Hi Again…

It’s been nine months since I’ve last posted and none crazy ones at that. In one more month, Jensen will be three and Mila will be one. If you told me three years what would have transpired from then to now, I would not have believed you.

I never would have believed that my baby would have died. There is no way I could have imagined planning his funeral or even going to it. That first year… it was the hardest in my life. Each day new struggles presented themselves, but through it all, I made it. I thought the second year would be way easier, but I learned loss and grief doesn’t really give you a break.

Year two brought different emotions and changed grief. Pregnancy after loss didn’t make things easier either. Jensen and Mila’s due dates were so close. I was afraid she was going to die 99% of the time. Weirdly, being pregnant again made me feel closer to Jensen. Maybe it’s because that’s the only time I got to spend with him. I wrote a lot to Jensen in that span of time, so that probably has a lot to do with it too.

Then this year. We’re headed straight to his third birthday. Three whole years with your child takes a toll. I think a lot of people believe once you have your rainbow that things get easier. For me, it didn’t. I saw all the things firsthand that I missed with him. There were a lot of times I overcompensated with her because I thought I needed to prove that I would’ve been great for the both of them. I tried not to change my life too much when she was first here by writing and keeping up with everything. When I realized I couldn’t, I felt like I had let Jensen down. Mila… wasn’t the easiest baby. There were lots of times I could barely take care of myself. She hated being put down. Mothering her was so challenging, on top of feeling like I was neglecting the way I had learned to mother Jensen. Slowly I learned I could do both, just not in all the ways I thought I had to do before.

I want to get back into writing and creating for my Etsy shop. Miss Mila has been better in playing by herself and napping. It’s cleared space for me to do some serious heart work. I’m unsure with what I need to continue writing about here. Some days I’d love to write about Mila adventures. Most moments are wild here and I feel like we always have fun stories to share. Then I feel like this is my Jensen space, but this is apart of his story too. He’s always with us and talked about. So maybe in the next few weeks, I’ll rework this site and make it inclusive to all aspects. We will soon see.

Now that I’ve taken a paragraph to ramble, I guess what I really want to say is we’re still here. We’re figuring out this life after loss and parenting too. For me, losing Jensen hasn’t gotten easier. There are days where it feels like it just happened and others I’m so busy with everything that it feels lighter. The waves of grief have gotten longer, but they crash hard. No matter if you’re in the raw part of your grief or years out, there are always ups and downs. Through it all, we’re never alone.

Thanks everyone for sticking around and reading this way past due update. I promise it won’t be another nine months.



Dear Mila,

It’s been a few days since I’ve been able to write. I wanted to post and participate every day of May We All Heal, but life gets a little crazy at times.

In the days I haven’t shared, you’ve grown and changed everyday. It seems impossible that a person can get so much bigger in just a few short days. You truly are blossoming I’m more ways than I imagined and I know this will happen for the rest of your life.

After you were born, I realized all the things I had missed with your brother. Things that I didn’t really know happened with parenting a newborn or being a mom to a living child. There are so many moments and experiences I crave even more with him now that I know I’ll just have to imagine. Sometimes that’s a hard pill to swallow, but I’m thankful I get to have them with you.

Do you want to know the one thing I always thought he’d do for me? Pick me flowers. I imagined he’d go pick flowers from the landscaping and the dandelions in the yard. He would bring them in to the house for me and we’d have to put them in water so they would keep. Maybe that’s why I always have fresh flowers in the house. They make me smile and think of him and the imaginary little cup of dandelions we’d have all summer long.

That’s one of the ways Jensen continues to blossom.

His love continues to grow and that’s what keeps his memory alive. He’s in every dandelion I see and every bouquet of flowers I bring home. The only difference is he continues to blossom and we’ll never let him wilt away. He’ll always be your big brother and my son.

You two will blossom in different ways, but each as beautiful as the other.

I love you.



