contributors

I am a mother to two sons-one gone and one here-living a life filled with sorrow and joy and trying to make room for both.

The death of my second daughter in 2012 was baffling; her absence its own presence. When I first found Glow in the Woods, I could not imagine being even six months out from her death, and now I am here, all these many years later, carrying her with me, and through the wonder of the babyloss community, knowing she is loved and remembered as your babies are, too.

I lost her body. All that remains is held in a wooden box in my home. I find her every time I share her story or reach out to another soul shattered by loss. I bare my soul willingly.

I never wanted a daughter, because I wanted one so badly. Then she was here, but she was never really here... and now she is always here. A tangled lifeline, one of Mother Nature's epic screw ups. And four sons to raise, who will know their only sister in more ways than just a gravestone down the road.

My first child, a daughter, was born in the spring and died a week later. I'm writing from the in between space, to document her life and death and what it means to be her mother.

She died two days before her due date in the only place I ever thought she'd be safe; I had never failed so hard at something I cared so much about. This was my introduction to motherhood. And even two breathtaking children later, I am irrevocably changed.

I am broken, healing, mending, scarred. Patrick’s death has showed me that it is possible to live with sadness and happiness at the same time. Patrick was diagnosed with Multiple Congenital Anomalies Hypotonia Seizure Syndrome type 2. He died at 8 months of age in palliative care after contracting a virus.

I am trying to introduce you to him properly, gently prying him from behind my back, out from my chest, my heart : My son, the little brother who was going to finally, finally make our family complete. He is a cloud, a box, a gift, a dream, an impossibility, a stone in the woods, an emptiness wider than the sky.

One of the hardest parts of grief is the loneliness. After my daughter James died two weeks before her due date I felt so isolated, like nobody could ever truly understand my pain. Finding Glow in the Woods felt like catching my breath. I write here with the hope that my words may offer even the tiniest bit of comfort to others walking this path and to remind them they are not alone. I write here to honor James.