Honoring Hazel

10/05/2026

78. 78 little babies.

This year, for the first time, I placed a little butterfly marker on every infant grave in Baby Land that didn’t have a nameplate. I knew there would be some. I just never imagined there would be 78! Wow. What a number!

As I walked through, saying their names, finding their little spots, and figuring out where each marker needed to go, I became emotional. Wasn’t expecting that!

My heart was so full realizing they were noticed. And at the same time, my heart broke thinking about how, on an ordinary day, so many of these little babies probably go completely unnoticed.

Not because they weren’t loved. I would never assume that. I know sometimes people just can’t make it that far in their grieving process. And that makes me sad too. I wish healing for them. I wish peace for them.

But this year, these 78 babies were remembered! Flowers were placed. Someone stopped and said their names. They mattered. They still matter.

And I don’t say any of this to take credit. I just feel incredibly grateful that something that started six years ago because of one precious little girl has grown into a day where so many babies can be remembered, too.

78 babies who may have otherwise gone unnoticed were noticed. And that means more to me than I can really put into words. 🤍

09/29/2026

If you have had a loss, I’d really encourage you to attend this event. It’s a lovely and meaningful time. I have had several people who have attended in the past tell me personally that it helped bring them closure. So if you or someone you know has experienced loss and you would like to honor them or try to find some peace or just gather with other others who have been through loss as well and can relate than consider attending.

Our annual event!

09/18/2026

Our annual event!

07/16/2026

It’s crazy how the thought of losing a parent can bring back the grief of losing a child.

I’d just as soon go before my children, but that’s not how it’s “supposed” to be. Then again… apparently there are no rules about when death comes. Death doesn’t care. It doesn’t care how good you are, how kind you are, or how deeply you’ll be missed. It doesn’t care how much it will hurt the people left behind.

Maybe that’s the anger talking. Maybe it’s the hurt. The heartbreak. I don’t know.

But it’s real.

These feelings don’t mean I don’t believe there’s hope. I know I’ll see Hazel again in heaven. They don’t mean I don’t trust God. They don’t mean I don’t pray and ask Him to carry the pain.

They simply mean I’m human.

Paul writes in 1 Thessalonians 4:13 that we “do not grieve as others do who have no hope.”

Notice he doesn’t say we do not grieve.

He says we don’t grieve without hope. Those are very different things.

Grief and faith aren’t enemies. Sometimes they walk hand in hand. Faith doesn’t erase the ache. It gives me the courage to keep walking through it, trusting that one day God will make all things new.

06/24/2026

I’ve noticed I sometimes talk about Hazel with a smile and act like I’m okay, even when there’s more underneath. Not because I’m pretending she doesn’t matter, but because I don’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable or sorry for me.

But I’m learning that you don’t always have to ‘fake it’ to make other people feel okay. You can speak about your grief and your love honestly. You can miss someone deeply and still say their name without minimizing it.

If you’re carrying something like this too, or really anything heavy, you don’t have to shrink it to make it easier for others to hear.

Let me say it again….

YOU DON’T HAVE TO SHRINK IT TO MAKE IT EASIER FOR OTHERS TO HEAR!!!

06/09/2026

Grief. It has broken me in ways I never would have chosen. But I’ve also come to see that there is something strangely beautiful about that kind of brokenness. Bittersweet. Ironic even.

It softens the way I see people. It makes me more aware of what others are carrying. It gives me a deeper kind of compassion. And by deeper, I mean deep down in my soul compasssion. I’ve cried for people I don’t even know compassion. Even in moments when I don’t have perfect words.

There’s a beauty in being changed like that. Not because the pain is beautiful, but because somehow love still finds a way to grow through it. And it changes the way you show up in the world. The way I show up for other people.

05/28/2026

Some days grief is loud. Other days it’s just quiet and constant in the background of everything I do.

I don’t always have words for it anymore, but I still feel it in the small moments, the ones nobody else would notice.

Just sharing this for anyone else who understands. 😌

05/20/2026

There’s a kind of nostalgia that hits different when you get older.

It’s not really about a decade or a certain time period… it’s something deeper.

It’s that feeling of when everyone you loved felt permanent.

When life felt like it would always stay the same. When your mom was just “Mom” and not someone you slowly realize is aging too. When you didn’t yet understand how much life would change or how many goodbyes you’d eventually have to learn how to carry.

Being an adult has a way of changing that lens.

You gain so much wisdom, perspective, your own family, your own stories, but you also start to understand loss in a way you didn’t before. People change. Seasons change. Some people you love end up becoming memories you visit more than faces you see every day.

And that part can be hard.

Not just missing the past, but missing how permanent everything felt back then.

I think one of the hardest parts of growing up is realizing that you don’t just lose that feeling, you eventually realize you are now living in someone else’s “before.”

I have people in my life now who will one day feel the same way I do.

My kids will grow up and look back on their childhood and feel that ache for the version of life where everything felt simple and steady. The version where home was always full, where the hardest problems were smaller, where they didn’t yet understand time or change or loss.

Even the people I love most right now… my family, my friends, the everyday rhythms I take for granted. They are all part of someone’s future memory already being written.

That’s a strange and beautiful thing to sit with.

It makes me want to slow down more. To be more present. To notice the ordinary moments instead of rushing through them. Because I’m not just living days. I’m living the kind of days someone else will one day miss.

And I think that’s what makes this stage of life both heavier and more meaningful at the same time.

Because nothing is permanent… but love makes everything worth remembering.

05/04/2026

Some motherhood journeys are visible. Some are carried quietly in the heart.

Today is Bereaved Mother’s Day, and I just want to pause and gently acknowledge the mothers who are carrying a kind of love that also carries deep grief. The mothers who are missing children they love and think about every single day, in ways most people will never fully see or understand.

Whether your loss came through miscarriage, stillbirth, infancy, childhood, or even later in life… whether your child is far away or simply no longer here in your arms… your motherhood is still real. Your love is still real. And your bond with your child is not diminished by absence or time.

I know today can bring a mix of emotions — sorrow, longing, quiet memories, and sometimes even moments of gratitude woven through the pain. All of it belongs. All of it matters. You don’t have to explain your grief or justify your love for it to be valid.

If your heart feels heavy today, I hope you can feel seen. I hope you can feel held in some small way. And I hope you know you are not forgotten in this kind of love that continues on, even through loss.

Your motherhood matters. Your child matters. And you are not alone in carrying this.

04/15/2026

Happy 7th Birthday in heaven to my sweet angel. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you and wonder who you would be today. Though my arms ache to hold you, my heart finds comfort knowing you are safe in the arms of Jesus. You are forever loved, forever missed, and forever a part of our family. Today, we eat cake and think of you! 🥳💕