Emilia's Wings

06/05/2026

Last night at BLOOM, we gathered at our June meeting and recognized our dads ahead of Father's Day. 💙

As a small Father's Day gift, our dads took home conchas, a traditional Mexican sweet bread named after the Spanish word for "shell." Conchas are topped with a patterned crust that resembles the ridges and curves of a seashell, making them a perfect connection to our 2026 theme. 🐚

Thank you to all of the dads in our community. We see your love, honor your grief, and celebrate the important role you hold in your children's stories. Wishing all of our fathers a peaceful and meaningful month, as we lead up to Father's Day. 🐚🌊

05/11/2026

https://www.kshb.com/news/local-news/missouri/clay-county/volunteers-deliver-surprise-bouquets-to-mothers-facing-infertility-pregnancy-loss-on-mothers-day

Our community showing up in a beautiful way! 💐

“Volunteers deliver surprise bouquets to mothers facing infertility, pregnancy loss on Mother's Day”

05/10/2026

Every year for Mother’s Day, I share this message because it shines a light on all the ways motherhood exists.

Mother’s Day was created to honor mothers, yet so many women quietly carry grief, longing, complicated emotions, or invisible roles on this day.

This message feels so important because it recognizes the fullness of motherhood. My hope is that each mother who reads it feels seen, remembered, and celebrated. Not just today, but every day. 💛

Happy Mother’s Day to every mother who has ever mothered, no matter which way.

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘔𝘜𝘛𝘜 𝘚𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘮. 𝘖𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳 𝘶𝘯𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯.

05/08/2026

Mother’s Day Tea is one of my most favorite BLOOM meetings of the year, and last night’s Tea was no exception. I love getting to celebrate our mothers and honoring the role each of us has as mothers to children who are no longer in our arms.

Mother’s Day for many moms feels a lot like imposter syndrome. For those who have no living children, it can be hard to feel like the holiday is our own. For those with children both here and not, it can be hard to celebrate the day without recognizing that someone special is missing.

That is what makes this night so meaningful. For a few hours, we step into a space where our motherhood is never questioned, never minimized, and never forgotten. We get to speak our children’s names freely, share stories, laugh, cry, and sit beside people who simply understand.

Last night was full of gentle conversations and quiet moments of connection. There is something incredibly powerful about a room filled with people who carry both deep love and deep grief at the same time. It is a reminder that motherhood is not defined by how long we get to hold our children, but by the love we carry for them forever.

To every mother who joined us last night, thank you for showing up and allowing us to honor you. You are seen. You are remembered. You are celebrated.

And to every mother in our community who may be struggling as this weekend approaches, please know you are not alone. Your motherhood matters. Always. 🐚🌊

05/03/2026

𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐲 and today we explicitly honor a motherhood that is often unseen.

To the mothers who carry their children in their hearts instead of their arms.
To the mothers who count time in “would-have-beens” and “should-have-beens.”
To the mothers whose love didn’t end when their child’s life did.

You are still a mother.
Your child still matters.
Your love still exists.

This day can be heavy. It can be quiet. It can be complicated. However it shows up for you is valid.

Today we remember.
Today we say their names.
Today we hold space for the love that never goes away.

We see you. We remember with you. You are not alone. 💗

04/02/2026

Cherished | My Angel Lives

An intimate Mother’s Day morning gathering for women who are experiencing life after loss.

🗓 Saturday, May 2, 2026 at 10 AM
📍 Kinship Cafe (Our Amazing Space Sponsors)
💛 $28.52 per person

Reserve your spot here:
👉🏽 www.myangellives.org

We’re honored to introduce Cherished, a My Angel Lives morning experience, held in love for mothers navigating life after child loss. 🤍

This gathering was created to offer a gentle, supportive space for connection, reflection, and community — no matter your story, no matter how long it’s been.

At Cherished, you can expect:
✨ Meaningful connection with other bereaved mothers
✨ Space to honor your child in a way that feels right for you
✨ A calm, welcoming environment where you don’t have to perform

🗓 Saturday, May 2, 2026 at 10 AM
📍 Kinship Cafe (Our Amazing Space Sponsors)
💛 $28.52 per person

If you or someone you love could benefit from being in this kind of space, we invite you to join us.

Reserve your spot here:
👉🏽 www.myangellives.org

Please feel free to share this with a mother who may need it. 🤍

03/27/2026

Something I’ve realized in my own grief journey is how much 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

It can be really hard when someone refers to a loved one who died in the past tense - “𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘯.” “𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.” "𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳."

For many grieving people, that wording can feel painful in a way that’s hard to explain. Because in our hearts, the relationship didn’t end. It changed.