Dear Mila,

My needs have changed a lot since you’ve been born. Instead of needing so much for myself, I make sure you’re constantly and perfectly content. This is what moms do.

I love being your mom. It makes me so happy to see you grow, knowing that I’m able to get you all that you need. When I see you progress developmentally with smiles and coos, I light up. All this play and talking you need is really working. Everything that happens during our days together is to help you become the best human.

This wasn’t the motherhood I once knew before.

After Jensen was born, all this maternal instinct to put his needs in front of mine sort of had no where to go. I learned that I had to get them out quickly though. Instead of feeding him, I decorated the house with his name and face. I wrote about him rather then giving him a bath. Then there came a point where I had to focus on what I needed. This was… hard to do. I changed my self care routine and took out some toxic in my life. The one thing I needed stable in my life after loss, was me.

Now that you’re here, I am both yours and Jensen’s mom. With that comes its own sets of needs. I promise I’ll do whatever I can to provide for your needs. Whatever will make you happy, I promise I’ll try to do for you. With Jensen, I need to hear his name. I need to remember I’m doing my best being his mom. I need the world to know about this little boy I love so very much.

I love you, Mila, and I never knew how much I needed you.



Dear Mila,

Strength grows in the moments when you think you can’t go on but you keep going anyways.

I took you to Jensen’s tree for the first time yesterday. There we dandelions everywhere and all I wanted to do was make a wish that he could be there with us.

We didn’t stay there long. I felt the heaviness of our reality and how his tree would be the only way I could see you two grow together. All I could think of is how unfair it was that you’ll never have your big brother physically here and how I can’t mother him the way I do you. So, I had to walk away and I don’t know when I’ll have the strength to go back.

This, for me, is a trigger.

A trigger is something that provokes a strong emotion. Mostly, it puts my grief in hyperdrive and they can just hit out of no where. I didn’t expect to feel the way I did going to his tree with you. Sometimes I can feel them coming on, like leaving the hospital with you or certain firsts. They don’t necessarily have to be bad or paralyzing. I just see it as an emotion or something that needs to be felt.

Lately, I’ll admit, I’ve been triggered a lot. It’s a mix of hormones, Mother’s Day, and knowing what I missed out on. I’m doing my best to keep my head up.

The one thing I hope for as you grow is that these triggers don’t impact you. You bring so much happiness in my life and I soak up every single second with you. If you see me sad, know it’s not because of something you did. Triggers can bring me down, but never you. Never.

Live your life to your fullest. Take every opportunity that comes your way and run with it.

I’ll always be cheering you on.

I love you.



Dear Mila,

“In order to heal we must first forgive… and sometimes the person we must forgive is ourselves.”

-Mila Bron

Forgiveness is important all throughout life.

Everyone you meet will make a mistake sometime while you know them. I’ve made mistakes and you’ll make them too. It’s inevitable. People are flawed, but most of us cut each other some slack and know this. We forgive big and little mistakes and it’s crucial we do this.

Sometimes in life bad things happen and we have no one to forgive. Maybe you’ll take that one thing and put it on yourself. This is what I did after Jensen was born. I was so angry that I didn’t know something bad was going to happen or that I didn’t feel something different. All I could do was be mad at myself, on top of grieving. It wasn’t a good mix and I didn’t know how to move through that patch. Sometimes, I still blame myself; even when I know I did all I could do. In this time, I learned the hardest person to forgive is yourself.

Just in the last month, I’ve truly forgave myself. I thought my body failed me with Jensen or maybe that I wasn’t good enough to have him. Everything negative I could think about myself concerning his death, I thought. Now that you’re here, I realized I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t do anything extra different during each pregnancy, besides worry and stews way more with you. With you and him, I carried, loved, and dreamed of so many things we would do. There’s nothing I could have done to change both outcomes. It’s just how it is and I know that now. In some crazy way, you and your brother both have taught me this in different ways.

I’ve forgiven myself and one day when you have to do the same, I hope you know there isn’t anything you could do that would ever prevent me in forgiving you.

