May We All Heal | Life 

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Life truly began in this moment.

It was a pretty hot September day and I knew I was a few weeks pregnant. We went to our first appointment to confirm I was pregnant and we were going to get to see this little thing growing inside me. I was scared. Deep down, I knew he wasn’t ready and I wasn’t sure I was completely ‘ready’ either, but I knew I was already attached and protective.

Thoughts kept swirling around in my head. It didn’t help that I was being asked all these questions from this woman who was supposed to help me. She wanted to make sure I was ‘financially ready’ and ‘could handle the responsibility.’ I began questioning myself and fighting back and forth in my head, but I simply told her I was ready to be a mom. I have a house, a job, and a heart full of love for this baby even during these early weeks.

After being stuck in that room with her, they ushered me over to a dark room. It had a table I was supposed to lay on and a screen right at the foot of it. I was instructed to get undressed, just the bottoms. All of the sudden, I got extremely nervous. Now these thoughts of doubt and worry about what all could be wrong were popping in my mind. I laid down on the table and waited.

The ultrasound technician came in. She seemed happy. Before we began she told me all what she was going to be doing and of course I consented. Then the screen came on. It was bright even though it was mostly black. She rubbed my belly trying to find the baby, until she stopped.

Then my world lit up.

I saw him, before I even knew he was a him. My baby was right there, he looked like a little peanut, so small. She searched for his heartbeat and we got to see it on the screen, we couldn’t hear it with the doppler yet. I didn’t even mind, because I was so transfixed on the screen. On the little life that was inside me.

All those worrying thoughts slipped away. Every thought was on the life I created, the one I was growing.

When she asked if she could print his first picture out, I probably said yes a little too quickly. I couldn’t stop smiling and when she placed the ultrasound in my head, I put my finger over him. Like I was touching him, I instantly wanted to rush to April so I could physically touch him.

I have never felt this much love and I never felt more alive. Being this baby’s mom is what my life was going to be about.

My whole life began with the little one that grew inside me.

May We All Heal | Imagine

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I Imagine…

Waking up on a warm spring morning, filling my pink, mom cup with coffee before Jensen starts stirring. Somehow he’s already almost thirteen months old. He hears me just as I finish my last drink. The sun hits his crib in the most wonderful way. When I look at him, he’s already staring back at me with his big, hazel eyes. He smiles, of course. His blond, curly hair seems to have dark pieces intertwining as each day passes. I pick him up and the day begins.

After our morning routine of breakfast and getting dressed, I play him music. He loves to dance around and is always showing me these crazy dance moves he somehow learned. I’m hoping with all this dancing he ends up being better at it than me. His moves make me smile and laugh. I have to take pictures and videos to remember this moment. The house is fluttered with all the moments of the past year.

With the sun shining so brightly, I take him outside. The sun is shining so brightly and he continues to dance and play. His steps are getting more sure and stable. All of them so important and I know one day his footsteps will take him on great adventures. We’re outside for a while. I notice him picking the little flowers. He brings them over to me, proud that he found them. I take them and this pleases him, until he’s hungry again.

The day passes, almost too quick. I wish these day were unending. The sky starts to change and soon the stars will be twinkling. I open the curtains in Jensen’s room so he can stare outside as I read him his nightly story. He begins blinking slowly and more frequently. His hand starts to twirl his hair, but he’s hanging on to every word.

When he finally does sleep, I finish the book anyways. Then I hold him tight. I have my whole entire world in my arms. There is no pain or loss. Everything is just the way it needs to be.

But I’ll never get this day. It’ll always be just something I imagine.

Now imagine a love so big, that even though none of this can ever happen, my heart is still full.

Imagine this love that heals.

Mother Hearts Project.

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Next Sunday is Bereaved Mother’s Day… already.

April has completely flown by. It’s been one of the hardest months, but also filled with so much love and support. That’s not to say there hasn’t been any hard moments. It was full of them. Love always conquers though.

Back to Bereaved Mother’s Day. Here’s the quick history of the day. In 2010, CarlyMarie created a day for bereaved mothers to celebrate this specific motherhood. It’s created for moms who are mothering children in heaven and to connect to others. If you want to read more about it, click here. Anyways, each year there is a project moms can do and share on social media. Last year was show your mother heart, where you drew a heart on your palm and shared it. I was too much in a grief fog to participate, but I remember seeing all these beautiful hearts fluttered around Facebook and Instagram. A couple of weeks ago, she shared this years Mother Heart Project: We Carry Them In Our Hearts.

