All My Angels

I was shocked on Valentine’s Day to learn that I was pregnant. I didn’t believe it. A part of grieving is that you are very cautious and unbelieving when something happens that could make you relive the initial thing that caused you grief.

I wasn’t going to believe it until the doctor told me it was true. Til I had. A healthy baby in my arms and in my home. My “true” was my doctor locating a gestational sac on my uterus. Telling me that everything looked great.

My hCG levels were lower than with Gianna but still rising all the same. Of course I was skeptical and worried, with worst-case and scenario, in my mind, being the end all be all.

They were rising… until they started dropping. And then the spotting. After a trip to the ER at six weeks pregnant they showed that I was still pregnant and my endometrial lining was still thick. It was classified as a impending or possible miscarriage. Which any bleeding during pregnancy is classified as that. 

My hCG went up, my hCG went down, my hCG went up and then down again. I got jabbed about 15 times during this pregnancy. Every 2 to 3 days for two months. 

Back to the ER several times for cramping. I started to spot again – the dr determined that my uterus was now empty and I had lost the baby . 

I went on accepting the fact that I had lost the baby. At around 8 weeks.

Then I had extreme abdominal pain to where I couldn’t even move, on the floor screaming in pain. And alone. I called 911.

At my trip back to the ER they determined that I was indeed still pregnant, I had another baby. I’m my Fallopian tube. That tube was now starting to rupture and cause internal bleeding into my abdominal cavity which was making me experience extreme pain. It was an early rupture and was going to get worse. My options were surgery or methotrexate shot. (Chemotherapy)

I opted for the shot. It made me so ill I couldn’t even make it home without pulling over on the side of the highway to vomit. I drove home and laid on the bathroom floor getting sick all night.

It was a few more weeks before I actually passed the second baby. That did not happen until I was nearly 11 weeks pregnant, on March 29, 2017. The first birthday of Gianna. I know that our baby girl came to take her little brother or sister home with her. I hope they are at peace and know they looking down on us and waiting for us to come home.

The pain is with me every day, I smile through it and occupy my mind with other things. I smile and “play nice”. But I walk in my grief every day, even when no one else does. Even though I’ve tricked everyone into thinking I’m “over it”, It has become part of me and is constantly being added to. I’ve come to accept that.

This is my grief, this is my life.


I’m Sorry

I let you down, I know I did.

Both of you, all of you.

I wish I could have done something to save her, anything. But all I did was sit there, not doing anything & not knowing what was wrong.

Not believing what would happen.

It was the happiest I had ever seen you, even to this day. All I heard was that this was all you had ever wanted. And how you wouldn’t pick anyone else in the world to be your child’s mother, I was perfect.
We were perfect.

This was perfect.

Coming to the hospital while I was in labor to see our daughter. You expected to see this beautiful little girl, with her pretty brown curls, wrapped in her blanket and pink hat.

I let you down.

The first time you saw her was dying in the NICU, after the doctor has already began her end.
Not knowing what was happening to her, and I was sure that my prayers would “work”, All I could think about was how mad you must be at me to have allowed this happy moment to be ripped from you.

I let her down. I didn’t save her.

I let you down. I didn’t save her. Our sweet baby girl.

I didn’t save us.

The “I should have…” and “If I had only…” thought invade every thought of her, of us. Maybe if I had only done this one thing, or said this one thing, then you would be running around the house with your gmfirst born child right now.

The past year this has weighed heavily on my mind and heart. How could I ever be good enough again, how could I ever make you happy again? I let your daughter, who, as a mother, I was supposed to protect and do anything I can to protect, die.
Every fight, every disagreement…this is what I feel like it comes down to. I’m not worthy of either of you. And I have tried the past year to do whatever I can to make it up to you.
It wasn’t easy and it wasn’t possible either.

We both hold resentment for the whole situation. I allowed her to be taken.

I crushed your dreams & you (we) haven’t been the same since. Every day all I see is black and white, no matter how I try to hide it, I’m destroyed at the pain I’ve seen you both go though, the pain I feel I could have prevented.

My precious child, I’m sorry I couldn’t save your life.

My love, I’m sorry I couldn’t save us.

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You’re There

You’re there in the sweet smell of the first daffodils of spring, and I hear your footsteps in steady soothing beat of rain.

You’re there in the warm sand of the beach, as the waves hit the shore and lightly dance over my feet.

You’re there in the cool autumn breeze that playfully rustles the dry leaves on the trees.

