Another missed day


I’ve been Moody and emotional all week. I know I have. I’ve tried to hide it, but I haven’t done the best job. It’s all lead up to today. Today I watched the yellow school bus go down our road past our house without a hesitation. Pre-K doesn’t start until next week, but still, that bus should be stopping at our house for the first time today. But it isn’t.

I should have two little anxious girls waiting to get on for their first day if kindergarten. Willow would have a bow in her hair. I can see a Shopkins shirt, a cute little skirt, and the silver legging she begged for with her ballet flats. Her over sized backpack bouncing with her excitement.

Hazel would have a short hair style like mine. She’s more of a wild child Tomboy. She’d have on a pair of basketball shorts and an Adidas tee with her light up sketchers. Her toes would be digging in the rocks waiting for the bus. Hazel would be giving Willow the side eye for talking the whole time not shutting up about their first day.

Instead, I have silence. Deafening silence. No children waiting on the bus today. In a week there should be 3 backpacks hung by the door, not just one.

They aren’t here, but I can see them. I didn’t get to have them with me long, but in that short time their personalities bloomed and shined brightly. So bright I can still see the faint light and make out the silhouettes of their absence in my life.

I can see them every day in their little brother, so strong willed and ready for anything. I’m thankful for that.

Thank you for contacting me this weekend my friend, you know who you are. You should have a little boy starting with my girls and you can feel the string tugging at your heart too. The other end tied to little fingers you will never forget. I love you, and thank you for always remembering too.

So if you see me silently shedding a tear this week, know it’s becsuse it’s just yet another first I’ll miss… and it won’t be the last.


Depression. It sucks. It doesn’t go away. Most of the days it’s there, just tucked away with medication. Kept at bay. 

This last week though, it’s been taking over, trying to win. It’s presence is heavy. Like a thick dense air. You have to breath it to stay  alive, but the thickness and dank make you feel like you are drowning on dry land. 

It’s been a struggle to just get out of bed. Today, I slept in. My 3 year old Rainbow brought his iPad into the bed and watched cartoon while I drifted in and out. I couldn’t get myself out of bed until 11 when he was hungry. I sent him to the kitchen for a Poptart. It worked, but then he was thirsty. That. That he can’t do on his own. 

I got him food and a drink and then moved my blankets to the couch. It continued there. After a 4 hour nap late in the afternoon with my son, my husband came home and took him into the living room. I stayed in bed until after 8 PM. This is when my husband forced me to get up. 

I didn’t feel right. I feel off. Like I’m in a weird dream state.  He doesn’t get depression. How could I be depressed with my son around? Why didn’t he ‘fix’ everything? Trust me. I want to know why too. 

I could hear my son tell daddy that mommy was sad again. It hurt even more that my three year old can tell. I wondered why he was askin for a hug every 20-30 minutes the last few days. Hugs fix everything. Even a broken mommy. 

My son sees my depression, which makes it worse. I don’t want to be depressed. Then don’t be, right?

It’s not that simple. 

I wish it were. 

Hopefully this passes soon. I don’t like myself like this. I don’t want my son seeing it. I hate the feeling of being useless and broke.  I hate the thoughts that come along with it. I hate IT. 

No, this isn’t a coded cry for help. It’s a look into depression if you’ve never had it. If you do, it’s familiar. It’s not deep depression, and it’s very mild. But it still sucks. 

An unexpected visit

Contains triggers/MENTS

This last week has been hectic. We were supposed to stay in a cabin in Gatlinburg for vacation coming up. That’s where we said our final Goodgye to the girls years ago (if anyone still follows this blog that remembers).  So, it was heartbreaking to see the news this past week. Not only for what TN is going through, but nknowing some key memory landmarks are destroyed. The girls’ 4th birthday would be the 9th, and things just started to collapse around me. 

Last night my husband wanted to cheer me up so he took pictures of our rainbow being a goofball by our Christmas tree and texted them to me. I posted the picture to Facebook and was looking at it….. 

Then, I started to shake uncontrollably and sob

My husband and rainbow ran to me. I could get the words out, I could just point. 

My husband’s face turned white and he said, “Is that…?”

I started nodding my head like an idiot. 

“Yes! Yes, it is! It’s them!”

You see, plain as day in the picture on the wall behind our rainbow were two little faces side by side. One a little easier to see than the other, but both there. 

Willow & Hazel showed up for the first time. They knew I needed them, and they wanted me to know that no matter where we are, they are there. The place doesn’t matter. 

A true Christmas Miracle. 

Willow’s ultrasound picture from the last few days pregnant with them. It’s one of those images that always sticks with me about my girls. 