This is a play on ee cummings’ poem, ‘i carry your heart.’ Carly called out to mothers to take pictures or a short video of them placing their hand on their hearts. This picture could be taken anywhere, just a way to show where you carry your children. She’s choosing certain photographs and making a video that will be posted next Sunday.

Right after I read it, I knew I could join in on this. I was going to the beach and was going to take this amazing picture, but nothing felt right. This past week, I was dressed up and tried to take cute pictures while subbing and just around town. Still didn’t feel right. On Thursday night, with only hours to spare to turn in a submission, I was crying in Jensen’s room. I wouldn’t be able to do this.

Of course I called my mom to come over. I told her I was a failure. That I was letting Jensen down because I wasn’t able to take a picture and maybe it get put in the video. I told her I looked gross and I had been crying. Nothing was going the way I planned for this. Sound familiar?

Well, we took pictures all over the house. Deleted all of them. We were back right where we started, me feeling defeated on the futon in Jensen’s room. The very room I was supposed to feel exhausted, but happy to be mothering my sweet little boy. Before I knew it, we were capturing this moment.

Hands over my heart, look up, and I heard the iPhone make that picture sound. She smiled and said, this is the one and turned it towards me.

I hate this picture of me.

My eyes look so tired and you can tell I’ve been crying because my makeups a little smudged underneath. The shine from my face distracts me because I knew how many times I put my hands to me face. I see me being so exhausted and grieving and worrying about if I’m making Jensen proud or not.

Then I see the best part of the picture, his little hand over mine. Our hands holding both of our hearts so tightly. That’s what it’s all about.

I also the love in my eyes. I see Jensen’s cheeks and general face shape. His hands so very closely shaped like his mama. I see the bridge of his nose. There’s so much of me in him, besides that blond hair. This photograph is a grieving mom doing her best to mother her son who’s physically not here. It captures this crazy life that I hate and love, but it’s mine. I wouldn’t trade it for any one else’s.

Hopefully we’ll get to see my tired eyes on the video project Carly makes and if not, I’m proud I still did it for Jensen.

A little note for May.

I plan on writing or at least posting every single day. There will be some days I’ll be posting multiple times, especially in the first two weeks. I’ll be doing the May We All Heal Project, Still Mother’s The Mothering Project, and I’m apart of a group that will have writing prompts everyday for the first two weeks. A lot of things, but I think it’s much-needed where I am right now in my grief and healing journey.

As always, if you have any questions about any of the projects I’ve mentioned, please ask. On Jensen’s Facebook Page, I am doing a Mother’s Day name wreath. Feel free to request one and I will get it to you as quick as I can. Last little reminder, on my Etsy shop, Grey Woods Design, I am having a Mother’s Day sale. You get 15% off when you use the code: MothersDay. Hoping you all follow along this coming month and that they are gentle for of us.

There’s No Excuse Why My Child Died.

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I had a miscarriage.

Don’t worry, it’s not even like it was a real baby. Just a clump of cells.

My child was stillborn.

At least you didn’t get to meet them and see them alive.

I watched my child die in my arms after they spent their life in the NICU.

Good thing you didn’t bring them home and get too attached.

My child died from SIDS in infancy. 

These things happen, next time you’ll just have to watch more closely.

I’m in a constant battle with infertility.

Just relax, it’ll happen in its own time.

My child died in child/adulthood.

Be thankful you have all those memories with him/her.

I am a grieving parent.

Don’t worry, you can always try again.

There is no excuses when it comes to a child dying.

Unless you have experienced child loss, do not think there is solution to ‘get over’ or ‘move on’ from a mom or dad grieving. These ‘helpful’ phrases only create more pain.

This grief is uncomfortable. It’s sad, but it’s very real for so many of us. We do not need judged for how we grieve. There is not a timeline. If you wouldn’t say it about any other loss, then it does not need to be said about this type of loss. Our children are very loved and real. No matter if we lost them a day after we found out they were there or after many years.

Please think before you speak, you have no idea the war that we’re battling every. single. day.

A List of Five Positive Things in My Post Loss Life.

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April, Jensen’s month, has come and went to very quickly. The fact May will be here next week is absolutely crazy. A mix of the lingering sadness of Jensen turning one and the anxiety to what May brings has almost pushed me over the edge; and I only just got back from vacation.

This morning I was super triggered.

