I Will Always Wonder


My friend Nikol (check out her blog here) posted the photo above this morning on her blog’s Facebook.
While today is just Tuesday to most, for several mourning families it is a reminder that they are not alone, that their lost children are not forgotten, and that every child conceived is a miracle whether they make it to this earth or not.

Losing our daughter made Derek and I part of a community that nobody ever wants to be in.
Miscarriage, stillborn, infant loss: It’s the booth at a fair that you pray to God stays empty.
But it doesn’t.
In fact, once you stop by you find out that it is even bigger than you could have possibly imagined and it makes your heart hurt.
Because the truth of the matter is that there are so many families out there who have lost a child.
So many left with a hole in their hearts.

I found this book at TJ-Max the other day and it broke me (so naturally, I bought it).

It’s called Love From My Heart To A Cuddly Little Boy.

Here are a few pages:






“My heart would be searching for YOU!”

When I read this and saw all of the little angel children I couldn’t help but think of my own angel in Heaven.



I still cry sometimes when I see a mom and her daughter wearing matching outfits.

Or when I see other little girls who are the same age she would have been.

I will always wonder how she may have looked, who she may have been.
I prayed and prayed for a day of hope and a lifetime was given to me with the birth of Declan.

But we still talk of her all the time.
We still remember.
And we love her very deeply.

To anyone who has lost their child, hold on to hope.

Hope that we will one day be reunited with our sweet angels.

In memory of Kinlie Marie.

Lost but never forgotten. 




Sometimes I need to look back and reflect on everything in order to appreciate where I am now.
This past week and a half has been one of those times.
May 11th marked two years since we found out we would never get to hold our daughter on this earth.
May 11th was also Mother’s Day this year.
I found myself encapsulated in emotions.
I wanted to cuddle Declan extra tight but he only wanted his daddy for the majority of the day.
I wanted to cry out to him:
I need you today.
But my words wouldn’t have been heard over the cries for his father and the giggles once they were united.
So instead I found joy in watching the two of them together.
I immersed myself in the happiness of my boys and forgot to allow myself time.
Time to mourn.
To feel.
To heal.

Day after day since then it has seemed as though every minute of my time has been filled with something else to do.
And day after day I can feel my body, mind, and soul being worn down more and more.
So today, right now, I’m willing myself to reflect.

Because I can’t heal unless I do and I can’t keep pretending like I’m not hurting when I am.

April 3, 2012 I announced our first pregnancy.


“I have been completely M.I.A. from my blog recently, and it is in large part because I knew if I posted I wouldn’t be able to resist talking about things like:
Throwing up allllll the time
Loving cream cheese
Being sleepier than normal
Hating cream cheese
And all other emotional/hormonal outbursts.
That’s right…

We’re Pregnant!”

On May 11, 2012 we found out our baby would not survive


“We are advised that the longest they personally have ever seen a pregnancy like this go was 26 weeks, but that my condition doesn’t even stand a chance to last that long.
More like 1-2 weeks.
We finally left the doctors office and by this time the hospital was closed.
I had red eyes and a fever of 100.1 as we walked down the empty hallway hand in hand, dead inside.”

On May 30, 2012 we found out our lost baby was a little girl.


“It soothes my soul being able to put a name to our angel.

She is named. She is safe. She is loved.”

On November 16, 2012 we recognized Kinlie’s due date.

“I’ll never let her be forgotten.
She will forever be a part of my soul.
But today I let go.
Let go of the hurt.
Let go of the disappointment.
Let go of the anger.
And I celebrate her.
I celebrate the joy she brought into our lives.
I celebrate the change she brought to my outlook on life.
I celebrate the growth she prompted in my heart.
And I celebrate the fact that child no bigger than a peach changed lives for the better.”

A year ago I shared what I thought a letter from her to us would look like.


“Hold onto that feeling of joy you had while I was with you and clear yourselves of the sorrow.
Remember me as that twinkle in your eyes when you first found out I existed.
And don’t be afraid to be happy.
Don’t beat yourselves up when you refer to my brother as your first child to strangers.
I know you love me.
And I know that I am forever yours.
Your little baby.
Your angel in heaven.
Your daughter.
Until we meet again my sweets.”