Always be you.

I love you.


Sunrise – MWAH 2018

Dear Mila,

You and I are usually up at this time, but on this morning, we have a mission to complete. That mission is to actually take time and watch the sunrise.

This morning isn’t just another one, its the start of May and a project I’ve done for two years now. It’s the first event that honors your brother that you’ll experience outside the womb. May We All Heal 2018 is about sharing a person’s grief and for bereaved mothers all around the world to talk about their babies gone too soon. It lets us all know we’re not alone in this journey and there’s so many people rooting us on. For me though, I’m going to show you a little more of your brother and the love that is so strong, death couldn’t even break it.

Yes, I know you hear about Jensen every day and see his picture all around the house… but this month’s project will let you know him a little more. It’ll let us all interact with each other and create memories in our own special way. Everyday I’ll write you a letter and we’ll document each prompt with a picture. It’s my hopes that you’ll be able to look back on this when you’re a little older to see how much you both mean to me.

Here’s to May, Mila, and our first sunrise we watched together. Always know your big brother shines his light down on your and tells the birds to sing you sweet songs.

May we remember, honor, and continuously love our boy in heaven.

I love you,


Learning to Give Into My Grief. 

I find moments full of him.

In the darkest of days, your colors shine through. I remember the strength of your kicks while music plays. You’re the first and last thought in my mind. With each step I take, I think of whom I keep going on for. 

Today someone noticed your footprint. They didn’t know about you, but I was so proud to tell them it was my son’s. I showed you off with pride and felt my heart swell. Your whole story wasn’t told, but you impacted someone’s life today. These are the moments full of you that I wish I had all the time. 

I’ve purposely been wearing blue and orange and my Jensen jewelry a lot lately. It’s been sort of a crazy two/three weeks. Sometimes, it feels like I haven’t even taken a breath. All I have been doing is studying, assignments, subbing, and working. It’s so draining. My grief is on overdrive and I know it’s because I haven’t been spending time with my heart lately. In those busy moments though, I find him. 

Today, I kept thinking how I haven’t blogged in awhile. Some part of me is trying to gear up for next month, Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month.  The other part is so tired from being busy, my mind just has no more words. I’ve been looking forward to this September. The two books I contributed come out this month, one day where you can find, here. I’m excited to be able to share Jensen and I’s story and to help other loss parents out. It’s huge. I wish my body and mind could let me be more excited. 

My energy is just so spent. 

Life after loss is give and take. Tonight, this Tuesday, Jensen’s day, I’m giving in and letting myself feel. We all need days like today and moments full of our little loves. 

MISS Foundation Kindness Project – 2017

I’ve had a very productive Random Acts of Kindness Day. 

Last year was the first time I participated in Project Kindness, which was created by the MISS Foundation in 1996. It was a really happy day for me, which was crazy because I was only three months out from Jensen’s birth. That was a time where it was hard for me to find the light, but taking part of this day last year made me smile and laugh out loud. 

This year, the day sort of snuck up on me. Instead of being way prepared like I was last year, I saw the post last night and it registered that it was today. So, I woke up, got ready, and left. 

My first stop was to Starbucks. The community hasn’t always had one of these, but I thought I would make my way there. There’s a big drive through and it’d be perfect to start a chain through of kindness through that. After I ordered my drink, I told the girl at the window (who was one of the nicest people I’ve ever met) that I wanted to pay for the person behind me and if she could please give them Jensen’s card. 

Turns out, the lady behind me got the same exact drink as I did. 

I had other errands to run today and at one of them, I donated to their foundation. Even though I couldn’t officially donate in Jensen’s name, I did it for him. 

After that, I went to go buy some flowers. 

This is my favorite act of kindness. I’ve always loved getting flowers and I imagined Jensen picking them for me. It’s a very special act that I can do and it’s really easy to just leave on someone’s window. I’d like to think it’s a happy surprise for them. 