You’re in each perfect and beautiful snowflake falling down from heaven to melt upon my cheeks, it’s then that I feel your sweet kisses.

You’re there when I wake, I welcome your morning hugs in each warm and radiant sunrise.

You’re there at the end of my day, your beauty colorfully painted across the sky with every fantastically golden sunset.

I treasure these moments that you show yourself to me and reach into my soul to give it a hug.

Although you’ve gone to heaven I know each time I speak your name you will always remain right here in our world.

And each time I think of you is a reminder that you’ll stay right here in my heart. We love you, Gianna!💕

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Christmas Without Her

(Happy Birthday…) Jesus, today is tough as hell!! The past few days were hard as well, seeing women that I was pregnant with celebrating Christmas time with their babies.

It’s not really like I can talk to anybody today about this empty spot I have in my heart because today is supposed to be such a joyous, happy, and blah blah blah day.

Well, you know what, I’m just not feeling it! Today was supposed to be Gianna’s first Christmas and in just four days she would be nine months old. The cute little Christmas outfit I bought her earlier this year will never be worn. It is still hung in my closet. A tiny rose gold taffeta skirt and glittery rose gold Mary Janes. With an adorable matching shirt with a golden deer with antlers that is printed with the words “Ohh Deer!”. Ohh how I pictured it on her just 9 months ago, envisioning her crawling around and so happy while she celebrated her first Christmas. She will never get to wear it.

365 days days ago she was warm and cozy in my belly while we took advantage of all the Christmas sales as we shopped for her first year of clothes and necessities. Never imagining for minute that they would never touch her beautiful skin.

While her three sibling have already witnessed the splendors of Christmas morning, open the gifts that Santa left, and left for a relatives Christmas dinner. My heart is broken into a million pieces and feel like I’m on this road alone, no one understands my pain and what I’m feeling today and certainly not a soul to talk to about it. It’s such a heavy burden to carry alone, I feel that even those who were involved have moved on. Not that I would even want to call these people and “bring them down” with my seemingly never ending grief. And the rest of the world has just gone about it’s frivolous spending,  self-centeredness, and fake smiles. While I am sat here alone with 3rd glass of wine, praying that my baby girl come back to me, if only in my dreams.

It’s all that I have room in my heart to ask for this lonely Christmas Day.

Merry First Christmas in Heaven baby girl, I hope your Christmas up there is everything and more than we could have given you here!

**Thank you so much Aunt Penni for this beautiful Christmas gift, it means the world to me today!! I love you!**

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6 months & a Lifetime.


It hurts just as bad today as it did on March 30, 2016.
I’m just better at hiding it now, for the sake of other people…to make them more comfortable. Cause God knows it hasn’t gotten easier, I’ve just adapted.
My mind hurts, my body hurts, my heart and soul still ache.

Today my sweet girl would have been 6 months old.

All these stuffed animals that sit atop my bedroom mantle would be played with by her, instead gathering dust.
Most of the cute clothes that still hang in the back of my closet she would have already grown out of.
She would be getting her first tooth and would be drooling all over everything in sight.
She would have been sitting up and already saying “dada” which I know would have made JR the happiest man on the planet.
If she’s anything like her oldest sister she will start walking soon and would hear those little feet pitter-pattering all around the house

I really don’t think that people understand what it means to lose a baby.
Yes she was only 1 day old. But I also lost the 6 month old that she would be today.
I will lose the little girl with big brown eyes and bouncy curls turning one year old.
I will lose the 5 year old starting kindergarten and losing her first tooth.
I will lose the 8 year old needing help with her homework.
I will lose the 13 year old who is sick and still wants to cuddle with her mama.
I will lose the 16 year old learning to drive.
I will 18 year old leaving for college.
I will lose her getting married and having a baby.

We lost it all.
And I will continue to lose her every minute of my life.
But I also must remember that nothing in the life is truly mine.
Everything belongs to Him. And though we already know we can lose anything at any moment, that will never prepare us…we still will grieve forever.

We love you sweet Gigi!


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Ten things I didn’t want to hear when my baby died.