A big thought that circled my head was, I didn’t deserve Jensen and he was taken away from me because I was a failure. This was obviously emotionally charged. I don’t believe any of our babies died for a certain negative reason. BUT that didn’t stop my thoughts from making me feel like the worst mom in the entire world. I cried the entire way to therapy and even when I sat down on the couch to tell her about everything this month held.

She calmed me down. Told me my anti-self was in control right now and I knew she was right. After I spilled everything that was weighing on my heart, she gave me a list of suggestions to help my anxiety. It included laughing, reading out loud, and smiling at myself in the mirror. One really jumped out to me today and I wanted to share it with you all.

A list of five positive things in my post loss life to remind me there’s more in this world than grief, anxiety, and depression.

1. Jensen

Obviously, right?

The most love I’ve ever felt in my life revolves around him, even in death. From the moment I found out he was growing inside me and for the rest of my life (and beyond), I knew he would always hold the biggest piece of my heart. He brings me so much happiness and peace when I think of our time together. I literally use his name for grounding techniques during anxiety attacks. He walks with me through my life and I’m so happy he’s mine.

2. Family and Friends

Every family member and friend I have is as unique as they are to my grief journey. No matter if it’s a text to see how I’m doing or a whole day spent with them, they are so important to my life. They make me smile, laugh, and feel so very supported. Even when they don’t know what to say, they’re there for me. To listen and let me know that I’m going to keep moving forward. Most of all, they let me know Jensen will never be forgotten.

3. Leo and Poe

My two little kitties are such a positive light in my life. When I’m sad, they let me hold and pet them. They will find me wherever I’m crying and just sit there until I stop. Both of them are so different, but each know how to make me smile. Let me tell you, pets are such a stress reliever. It’s actually well talked about and proven that when you stroke an animal, your stress decreases.

4. Nature

The sun, wind, flowers make this heavy air feel so much lighter. Maybe being by the beach has this on the top of my head, but even today in my small, Ohio town, I felt so much peace. Seeing the trees and feeling the sun’s warmth on me relaxes me. Every part of nature is positive and healing to me. I’m so ready for summer to be here though!

5. The Loss Community

Without the loss community, I don’t know where I would be right now, besides feeling like a complete crazy person. Support is necessary and when I’m hurting I can reach out. The projects that take place throughout the year are so perfect and really help an aching heart. Through my tears today, I told my therapist how I was able to look forward to next month and it’s challenges, just because I know my tribe of beautiful mothers will be here to help me along.

The Hollowness I Feel in Motherhood. 

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I wish I had mother tattooed right on my forehead. Minus all the judgement I’d get with a giant word on my face. 

There’s moments where I feel like my motherhood is not validated. Especially with Mother’s Day coming up and the feeling there’s kids all around me lately. I can tell people are starting to forget. They don’t see me and instantly think, ‘her baby died,’ anymore. Which isn’t a bad thing, but the ignorant, mindless phrases feel like they’re surrounding me again. 

The year mark didn’t make me feel as if I was all better now. Most moments lately, I feel worse. As if I’m still waiting for him to start crying in his room so I can go pick him up. My life is a nightmare I’m still trying to wake up from. Losing Jensen and the aftermath that has come is the most uncomfortable experience. I haven’t stopped thinking about him. Not even for one second. Which makes it hard when people forget him or my motherhood. 

‘Danielle, those people’s opinions don’t matter. You’re the only one who gets to control your emotions,’ I constantly tell myself. 

This is your journey, your motherhood. No one can take Jensen and his memory away from you. You carried him for thirty-eight weeks and two days. All he ever known was love and the sound of your heartbeat. He loved you. You did your very best growing and birthing him.

But here I am. Lost in this grief wonderland and wondering if I’ll ever get out. 

My flashbacks have came back. Not of his birth or finding out he didn’t have a heartbeat, but the emptiness in Jensen’s home in those following weeks. It felt like this huge chunk of me had just be ripped out. The pain and hollowness was so eerie. I didn’t want to look in the mirror and see me so broken; maybe I didn’t look any different on the outside, but I saw what was missing. It was heavy and light all at once. The feeling was so unnatural. Maybe that’s what it feels like to be gutted. Trying to put everything back to where it goes, but you can just tell it’s not where it needs to be. Then there’s the urge to mother your child, by they’re not there. Everything happens. Your milk comes in, you can’t sleep, and your arms literally ache. The body naturally does those things, which makes losing your child even more unnatural. 