At the store I buy them from, I saw this bright orange wrapping and knew those were the ones I was going to buy. They reminded me so much of Jensen. Then I found a few cars and left then on their windshield. It’s always funny to look back at me scurrying from my car to theirs. I probably look like an idiot, but it makes me laugh when I sit back inside. It’s such a rush. 

Last, but not least, I took some flowers for my mom. She’s done so much for me all of my life and through my losses. I’ll never be able o thank her enough. Hopefully having some fresh flowers in her house will give her some happiness. I put them in one of her vases, left a note signed from Jensen and I, and set them on her island. 

These acts of kindness might not seem elaborate, but they don’t have to. In doing these, I hope it gives that person a reason to smile. For me, it’s a way I can raise awareness about pregnancy and infant loss and to share Jensen’s love. 

If you’ve found my page from one of the acts I did today, I’d love to hear from you! Thank you for looking more into my little gift to you. 

‘Your Loss Makes Me Uncomfortable’ and Five More Things I’ve Heard.

Last year I wrote this post about hurtful things I had been told only four months into losing Jensen. It’s been one of my most read post and I think by sharing things that are painful to hear will help others know what they’re saying is hurtful.

Now fifteen months into my loss journey, on top of my miscarriage, there are comments said to me that really sting. Sometimes hearing them is just the tipping point of a complete grief attack. It’s horrible. Deep down I believe a lot of these are just a person trying to help, but it’s a little misguided. Other times it’s just complete cruelty from a person. I’m not sure if that stems from not having any empathy/sympathy for a person or they just don’t care.

With all that being said, here’s part two of my original post. As with any of my posts that could come off distasteful, this isn’t me trying to put anyone down. If you have said any of these things, I’m not calling you out. This is purely just to help break the stigma of child loss and open the conversation of how to treat the bereaved. Of course, every person is different and what bothers me may not effect the next.

Your loss makes me uncomfortable.

Oh, I’m sorry that my child who died makes you uncomfortable, I guess I’ll act like it never happened so you’re okay. HA.

Guess what death and grief is uncomfortable and I live with that every second of the day. Losing a child is hard, sad, and really indescribable. The moments I get to talk about Jensen and the love he brought into my life are the ones I treasure the most. If I’m sharing him with you, that means a lot. Yet, when I hear how uncomfortable you are about my stories and his pictures… it makes me never want to share him.

Of course I keep sharing him because that’s what makes me happy. Babies who have gone so soon shouldn’t be hid away, they should be celebrated.

At least it was an early loss, it doesn’t hurt as bad.

This has made way in the mix of comments since losing Jensen’s little sibling. I was ten weeks, which was a lot less time with that little baby then Jensen. Our time together wasn’t ‘long,’ but it was that child’s whole life. The moment I saw that pregnancy test flash positive, I was over the moon with happiness.

Then he or she died and I tumbled down.

Pregnancy and infant loss, heck any loss, hurts. It doesn’t matter how long with a person you had, they still mattered and made a difference. Honestly, people told me this with Jensen too. That it was a good thing I wasn’t attached to him because he hadn’t taken a breath outside my womb. My question with this comment is how long is long enough time with your child that losing them starts to hurt?

That’s in the past. You need to live in the present.

My eyes roll so far in the back of my head every time I hear this.

Yes, believe me, I know how many weeks and days it’s been since Jensen and his sibling died. Just like I know that I’m in this day right now. This comment usually is said when I’m having a bad day because I don’t have enough strength to look my ‘okayest’ on the outside.

It doesn’t matter how long it has been, my life should be different. My present should not be how it is now. Jensen should be walking around all over the place and I still should be growing his baby sibling inside my belly. When you look at it like that, how could you not understand why the present is so hard? Their death is deafening. Loss parents try their best to keep moving forward, never leaving their children and their memories behind, and continue healing in the best way they know how. We are living in the present we never thought was possible, don’t judge us while we’re trying to figure it out.

You can always have more.

This was on the last list too, but I think it’s important to mention it again.