I’ve been working on this exact post for a couple months.
JR and I had a “laugh” about the things people say that weren’t well though out a couple weeks after she passed, albeit through teary eyes….but we had a bonding moment through our grief. Coming together and connecting the ignorant outside world, somehow, to our dark world that was falling in around us. Somehow this gave me a glimpse of what was going out outside of my bedroom. My room that I kept dark with heavy drapes to keep out any glimmer of happiness, of sunlight, or of hope.
While that definitely wasn’t a turning point in my grief (is there one?!?) it was a moment what sticks out to me, in the depths of hell, that we bonded. A moment that I wasn’t balling my eyes out and wishing to go to heaven so I could hold my baby girl, the first moment that I didn’t feel like a messy sobbing burden to him but like an equal, someone who in fact *was* experiencing the same thing and feeling the same way. Even though the previous couple weeks we certainly had different ways of dealing with it my tears and sorrows suddenly felt normal and accepted by him. It was then that I knew then he felt the same way I felt and was dealing with others the same way I was.
(Just let me add…”You’re young, you’ll have another” – if you lost a parent would you feel this way?? You can alway have a stepmom, right?? 🙄🙄)

God bless all you folks for you know not what you say. Most of the time there are positive intentions behind it but, for future reference, we would rather you say nothing at all. Seriously a hug or “you’re in my prayer’s” holds INCREDIBLE weight!
Pray for us and our families in this difficult time.
Just pray.



“At least you can get pregnant.”

This is no comfort when my pregnancy ended without a child to hold. When you think of being pregnant you never imagine the aftermath consisting of empty arms and a heavy heart. Seeing two pink lines or the word “pregnant” on a test, doesn’t comfort me now I haven’t got the baby I envisioned to hold.

“At least you have Aurora and Tobias.”

Of course I am grateful for the two children I have living but they are not the baby I’ve just lost and as harsh as it may sound, they don’t make it okay either. There are people out there who don’t have any children to focus on when they experience the loss of a child, I understand that but it doesn’t take away the fact I have lost a child. I have lost a lifetime of birthdays, milestones and memories. The children I have are not the child/ren I have lost.

“God needed another Angel.”

It wasn’t until very recently in my life that I have discovered the church and have started on my journey with God. However, even if I had, it wouldn’t have made it any easier hearing this, how would you feel if God decided your child was the Angel he needed? Yeah, exactly.

“Everything happens for a reason.”

Maybe true, but it doesn’t take away my pain or heartache. It doesn’t change the fact that I STILL LOST MY BABY. It’s just a reminder that I’ll probably never know the reason I lost my child. I don’t care that “everything happens for a reason,” or what that reason was, no matter what – it’s a fucking shitty reason.

“You’ll have a real baby.”

Fuck off, MY baby was/is a real baby! Just because I didn’t get to raise him, it doesn’t mean he wasn’t a “real baby” – was it all just a figment of my imagination?! I THINK NOT.

“At least you weren’t further gone.”

Whilst my heart is so heavy for people who have lost their baby at full term or neonatally, IT DOESN’T TAKE MY PAIN AWAY. Losing a baby at whatever gestation is still that, loosing a baby. No parent should ever outlive their child, whether the child was an embryo, a fetus, newborn or a freaking adult. IT STILL HURTS, there is no “at least.” I lost MY child.

“I would have called but I didn’t know what to say.”

You know what? Right now I’m struggling for words too but I’m still here and whether you know what to say or not, its nice to know I’m not alone. I’m not a disease, I’m not contagious, I’m just hurting. Come for a cup of tea and if I need to talk, listen to me. If I don’t need to talk, just be there. That’s all I need. Its awful lonely having an empty womb where your future once lived. There is nothing wrong with silence.

“Next time…”

Don’t assume I’m going to just replace my baby with another pregnancy, chances are it’s the last thing on my mind right now. Maybe I don’t want another baby? Maybe this is where my journey to being a mother ends? It certainly feels that way right now. It’s not for you to assume. “Next time” isn’t important right now and wont make me feel any excitement, I’m hurting for now.

“Times a healer.”

THIS IS THE BIGGEST LOAD OF BULLSHIT. “Time” hasn’t healed me and it certainly hasn’t lessened the pain. Granted, overtime I learnt new ways to grieve and channel my emotions towards my loss but whether it’s been a week, a month or a year, my heart is still broken and there will forever be a piece missing. Time wont change that, my journey with grief has just helped me cope.

“Maybe it’s just not the right time.”

FOR WHO?! Because, to be honest, when I decided I was ready for another baby and it was time to start trying, I’m pretty sure I evaluated how we would manage, financially, realistically and emotionally. I’m pretty sure I decided it was the right time. I’m pretty sure that decision is really only down to me seeing as it is my life. Is there even a right time? I don’t know and I don’t care. I decided this was the right time and right now you making me question my decision on that IS NOT HELPING.