Those weeks, which would be this time last year, keep replaying. It doesn’t help with the story I heard last night on our ghost tour. 

The first woman hanged in Georgia was pregnant at the time she was convicted. Of course they wouldn’t kill a pregnant person, so she had to wait until her child was born. Her whole pregnancy she knew she was going to die. She had no idea what was going to happen to her baby afterwards and had no control over it either. The last months of her life, she grew this beautiful life inside her, but she couldn’t feel anything but dread until the day her child was born. I can’t imagine what went through her head. Would she have tried to bond with her child or be unattached? Did she have a name for him or her? What wishes did she have? Maybe there’s answers to all of these or none at all. 

After months of waiting, it was time for her child to be born. The baby was born and taken straight away from her and right after she was taken to meet her fate. She hung there in those last moments, wondering what was going to become of her baby and her soul. Her labor of love was taken right away from her. I wonder if she felt that emptiness and hollowness as she died?

What’s even more tragic about the story is her baby died a few hours after his or her mom. The guide didn’t say how or even the name and sex of the baby. Just that he or she died. I hope the baby didn’t feel that same feeling. After only feeling love and warmth for all those months, then being taken away from that to who knows where. 

I remember just feeling the pit in my stomach as I did last year. A big part of me wishes she knew her child died, so she didn’t have to worry about him or her. They’d be together in the end, but she had no idea. She thought she was just leaving and the baby would never understand why. And the baby only wanted his mother. I don’t know whether it’s terrible or happy that they got to be together so quickly. 

When the story settled down on me as we drove home, I kept thinking about how her whole love was forgotten. No one says her child’s name, just that their mother was the first woman hanged in Georgia. 

I know that’s not my situation, but it resonated with me. The emptiness after giving birth and her knowing she’d never see her child grow up… I feel that. I want Jensen’s name to be remembered too. Maybe not in a ghost tour, but through the love I have for him. I don’t want it to be poor Danielle, her babies death caused her so much pain. It should be the love Danielle has for Jensen has brought her so far in his absence. He has brought her so much happiness in her tragedy. 

Or maybe I’m just being overly dramatic and none of this makes sense. Yet, this is how I’m feeling and I always keep it real with you all. 

This Still Mother’s Thought from the Beach. 

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Guilt. It manifests in forms you never knew existed until it smacks you right in the face. Believe me, I’ve went more than ten rounds with it in the past year of grieving. Even when a person shouldn’t feel guilty about their actions and thoughts, grief puts it out there for them. 

Being at the beach should be relaxing, right? In some aspects it is. The sun is shining so brightly and is warming me more than I’ve felt in a long while. I smell the salt from the ocean and the sound of the waves almost puts me to sleep. This is a dream spot for so many people. The beach has always made me so happy. I can escape from everyday problems and just focus on the healing vibes. Well, I should say Danielle from before could escape her everyday life problems. The bereaved can’t just escape the immense loss they continuously carry. 

Let me just say, I love my son more than anything. I smile every time I think of him and can so vividly picture him in my mind. He truly is my everything. Even when I feel his absence crushing me, I can pull myself back with my love for him. 

That being said and widely known, the grief and guilt I feel without him is miserable. Yes, I get lost in my Jensen moments, but when I resurface and it all hits again, I feel so exhausted. I can’t relax. It feels like trying to jump the crashing waves over and over again. This vacation I’m on is beautiful, but I see where he is missing every moment. And it’s not as simple as pushing him out of my mind. I carry him wherever I go and will never deny these thoughts or feelings. 

This is just how my life is. I won’t apologize for loving and missing him. 

But this guilt and the thoughts I’ve had sitting on the beach trying to focus on it’s healing aspects make me want to break down. I know you’re thinking, what could possibly be that terrible? I’ll always answer the death of my child, but it’s so much more too. 

If Jensen was alive I wouldn’t be here on the beach. 

If we were here, we’d have so much fun making sand castles. 

I wish I had to wipe of his sandy toes instead of the sand of his footprint on my foot. 

How much sunblock would I need to put on him today?

Flinching every time my twenty minute alarm goes off, knowing another baby is stillborn in the United States. 

Would he be playing with all the other children here today?

All these kids look so happy and their parents are proudly watching them. 

I wish they could see the little boy that’s always in my thoughts. The one that’s playing with their children right now. 

How many more babies would be here? 

Frantically counting how many women are here and thinking of the one in four statistic. 

Can I just got push their kids down so I don’t have to see what he’d be doing. 