Guest Blogging

Recently I was given the opportunity to submit some of my previous posts from this blog to  show as guest blogging for The Story of – Books.

The range of personalized child loss books are a valuable resource for all who have experienced the tragic loss of a child, these books are the perfect way to share your own child’s story with your family and friends. A gentle story of hope, it will remind you that we can experience the love and joy of a loved one, even when they are no longer with us here on earth.

I submitted my work and was chosen for the November Newsletter! You can read it on their blog at

I encourage all my fellow loss families to check out the books and to sign up for their newsletter at The Story of – Books. It was started by another fellow loss mom, and as we all know, we are one heck of a support community. ❤

Perfectly imperfect


My family is so incredibly perfectly imperfect. I didn’t envision saying this 4 years ago, but I’m happy where I am with my little family. There I said it. My heart is heavy for saying it, but it’s true. It’s hard to swallow that I could actually mean it, but I do. 

Part of me struggles, clawing its way into my mind screaming, “How the hell could you say that? How can you be ‘happy’ with where your family is? Damnit. Don’t year realize two of your children should be in that little family?!?”

That part of me has me feeling incredibly guilty. Has me feeling guilty that I love having my rainbow here. Not having living sibling for him, allowing me to spend every second focused on just him, not dividing my attention. That’s why we are perfectly imperfect. 

We are perfect for the circustances we were dealt. An imperfect situation in which we’ve built a family. 

I would give anything to have my daughters here too, but since I know that isn’t a possibility, I am absolutely content in our life. 

My son is not second choice. He isn’t a runner up to my daughters. He isn’t a replacement child. He is perfect. 

And…. For once I can honestly say, while pushing that little voice down, I’m happy with where we are and mean it. 

Hang in there. Your day will come too. 

The Process

May have Triggers/MENTS

Gentle reminder: Fostering isn’t for everyone. Adoption isn’t for everyone. Infertility treatments aren’t for everyone. Children aren’t for everyone. 
Each process is very personal and not entered lightly. Some do a combination of the choices, or choose to not have children. Some have no choice. 
The matter is, that this is their choice. Please don’t judge anyone or give advice on how they should proceed unless you are asked for it. 
For us, IVF was cheaper than adoption. We weren’t mentally prepared for Fostering. We wanted to keep the baby no matter what. We’ve been told by many the main goal of fostering is reunification with the biological family. If that isn’t possible, then adoption becomes an option. Reunification with the biological family wasn’t our goal at the time, so fostering wasn’t for us at that point. 
Adoption is out of our means entirely. Foster to Adopt is still in our sights and we have discussed it greatly for the future. But that is OUR decision. 
I am making this public so there is no confusion. Not everyone is comfortable with making their personal life public. I’ve witnessed some very nasty things said about infertility treatments when ‘there are so many that need homes.’ Unless you have been there, you don’t understand the process. It’s not like going to the grocery store and picking out a ripe melon. Google research doesn’t count either. 
However you decide to live your life, is the right way for you. Period. Not everyone else. 
Family is family no matter how it happens. Whether it is through fostering, adoption, foster to adopt, infertility treatments, a one night stand, an ‘accident’, giving the gift of a child to another, just you and your partner, only children in heaven, or just you and your pets. Family is defined by your heart. 


This is the first year we didn’t go to their graves for Easter, and I pretty much feel like shit about it still. It feels like we are missing more and more Holidays at the graves. I know they aren’t there, just their vessels, but still….. I feel connected to them there… at their final resting place.

I feel like more and more often, ‘life’ is getting in the way of being there with them. That sucks. They don’t have a ‘life’ to get in the way. They don’t get to busy or forget. They are dead. Dead.

It still feels funny to say it. Dead. My daughters are dead. It’s been over 3 years and it still feels awkward to say. My first 2 children are dead. Not alive. Buried at Springvale. Dead.

I don’t think it will ever feel ‘right’ to say it, don’t get me wrong. I just thought by now maybe it wouldn’t feel so foreign to say.

Grief is so… weird. Some days I can talk up a storm about them. Other days I feel like my heart is made of glass and every time I think about them, every time the blood pumps through my veins, with the very next beat of my heart without them, it will shatter into a million tiny reflective pieces. All reflecting the same glistening scenes….their deaths. Memories projected on to each shiny, sharp, surface. When I try to pick the pieces up, they slice my hands and my blood muddies up to picture.

Other days, I’m fine. Not the “I’m Fine,” that we lie and tell those around us who wouldn’t understand, but the real one. The one where I have found a way to continue to live and be happy.

I know, as time goes on here without them, I will to. I won’t get over it, or more on. Time just goes on. Whether we want it to or not….