Maybe you’re right and maybe you’re wrong. I don’t know infertility rates off the top of my head, but I do know there are tons of men and women who are battling to get pregnant. There’s also this little thing called secondary infertility. Just because someone was able to get pregnant before does not always guarantee a future pregnancy.

Let’s take this in another direction, that I’m all too familiar with. What happens if you do get pregnant and that child dies too? Yeah, that’s real talk. The truth a pregnancy doesn’t always result in a living child. Multiple loss happens to so many parents.

My advice on this one, mind your own business. You never know what’s happening behind the scenes.

I couldn’t go on if my child died.

Each time I’ve heard this I’ve wanted to scream.

One, I’m not strong or cold-hearted to have ‘kept going on’ after Jensen’s death. There’s really only two options of what I could do. First, try to make sense and keep moving forward in life after loss. Second, not go on. That was nicely put. When you say you couldn’t go on, you’re implying you would die if you children did. So frankly the other option I would have is to just die and then it would be pity her she couldn’t handle life.

Two, when you say this, it feels like you’re downplaying the love I have for my child and the pain I feel. The truth is you can never predict how you’re going to react after you child dies, but you have the two options I stated above: to keep going on or taking your own life.

So you have NO children.

This is a newly inspired comment to add to my list of horrible things I’ve heard. If you haven’t heard the whole episode of what happened during my post-op appointment, you can read it, here.

I’m going to put this in a perspective anyone could understand. If your mother dies, are you still her child? Is she still your mother? Does death take away the relationship you had with her? If you answered, yes, yes, no. Then you should understand why hearing this would make you livid. Now, let me flip the switch. If you died, right now as you’re reading this, would your mom still be your mother? Or would your death just take that away from her?

She would still be your mom, just like I’ll always be Jensen’s and this little baby’s. Death does not take that time away. It steals your future, of course, but not the unique relationship with that person. SO, how could a person look at a mother who has went survived pregnancy and infant loss and tell her she has no children. It’s cruel and completely untrue.

Again, this post is not written to throw anyone under a bus. It’s meant to help educate to make others aware that child loss is a real tragedy and words really can hurt.

This isn’t how it was supposed to be. 

It was a coincidence that I pulled a blue and orange popsicle out of the freezer this afternoon.  They’ve always been my favorite summertime snack, especially on hot days like these. My parent’s fridge is usually stocked with them and today was no different. With my no look grab, my heart skipped a beat. 

A little hello from Jensen to his mama. 

My grief has been complex these past few weeks.  Year two has… well it has been complete crap. I wake up every morning wondering when the nightmare is going to be over. It hits me, daily. He was here then he died and I can’t do anything to get him back. Those facts are excruciating to face, yet it is my constant reality.   Somehow I’m able to carry one with my day to day life though. Not without thinking of him, that has never wavered. 

It’s weird to say, but as your grief progresses you learn to live with being eternally sad on the inside. You find a rhythm of this post loss life. Yes, it hits you every morning that your child is gone, but, for me, I have found ways to incorporate him in the day to day. Just like I would if he was physically here. 

So why did it shock me to see the orange and blue pipsicles today? 

Anytime I get a sign from Jensen I stop and appreciate it. I say hello back and tell him I love him, always stay close. Then there’s some kind of rip from the present reality. I look around and see how different today would be if he was here. The picture up top… that’s not how it should be. 

I can easily picture my little boy, all lathered in sunblock in his little swim outfit looking up at me. Like, ‘mom, it’s hot and the pool is cool.’ Instead of me floating here writing this to you all, I’d be watching him float in whatever his raft would look like or he’d be napping inside. So many differences then getting my popsicle sign. 

This isn’t how it was supposed to be. It never will. As a loss parent, I’ll always see where Jensen would playing or walking with me. These signs, they’ll always let me know he’s close and I’m thankful for that, but these reality…. it will never be how it should. 

It’s not okay that it’s that way, but I’m doing my best.