𝘐 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘥.
𝘐 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘐 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.
Death didn’t erase the relationship or the identity that came with it.

There is a concept in grief called 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘴. It means our connection with the people we love does not disappear when they die. The love, the relationship, and the role they hold in our lives continue in a different way.

So when we use present tense, it isn’t denial. It isn’t refusal to accept reality. It’s an expression of love and the truth of how grief works.

If you know someone who is grieving, one of the most validating things you can do is honor their relationship in the present tense. You don’t have to be perfect with words - just being aware and open to learning means so much.

Grief changes language. And language can either hurt or help carry someone through it. 💛

by Wood Nails and Cotton

03/25/2026

Love this! 🤍 Please don’t be afraid to mention them. Say their names, so we know they are remembered by others too!

“You need to move on.”

As grieving parents we know how much those words sting. It’s even worse when someone very close to us says those words.

I’m fourteen years in. It’s been fourteen years since I got to hold my baby. Fourteen years since I said goodbye without even being able to say hello.

Telling us we need to move on minimizes our loss. It minimizes our child’s memory. It minimizes our pain. All of which actually would hold someone back from moving on...

And let me tell those that don’t understand...you never move on from this type of loss.

Why?

Because we love our child with our entire being. Our whole heart is full of love with no place to go and that love doesn’t just go away.

Not to mention, we lose our babies over and over again. Every day.

We lose them again when we come home from the hospital and see an empty nursery.

We lose them again when our milk comes in and there is no baby to feed.

We lose them again when we take a family photo and don’t see them in it.

We lose them again when we see other children playing knowing ours never will.

We lose them again when they should be saying their first words, taking their first steps, going to their first day of school...the list goes on and on.

It’s a lifetime of losses.

And yes, I can say fourteen years later that I am not in debilitating pain anymore but the pain is still their every day knowing my child isn’t where she should be.

With me.

And that my friends is a loss that never heals because there’s never a good enough reason. There’s never anything anyone can say to make you feel better.

It just is.

And we try..we try so hard to keep our child’s memory alive because that does lessen the pain some. When people seem to have forgotten or minimize our loss it’s soul crushing.

So, please don’t tell us to move on. Don’t tell us that it’s “time”. Just say their names…

Because time has stood still since we said goodbye to our baby.

❤️Sending love and positive energy

-Hailey Ricks

03/16/2026

Yesterday we celebrated our daughter’s 9th Birthday.

Somedays it feels like just yesterday that we said goodbye to Emilia. Other days it feels like it’s been an eternity.

The day began in the low 60s, with subtle little reminders of her (bunnies, daffodils, grazing deer, and blooming white pear blossoms). By the end of the day, temps shifted by 50 degrees and the air was filled with beautiful flurries and a spring blizzard. It was the perfect, most magical day to celebrate her.

This year we continue our tradition of collecting pop tabs in her memory. Over the course of the year we collected 3lbs 5.5 ounces of pop tabs, which will be donated to the Ronald McDonald House here in Kansas City.

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐝 𝐌𝐜𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐝 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲? 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐲𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐝 𝐌𝐜𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐝 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐚 𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡-𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬.

We have had families who attend our monthly BLOOM meetings who have been directly impacted by the Ronald McDonald House Charity when staying at their Children’s Mercy facility.

If you have beverage tabs lying around the house, we would love to put them to use. Consider donating them to Emilia’s Wings! We can even get you a cute little pop tab house collection box!

02/08/2026

The scallop shell is made of two halves.

One side faces the open water. It is shaped by waves, salt, wind, and time. It becomes darker, rougher, marked by everything it has endured.

The other side faces inward. It is lighter. Smoother. Lined with a soft, pearly surface formed layer by layer as a way of protecting what is tender.

Grief after pregnancy and infant loss can feel very much like these two halves.

There is the side of us the world sees. The part that has learned how to get out of bed. How to show up. How to smile when expected. How to carry the weight quietly.

That side often holds the marks of what we have been through. The exhaustion. The ache. The anger. The moments when the waves of grief crash without warning.

And then there is the side few people ever see. The side that holds our babies. The side that remembers tiny heartbeats, ultrasound images, hopes, names, and dreams. The side that is soft and vulnerable and fiercely loving.

Both sides belong.

The weathered side does not mean we are broken. It means we have survived. The tender side does not mean we are weak. It means we loved deeply.

Like the scallop shell, we are shaped by both what has touched us and what we have protected. Neither place is wrong. Neither place means we are failing.

Our babies are not only held in what the world can see. They are held in the inner spaces of us. In memory. In love. In the way they have forever changed who we are.

And just like the scallop shell is still whole because of both halves, we are whole too. Not because this didn’t hurt. Not because we are “okay.” But because love remains.