“Do you know them?” A very simple question. A headline among at least 20 others. I immediately stopped scrolling and started reading. Thirteen “unclaimed” homeless veterans would be laid to rest at DFW National Cemetery. Despite the efforts of the Dallas County Medical Examiner, no families had been located. These soldiers ranged in age from 46 to 84. Three Army, two Marines, five Navy and three Air Force. As I read I began to wonder about these men who had so faithfully served their country. These men whose journey ultimately found them with no place to lay their head at night and no shelter around them to call home. Last night I read and reread their names. What I could not shake as I drifted off to sleep, and one of my first thoughts as I woke up this morning, was about the ones who one day many years ago

My husband & I are forever grateful for our time spent at the first "A Memory Grows" retreat. We both went into the weekend with a lot of fear, anxiety, & caution because we had no idea what to expect. But thankfully, the weekend was just what we needed at just the right time. I realize all couples have different experiences but after meeting everyone we found out that each & every one of us had the "flight" feeling - we all at one point or another, felt like we needed to turn around & not show up. Fortunately, we all stuck it out and instantly bonded. We felt a connection to the couples and DeAndrea where we felt completely comfortable to talk openly about our children, our family dynamics, uncomfortable situations, etc... The conversations were emotional but we could laugh & cry & laugh & cry. At the end

I’ll never forget the first time I saw it. I was absentmindedly scrolling through my Facebook feed and there it was. A picture with their names. All three of them. I remember my thumb freezing mid-air as I stared at my phone screen. I had never seen their names together before. Sure, I had said their names aloud more times that one could count, but never had I seen them written. The picture was from Outback in the Ozarks, a race that a fellow loss mom had just completed. Team Mercy is an incredible nonprofit that provides connections to resources for families facing the death of a child, specifically siblings. Read more about Team Mercy at the bottom of this post. I had been following Allison’s running all weekend as she ran in memory of children and in honor of their siblings. I admire her greatly for many reasons,

Two days ago I walked out of the hospital where my three children were born.  That statement in itself may not sound strange to you but to me it closed a part of my life and journey in a way that most would never know. For years I had watched women be rolled out of hospitals holding babies wrapped in special blankets and sweet clothes.  I had wanted to be like them.  Three and a half years ago I was rolled out in a wheelchair holding nothing but a box that contained a beautiful mold of my son's footprints and a few other pictures and mementos that would become the most special possessions that I will most likely ever have.  I was one of them, I was a mother, but I was not like them because I knew sadly that the world would not see my son in my arms

If there is one word that I use to describe my son Max, it is love. Pure and simple. Love. I have loved and been loved my entire life but something happened within me while I was expecting him and then when he was placed in my arms that goes beyond description or even full understanding. All of our hopes and dreams, all of our plans, all of our expectations shattered into a million and one fine shreds on the floor when we realized that none of them would come true. Reality is often harsh and painful and raw. But, despite all of the pain and grief and sorrow the one emotion that that remained and even seemed to get stronger moment by moment day by day was the love that I held for my little boy. In the beginning I could hardly get out of bed but I

One of the heavy thoughts that permeates the mind of a parent who has lost a child is often "Why me, how could this happen to me?" Many grieving parents feel guilt or even shame as well as an overarching feeling of isolation. When my first daughter Patricia was born still at 31 weeks of pregnancy, I felt all of these and more. My husband and I received an incredible amount of support but few around me could truly understand the depths of my grief. Thankfully, we live in a time when parents from all over the world can connect to one another and provide support online. Through an online forum, I learned of a retreat center in Wisconsin called Faith's Lodge that was founded by a couple who also experienced a stillbirth. My desire to attend a weekend retreat was immediate and strong. My husband was less excited at