the most beautiful things in the world

two years.

i sat in that hospital bed and begged God to show me mercy. i bartered with everything i could. anything. just make this time “different.”  please. just stop the rollercoaster.

two years and it feels like yesterday.

i still remember how the doctor couldn’t look me in the eye. i could feel the uncomfortable air stifling his voice. eyes down. because what do you say to a woman when she’s losing her baby. when she’s been probably losing it for a week before that although blood levels say otherwise, she knows better. when she’s lost so much already. no words exist. nothing can dull that level of pain.

two years and i can’t forget you.

i’ve tried to distract myself. tried to forget the pain, or forgive the past, but i find myself still here. here. with feet firmly planted, not having moved. for. two. years. i am the same now as i was then. stuck. torn. and tormented. and i remember everything. every look of pity. every awkward silence. each cliché. they echo in my memories. i have failed to distract myself. i continue to feel you within me.

two years and i won’t forget you.

i may have gone radio silent here for a while. i may have tried to ignore this. everything about this. tried to focus on “the positive.” stared at “happy” and “the light” and lied to myself that i am content now, with my life. i am so good with the smile now, you can’t even see the crack… the one that threatens to expose the truth inside.

two years and i refuse to forget you.

not ever. because you mattered. you were loved. though your feet were small, they left indelible prints on my soul. i would do anything to hold you in my arms.


“the best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen, or even touched. they must be felt with the heart.”  -helen keller

fly high my darling.  may my love find you, wherever you are. ❤





march on


i should be having a baby today.


right. now.

today i should be laid up in a hospital bed, celebrating life, tears of joy spilling from my eyes, congratulations pouring from mouths and hearts of family and friends alike.

i should be counting little toes. and breathing in new baby breath. feeling the softest of skin against my cheek. drinking it in.

my sweet boy would be holding a baby, beaming proudly, and saying in his perfectly high-pitched voice “awww, he’s ah-doh-wable!”

i should be hearing camera clicks going off like crazy, quick to capture the love in the room.

i would be oblivious to the sharp pain from my freshly cut belly, reminding me with every laugh and movement that i had just brought a life into the world. instead i would be gazing at amazing husband with love and adoration, so enamored with our growing family and proud that the rocky journey that led to that moment was finally over.

but it isn’t.

there are no congratulations.

no joyful tears.

no camera clicks. no revolving door of visitors.

instead there is fresh pain, deep in my soul. i hide it well, on the outside. with smiles and forced laughter. but there is no hiding it from my thoughts. my memory. i remember clear as day seeing 2 lines on the pregnancy test, 9 months ago, and thinking “finally! this is it!!”

i remember hoping for sweet relief from our nightmare of loss.

there will be tears today. more than those that already have fallen from my eyes. i will pick up amazing son and hold him tighter, and let them fall. and thank my stars i was allowed to have him.

and the holidays will march on. reminders of all that we have, and at the same time, all we do not. and i will smile. and laugh. and carry on. but i will never forget.

oh my sweet butterfly, no one ever wanted anything more, than i wanted you. may my light and love find you, wherever you are.




day 15 – wave of light & babyloss awareness day


today is babyloss awareness day

today we honor and acknowledge those precious lives lost too soon by initiating a    Wave of Light.

everyone around the world is invited to light a candle at 7pm in their time zone.

 keep it lit for one hour and you will be part of a continuous wave of light that will flow over the entire earth.

with a heavy heart i light my candle for my 5 angel babies, as well as for all the others who were taken before they began.


my butterfly

“There’s always some reason
To feel not good enough
And it’s hard at the end of the day
I need some distraction
Oh beautiful release
Memories seep from my veins
Let me be empty
Oh and weightless and maybe

I’ll find some peace tonight”

HCG was 4.

goodbye sweet butterfly. 

day of hope

today is august 19th.

most people don’t know that today is the Day of Hope, a day near and dear to my heart. a few years ago i learned about August 19th Day of Hope (the carly marie project) as i happened upon the website by chance. i welcome you to check it out here

last year i had posted an image on FB about the day of hope, but 365 days later and two more losses, a picture wasn’t enough. i felt compelled to act, to do SOMETHING. anything. if there is a lesson to be learned regarding infertility and loss it’s this: you can’t control a fucking thing. you can do everything within your power to have a baby, and it won’t happen. you can buy sperm friendly lube. take your temperature for 8127631265 days straight and overanalyze every dip of a tenth of a degree. you can pee on all the ovulation sticks. supplements for better egg quality, herbal remedies for fertility boost, special mantras and the list goes on. but in the end, you have ZERO control. but your neighbor’s 15 year-old daughter on crack can have a baby like THAT so F you universe.