And on her due date last year I realized the sacrifice made to bring Declan into this world.

“It’s weird when you think about the fact that someone had to cease to exist in order for the other to live.
I wouldn’t get to hold them both, not in this world.”

Reflection and time help you see things that you couldn’t before.

Realizing that if your ex had never cheated on you then you wouldn’t have met the love of your life.

That if you had gone away to school you would have missed that last moment with your grandma the night she died.

That if your daughter had survived you wouldn’t have your son.

I wouldn’t change even the tiniest hair on Declan’s head.
I wouldn’t trade a single moment.

I don’t understand why they couldn’t share this world together with me.
But that’s okay.


Happiness is a Warm Heart

I’m not superstitious, or at least I’m not fully.

But for good measure I don’t break mirrors, walk under ladders, or step on cracks.

Okay fine, I step on cracks but only because it takes way too much effort not to and so far my mom’s back has been just fine so I figure it’s alright.

 Yesterday I wore the shirt I was wearing when the doctors broke the news to us that Kinlie had Turner’s and wouldn’t be making it into this world.

[This photo was actually taken on that very day. I was so excited to finally be into my 2nd trimester and to possibly find out our baby’s gender that day so I took a picture and posted it on Instagram. Go figure.]

It was my first time wearing it since it happened, almost like I was afraid of it or something.

I pulled it from the closet and said out loud to myself:

It’s just a shirt. It holds no secret powers, it has no evil agenda. Wear it. It matches your shoes.

And so I did.

I wore it and I was in a great mood.

I had every intention of blogging yesterday about how irrational it was for me to not wear it for so long and facing my fears.

And then out of nowhere I become very ill.

So much so, that Derek had to pick me up from work and take me to urgent care.

Don’t worry, I’m fine. It was just a stomach infection of sorts.

But the instant we rolled up to the same hospital I was at the last time I wore it I told Derek:

I’m burning this f-in shirt.


I’ve been avoiding blogging for a few weeks about anything too personal because frankly, I don’t want people to feel like I am complaining all the time.

I told my husband this and in true Derek nature he said, “Who cares? It’s your blog, you talk about what you want.”

Indeed sir, you are right.

And so I shall.

My sadness comes and goes in waves.

I noticed that I was spending quite a bit of time in the boo-hoo wave when something happened one day.

Derek and I were driving in the car, talking about this and that, and out of nowhere he said:

“You want to know what I wish and pray for every night?”

Duh I want to know. 

He continued.

“More than anything I pray that you and I will have long, happy, healthy lives together.”

He didn’t know it at the time, but this woke me up.

Suddenly I felt that I realized just a little bit more what God has been trying to teach me through all of this.

Through the pain and suffering, there is Derek saying all he wants and needs is the two of us, together.

Me and him.

Husband and wife.


I started digging deeper and found that interestingly enough, some of the worst days of my life have also been the best.

Take losing Kinlie for example.

Worst. Days. Ever.

And yet, each day spent broken, confused, and mourning Derek and I grew closer and closer.

We went through something that can crumble a marriage and we thrived.

Now we laugh harder, we love more tenderly, we appreciate life more.

Our admiration of one another has grown as well as our respect.

Derek and I recently read a book called “Heaven is For Real” that my dear friend sent to us after our loss.

The book is a true story about a little boy who visits heaven during an emergency surgery when he is 4 years old.

For years after, he tells his parents more and more about heaven and things that no child could possibly know, including things about their own family.

One thing in particular, and no doubt the reason my friend gave me this book, was when he met his older sister in heaven.

His older sister he never knew anything about.

His sister who died in a miscarriage his mother had when she was two months pregnant.

His description of her is not that of a 2 month old embryo, but of a girl who speaks to him.

When I feel broken, I think of our little girl in heaven smiling down on us.

Laughing when her dad does his Forest Gump impression.

Smiling when she catches mommy and daddy looking into each others eyes.

Cheering us on when we accomplish a goal.

Praying for us when we cry.

And waiting patiently for us, eager to be held in our arms one day.

“I will not cause pain without allowing something new to be born, says the Lord”– Isaiah 66:9