You’re a jerk for even thinking you want to push a kid down because of your pain. 

How can you be enjoying your time when Jensen’s been gone for more than one year? 

When will this ever get easier?

Never. 

I can’t lie, grief and child loss is exhausting. A little over a year out, it has not gotten easier. There’s no ‘fixing’ me or these thoughts. This is my reality now and I’m learning how to live my life with it. Living without your child is something I would never wish on anyone. Even with that said, there are people battling internal wars all the time. 

Even at the beach where they ‘should be’ relaxed. 

This mama is going to try her best with not feeling guilty. I’m wishing you all gentle weeks as we approach Mother’s Day. Always remember, you’re never alone.  

The Last First.

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Easter. The one holiday my anxiety decided to take a vacation on. I didn’t feel the sadness of not taking Jensen to get his picture with the Easter Bunny and I only once wanted to buy this perfect navy basket for him. Honestly, this has been the only holiday that hasn’t bothered me during my whole grief journey.

Or so I thought.

When I woke up this morning, all the usual build up hit all at once when I opened my eyes. All the pain and anxiety paralyzed me and the should be’s flooded my mind.

I should have been the Easter Bunny and hid his basket.

Jensen should be waking me up and be in his Easter outfit.

He should be quizzically looking at me while he dug into his basket.

We should be going over to his grandparents house, getting ready for the Easter egg hunt.

All the littles should be taking their picture together.

I should be taking a picture with my son on his first Easter.

My life should be so different.

All of the moments today I wish I could have that I never will. It hurts. I never had a certain outfit picked out for him for his first Easter, but I can imagine he’d be in blue and a hat. He would be stumbling while trying to pick up the eggs that will be scattered in the yard. They’ll still be scattered, but one little egg hunter won’t be physically present.

I’ll tell you, it’s normal for me to picture where Jensen would be every day. But on the days where everyone’s there and I can so easily put him where he needs to be… it takes my breath away.

The other part of today that I wasn’t prepared for was how this is the last first. I thought when his first birthday passed, so did all the other firsts. He was still here during Easter last year. Safe inside my belly. I didn’t take in account that Easter moved around, that I would have to face his first Easter after his birthday. It hit that it was the last first that I’ll encounter with Jensen. That feeling I wasn’t prepared for and I don’t know if I would have ever been able to prepare myself. There’s also a feeling of Easter last year being the last, last. Of course there’s the last movements and the last time seeing him, but this was the last holiday with him.

I can remember that Easter so vividly. We were talking about what would happen if our children would pass. At that point, I never imagined he could die before he was even born. I’ll never forget what I said.

“If Jensen would ever die, I wouldn’t hurt myself or go to be with him. He wouldn’t want that for me. He would want me to live my life to the fullest for him.”

Those words ring in my ears during my lowest lows.

I’ll keep doing my best for him. This last first will be lived to the fullest for the boy who can’t get the Easter eggs laid out for him. The boy who will never get a picture with the Easter Bunny. The one who will forever hold my heart.

Gosh, I miss him. So much it hurts every part of my body and soul. I’ll never stop missing him or remembering the time I spent with him. It was the happiest thirty-eight weeks of my life. I’d never, ever give them back, but I’ll always wish something could have changed so I could have him here with me.


Thank you so much to everyone who has helped honor Jensen with me today. It means the absolute world. 

Happy Easter to you all. 

Happy Birthday, (Grand)Dad! 

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There are people who are meant for certain roles in their lives. Some are meant to be mothers and fathers. Some are meant to be teachers or firefighters. There’s an infinite number of roles a person can be. 

I was a lucky little girl. My dad did everything he possibly could to make our family’s life the best it could. He would work to get us whatever we wanted. There have been many weekends he took us on surprise trips, just to make memories. He let us bury him in the sand and ran around in his Superman towel to transform into the hero we all knew him to be. My dad made us smile whenever he could and that’s the best gift he could give a little girl. 

Although it seemed like he was destined to be a Dad, I would beg to differ. To me, he was destined to be the greatest grandpa ever. Which I know I shouldn’t say because my grandpa was pretty great. BUT I know deep down that the best grandpa title goes to my dad. 

I can’t tell you how excited he was for Jensen. How much he helped me during my pregnancy. He helped with his nursery and even put together the car seat and stroller. Thankfully because I would never have gotten it by myself. He joked how I should be painting Jensen’s room black and yellow instead of orange and blue. When I would come home from an ultrasound, he would look at every picture. Most times I’m not sure if he knew exactly what he was looking at, but he did anyways. 