so you move the focus to what you CAN control. after my first miscarriage i turned into the crazy coupon lady. dead serious. i got a binder and filled it with thousands of hours of clippings of coupons. i spent outrageous amounts of time at CVS, Walgreens and Rite Aids, “buying” more toothbrushes and deodorant than one would need in a lifetime. (they actually were free but that’s a different post altogether.) i would scan the circulars, sales, you name it. i memorized the lowest prices of ground beef and cheez-its. shopping for sales became my mission in life. i threw myself into it because it a) who doesn’t want free deodorant and b) took my mind off the fact that my baby had died. because that’s the hard truth of infant/pregnancy loss: all of a sudden your world stops and yet the rest of the world keeps on moving. what was supposed to be no longer will, and you are left with an ungodly amount of time on your hands to remind yourself of what will never be. coupons made me get off the couch. coupons made me shower every day. coupons encouraged me to leave the house again. and incidentally coupons built me an amazing stockpile in case the zombie apocalypse happens. i’m good to go. in all seriousness though, i thank god for those thin, flimsy little squares. they saved my life.

back to the day of hope… this time i set myself on making a prayer flag for my babies. i went to JoAnns hoping something would speak to me, jump out and say “THIS! this is perfect.” but nothing. i perused the fabric aisle, running my hand over the ever-so-soft minky fabrics. there was a beautiful handmade baby blanket on display. it was a soft gray minky on one side with blue and white chevron on the other. i let my mind wander and imagined one of my sweet angels wrapped in it, and instantly i wanted to bury my face in it and cry. somehow i took a deep breath and moved on, and in my meanderings i happened to find all that i needed, without crying. i call that a win. i went home and began. i put on some music that i used to play to my babies while in my tummy, and i cut. and glued. and cried. and glued some more. and the end result made me cry even more. but these were tears of happiness, that i had made something tangible to honor what was intangible.

a prayer flag is a piece of fabric often inscribed with words, or mantras, prayers or poems. it is said when you hang up the flag, the breeze takes the prayers and carries them all over the world.

i pray my love finds them up in the clouds, wherever they are. and to all my loss mamas, i pray your heart can find peace. ❤

it’s okay not to be okay.

Ink (Used)

these words speak volumes tonight. i was asked by a good friend today if i was “okay.” :::takes deep breath:::

i know we’ve only just met. so forgive me for starting out uncomfortably deep. but it’s true: i’m NOT okay. not even close. sure, i’m here: in the present. i’m surviving. i wake up. shower. eat. feed the dog. attempt to be present for my child. make sure said child stays fed, dry, and out of the electric outlets. work. school. bills. attempt to be present for amazing husband. clean. more work. rinse and repeat. i’m treading water, miraculously. but is struggling to swim “okay”? is “surviving” a way to live? how does one stay afloat in the tidal wave of grief?

i am reeling from just losing my fourth baby. i’m NOT okay. i was so very blessed with what appears to now be a miracle child, my son, back in 2012. don’t get me wrong, i thank god each and every day for allowing me to be his sweetie mama. he is the light of my life. but as time ticks on, the dream for our family-yet-to-be-realized burns a deeper hole in my heart with each subsequent loss. and with each loss the highs are higher and the lows cut deeper than ever before. i am reeling. spinning like a top without a clear purpose or direction. and i’m NOT okay.

i will go into my dark rabbit hole of infertility and pregnancy loss later, as no one wants to start off with the raw, jagged edges of repeated soul-stabbing loss. i don’t want to lose all 4 of my followers with the first post. but on the same hand i am WHO i am because of that struggle, and truly, the entire reason i am compelled to blog stems from that broken part of my soul. ugh. i really hate that term “blog.” it sounds so stagnant and greasy. in all honesty, it is important to me to share with you my story. the story of my children. because they were alive. and they still live within my heart. and though not of this earth today, i honor them by sharing with others the imprint they left on my life. but more importantly, i honor them by building a community around me where the stigma of infant and pregnancy loss is eradicated. because we all know “it” happens. if you are like me, a woman in her 30’s, you’d be hard-pressed to not know someone who has suffered a loss. but it is often and quickly swept under the rug. it’s uncomfortable.

i want to break the silence. it’s NOT okay. it helps no one.

so here i am, at 12:30AM replaying this song “who you are” by jessie j (no judging) 19238263 times, which probably was written about self-image and loving yourself no matter what society says and here i find it completely applicable to the grieving mother instead of the pimple faced teenager struggling to fit in.

“seeing is deceiving, dreaming is believing, it’s okay not to be okay.”

amen sister.