years ago, I became a mom in a way I never would have imagined.

Seven years ago, I was wheeled out of the labor and delivery floor without my baby.

Seven years ago, I felt the world around me fall and a dark, different one rise around me.

Seven years ago broke me.

Seven years ago my son was born.

Seven years ago, I felt all the love a mother could feel for their child.

Seven years ago, I became a mom to my favorite little boy that’s ever existed.

Seven years ago felt like the end, but I promised my boy we would love and live this time we had fully.

Even though we only had a short time together, I have a lifetime of remembering him and letting his light shine so bright.

On every April 5 (and every day), I get to celebrate my son on the day he was born.

Happy birthday in heaven, Jensen.
I will miss and love you for all my life.
Thanks for letting me be your mom.

April is National Poetry Month, which makes my English heart flutter. Of course, I had to get Mila writing poetry too.

To create watercolor poetry with a toddler, here’s what you’ll need:

• Watercolor Paint
• Brushes
• Paper
• An open mind
• Creativity

So you’re probably thinking, how can an almost three year old write poetry? Well, after spending all day with a chatty toddler, they end up saying pretty important things. Even if they don’t realize it!

A couple weeks ago, I did six word memoirs with my students. Before the lesson, I came up with a few at home. Mila, unknowingly, helped contribute as well.

She said one silly thing and another one that really made me think. Both are great pieces of poetry…

Stinky girl, I don’t know you.

Don’t touch bumblebees that fly high.

Okay, the first one made me laugh a lot. But, it’s something I don’t want to ever forget.

The second one made me think. She definitely meant it literal, but I thought deeply about it. For me, it meant like don’t mess up something that’s going well. That’s what makes poetry so much fun.

To showcase Mila’s wise words, we made watercolor paintings. I had her use whatever colors she wanted. It came up a little messy and sort of made me think of stinky girls or that sort of idea.

Then, I created the lavender and bee watercolor for her bumblebee poem.

This is a very simple way to introduce poetry to your child. It’s only six words! I believe that when kids see their work showcased, they know it’s good too. Letting Mila know those were her words, goes a long way.

I can’t wait to build upon poetry for Mila. It’s a beautiful way to express oneself.

Another alternative for this activity is to let your child do any type of watercolor activity and then you come up with the words.

Either way, you both can be creative and let each other know poetry isn’t that scary.

Let me know in the comments if you ever write poetry and if or how you introduce it to your children.