Please note: These are my views and how I felt, please don’t feel like I’m trying to talk on behalf of everyone who has lost a child. The loss of a child is very individual, as individual as the child you’ve lost and what might help one person, may hurt another. Please feel free to add your own to the comments.


I have lost my share of babies. In fact, it often feels like I’ve lost everyone’s share of babies. One in four pregnancies end in miscarriage according to statistics, SO WHY ON EARTH DID TWO THIRDS OF MINE END IN A LOSS?!

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Liquid Gold

What I wouldn’t give to have my little girl in my arms and snuggled up to my bosom right now.To have her feeding from my breast, being filled with the perfect meal that God and I have created just for her.

Shortly before she passed I pumped for her for the first and last time. In hopes that she would feed and allow the wholeness and restorative benefits of my milk give her strength to overcome. To give her those extra vitamins, minerals, and immunity to allow her to pull through.

A couple days after she passed my milk really came it. It was a very annoying reminder that she had died. That she was not here to enjoy me filling her tummy and putting her to sleep. 

Soaking through bras and shirts if I forgot to ball up toilet paper and shove it in my shirt. I was constantly reminded to her absence. 

Now I am on the other end of the spectrum. My milk production has drastically declined. Expected since there is no demand for it. This is also very hard for me. It is now a constant reminder that she is not here. That she is not in need of my body. She doesn’t need my milk. She doesn’t need me. And my body knows this.

But nearly 7 weeks since she passed and though others have, my body still has not forgotten that she was once here. She existed. She was formed in my womb and growing in my body, under my care, for 28 weeks and one day. I have always taken care of her, given her everything she needed to survive.

She never wanted for anything. 

Even now, in death, I still give my all to her.

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One Month

You would have turned one month old today.We would have celebrated your little mile stone in the NICU, just as we would have celebrated each week before.

I would have been at the hospital every day the past 30 days, changing you, dressing you, feeding you. 

The kids would have helped me to decorate your incubator with photos of your daddy and I, drawings from your siblings, a pretty sign with your beautiful name on it. (A very special name that daddy and I took months to come up with)

Not too long ago I would have started kangaroo care, holding you against my bare chest, your little curl covered head resting over my heart, comforted by each beat. Reminding you of the warm and cozy time spent in mommys belly, when you heard the same pulsating rhythm from inside of me.

The doctor and I would be discussing the things you would be working on in order to get you home in the next couple weeks. 

Suckling, maintaining body temperature, jaundice. But I know you’re strong, a fighter, this would be nothing for you.

Your room would be ready for you when you got home. All your blankets, and stuffed animals from your brother and sisters, your art work and pretty crib would be the same place it was the day you were born.  Instead of now being stowed away in the dark and dusty attic.

I miss you every day, and while this past week has been especially difficult I can’t help but think about how our lives would be so different if you were still here with us. What our schedule would be every day, the things you would like, the sound of you cooing, the sweet way you would cuddle curled in my arms sleeping with me, and how cute you would look while you slept.

I know this will continue and possibly get harder sometimes, especially when your birthday comes around. I’ll try to hold back my tears baby girl, but that is something that I’ve never been very good at. Just know when you see me cry, my tears are my love for you. 

And they will never run out.

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Beautiful Things

 Today was bittersweet.

A mix of emotions.

Sad that she is gone but glad to have her home.

She near us for me to talk to when I think about her, for her brother and sisters to talk to and hold. Today I have her home, near us every day, while it may be on our mantel and not safe in her bassinet like I would like, I have her home. It’s the path we’ve been given to walk and no matter how bumpy and broken and terrifying it is, we must walk it.

So today I’ll take my baby girl into my hands and smile knowing though her body is with me, her beautiful soul is in heaven waiting for Mommy to come take her hand so we can continue the walk down our path.


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Smiles and Sunbeams

I wish I had done more for her, seen the signs, spoke up. It’s my job to protect her, that’s my only job. Sometimes I feel like failed her, her father, her siblings. But I know I can’t think like that, it will get me nowhere but a deep and dark hole. 

I know we miss them terribly but we can’t beat ourselves up. I like to think that they are smiling down from heaven happy that we can be strong, happy when we smile thinking about them, happy when we reminisce on their ninja kicks in our belly, happy that even though we would have liked for their time with us to be longer, meeting them was the best day of our life.💗

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