For about a week now I’ve been debating whether or not I should write about the anniversary of losing our little one.  It almost seems odd to annually discuss such a traumatic event, however, a part of me thinks that if I don’t say anything, then I’m not fully honoring the baby…that I’m not being fully transparent.  There is comfort in writing about it, and the very essence of this blog is to create a space of vulnerability and relate ability.  If my words lend comfort to somebody who has experienced a similar situation, or is currently going through it, then I’ve fulfilled my purpose; and to you I say, you are not alone…it will get easier.


January 3rd marked 3 years…how interesting that this year I’m 33 years old…don’t you love when life connects in such a way?  In some ways it feels like it’s been longer then three years, and in other ways it feels like it was just yesterday we were holding hands at the hospital nervously awaiting my surgery.  Never in a million years did I think my body would react the way it did…I’m beyond the questioning, beyond the grief…I’m now in a stage of gratefulness.  Grateful for my two healthy boys…grateful for my little family of four.  I will never be the same, and often wonder what he or she would have been like.  God is in control…we may not have all the answers, or know the big picture, but what I have experienced is an indescribable joy, a sense of peace and comfort that can ONLY come from the Lord.  Loss is loss…it’s an absence of something great, but how I’ve dealt with loss is a true testament of God’s love for us.

I will always honor my little one because a mother never forgets her children…after all, they are the only ones who know what my heartbeat sounds like from the inside.  Te amo siempre, mi Ángel.



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