When Jensen was born, he held him. Not once, not twice, but three times. He told me how perfect he was and that he looked like me. The loss of his first grandchild, ever, hit hard. On all of us, but I know for him for sure. He read all the pamphlets and let me know this was one thing he wouldn’t be able to fix. But no matter what, he’d be there for me.

And he was. 

I remember when we got Jensen bear in and he took a selfie with him. He held him and I knew he remembered that weight from the months before. My dad was there with me when we walked the remembrance walks. A proud grandpa remembering his grandson. He said his name with me at Jensen’s brick ceremony and laid the flower down at the Angel of Hope’s feet. During Christmas time, he lit candles in honor of Jensen, most of the time he was helping mom and I keep ours lit. On his grandson’s birthday, he did everything he could to keep it running. He brought over chairs and got the fire going. When we sent the balloons to heaven, Dad was right there making sure Jensen got them. 

This whole year my dad has honored his grandson in every way he could, so beautiful. 

Today we honor my dad on his birthday. I wish it was so different and that Jensen was with us too. In some ways I know he is, wishing the best grandpa the happiest of birthdays. 

So, Happy Birthday Dad! This day is all about you and how great of a person you are. To me you’re the best dad, but I know your best role is Jensen’s grandpa. 

We love you so much. 

What Happens Next?

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I didn’t know if there would be some kind of epiphany that would happen when Jensen turned one or what? The anxiety driven part of my brain told me this day would be a turning point. For some reason, I felt like I had to decide between these two extremes of how to honor Jensen during year two and beyond: privately or publicly. Which sounds really crazy because I’ve shared almost everything in the past year. Yet, in the lead up, I kept questioning if I should keep going on.

Is this still helping me?

Is this still helping others?

Do I just seem like a crazy person?

Maybe the question I was meaning to ask myself wasn’t if I wanted to keep sharing or not. I think it was more of me questioning if it would be socially acceptable to keep sharing in the way I am. Even though I’m the person that will tell someone else not to worry about what others think, I worry. In our culture, a year is well passed time to ‘heal.’ Although, I can tell you I wept most of the weekend because I missed Jensen so much. Year two is going to hold a lot of hard moments. Ones that will knock me on my feet, just like year one. It will also hold light moments full of love. Just look at his birthday celebration. The notion of me needing to be completely healed is ludicrous. What is completely healed anyways?

Throughout this whole time of sharing, I’ve felt healing with every word I’ve written.

The answer to my let-me-question-everything-I’m-doing to honor Jensen and have me heal seems pretty simple. Just because Jensen turned a year old doesn’t mean everything has to completely change. There wasn’t a sign to tell me to stop sharing or anyone who told me I was crazy for sharing his birthday. It all felt like my new normal.

So, what happens next? 

In short, I keep writing and sharing as to what I see fit. As long as it’s still helping me and other parents who are experiencing loss, I don’t see why not. But what will she write about?

Fortunately, I was numb this time last year. That’s how I was able to get through Jensen’s funeral and Mother’s Day. Easter is coming up this Sunday and it’s the first one I’ll spend without Jensen. There’s going to be a lot of grief that I have never even thought of that will happen and I want to share those moments. In May the May We All Heal Project is happening, which I’ll be sharing everyday (hopefully on here, but definitely on Instagram).  There’s also Bereaved and regular Mother’s Day, which will be interesting to feel and experience past the numbness. SO many sharable moments just in the near future.

I’d also like to talk more about mental health, like I did about PTSD. It was good for me to share my experiences with that and to let others know they’re not alone in those thoughts and feelings. Maybe I could even delve into more about PTSD and bereaved parents. Who knows? Most topics are just going to happen naturally. Nothing in the last year has been forced and neither will this second year of blogging through grief.

Most importantly, I’m going to share more about Jensen. I’d love to share his close up picture and maybe even more. There has been so many memories from my pregnancy that I didn’t share last year, that I may or may not get to this year. I just know that I’d like to be able to share and show him off as much as I can. Obviously I’m one proud mama, so I have a lot to talk about.

No matter what I write about this year, I’m going to keep sharing how Jensen continues to walk with me through my life. There will be a plethora of footprint pictures and ones of his ultrasounds in nature. I’m not done sharing and I don’t see it stopping any time soon. It is my hope that you all keep walking with me through this messy journey of loss and love.