Henry's Story, by his mama

Written by Katie Butler

I've been struggling with writing our story down. I feel like writing it makes it real, final. I've been blogging about my feelings and how we've been coping since the beginning – but writing it down? From beginning to the end? That makes it final. That makes it true that he’s gone, and that I’m not going to finally wake up from this dream. It also fees abridged – how can I fit my son’s lifetime into one post?

It feels like a dream, sometimes. One of those sharp, incredibly real dreams that I used to have. I don’t dream much anymore. I think my brain is just too tired. I remember being so very, very excited when the pregnancy test showed that lovely little positive sign. I remember celebrating with my husband. I don’t remember how we told our families. Maybe it was just a call. I don’t know. I remember being excited that our daughter would have a little brother or sister to grow up with.

I remember spotting a little bit, early on. I remember being told that it’s perfectly normal, that everything was looking good after an early ultrasound to check on baby. I remember completely trusting, completely sure that this pregnancy would be just like the last – unremarkable and perfect, ending with a gorgeous little girl. Except, I also knew that this would be a boy. It just was.

We had our twenty week ultrasound on a Friday. My friend was the tech, and she had us switch machines – from one ultrasound suite to another. There were some images she couldn't get, but, I didn't care – it’s a boy! My husband and I had names to argue about! Oliver, or Henry? Our ‘argument’ was more celebratory and loving, more teasing each other to get the other to agree that one name was above the other.

I went home from work that night (I worked in the OB/GYN clinic – so after my ultrasound I walked back to my desk for a few hours) and took a nap. I missed a call from my doctor. My baby had ‘cystic images’ on his brain; we needed to get in with a Perinatologist on Monday for a level two ultrasound.

Of course, I goggled it: Cystic images. Brain cysts. I read enough to terrify and placate me at the same time. It could be nothing, or everything. That’s the glory of the internet, I suppose. I spent the weekend with a vague feeling of doom, unease pushing against my bubble of happiness.

My life felt perfect until this point; I was married to the man of my dreams, we had an amazing daughter and a son on the way. Everything fell into place for our happily ever after. My husband told me to stop worrying. My mom did, too. “Everything is fine – they just need more images.”

But I knew. I knew. Something was wrong. How bad, I couldn't guess. But something. I worried that maybe our son would have special needs. Monday came, and I was fit into the Perinatology schedule immediately. My husband came up, and my mom came to watch my daughter while we went in for the second ultrasound. 

I don’t think I took a single breath that afternoon. The technician was methodical, working from toes up. I cracked jokes. My husband and I argued over our son’s name some more. The doctor came in. Again, I worked with all of these people. We had celebrated holidays together, taken lunch in the break room together, sold each other our kid’s fundraising items, laughed and joked. Our doctor is a very compassionate man, and he took my hand while he explained that he thought our son has Holoprosencephaly, and possibly Dandy Walker Syndrome. “Oh... so, he’ll have special needs? We can do that.” We can’t know until we do an MRI.

I found myself at another hospital later that week, an MRI beaming through my skin into my son’s little body. My eyes squeezed shut, trying not to panic. The next day, we met with my perinatologist again, another quick ultrasound scan. The diagnosis was Semilobar Holoprosencephaly (HPE). Again, I asked what sort of needs he was going to have. Would he be incontinent? Would he be able to go to school? The special kids always walked around the track – well, galloped around the track in my school days. They were joyous and sweet people. I wasn't terrified of that. I just wanted to be prepared.

“Katie, this is worse. I don’t expect him to survive long after birth.”

It’s kind of funny, but in a bang-your-funny-bone way, that I can pinpoint that moment as the point where my world ended. My happily ever after shattered on the tan laminate floor of that dark ultrasound room. I sobbed. I held it together as much as I could, but I couldn't hold in that sound you make when your heart is wrenched away.

My coworkers, doctors and nurses and staff alike, were amazing. I was sent home for a few days – I don’t think anyone knows how to act around the woman who just found out her baby wasn't going to live, especially when she worked strictly with other pregnant women. But I don’t remember any of my time at home. I remember reading all I could about HPE online. I read the diagnosis, what it meant, and then I found all of these lovely, heart-warming stories about kids who beat their diagnosis. Kids who defied what their doctors said – that they were only expected to live for days and LOOK now, they’re twenty! Miracle stories, everywhere I turned.

False hope. We met with a neurologist. The top in his field. I did my research – I always do my research – he was the best. “I've never seen a case this bad.” “Hours, maybe a day or two.”

We were given the option of terminating. We thought about it – and then we made the hardest decision to date. We decided to carry our baby boy, our Henry, to term. We decided to meet him with love, and make his markedly short life as beautiful as possible. We decided on no interventions, because we wanted his life to be free of pain and full of beauty and love. I was firm on this; I remembered my grandfather coming off of life support and making me swear to never let ‘them’ do that again. He thought it was painful and cruel. I will always remember that promise.

I spent most of my days screaming inside, but smiling outside. I worked with the public, it was necessary. I pretended that everything was okay. I answered shortly when asked about my baby, trying to word my answers in such a way to get them to stop asking me questions. I could go on and pretend life was okay, as long as I didn't have to say it out loud. When I did, my heart broke again, and again, and again. My sweet, sweet boy. There is no easy way – so I just answered truthfully, and woe unto those who asked too many questions.

Henry developed hydrocephalus around 30 weeks. By 35 weeks, it was dangerous to continue the pregnancy – labor could have killed us both with how big his head had gotten. My boy was delivered via cesarean on May 21st, 2013, at 10:03 am. I remember being so shocked at how beautiful he was.

We planned so much for him, but tried to be mindful of the time we had – it could be minutes, hours, or days. He breathed for fourteen hours. In that time, my whole family was able to hold him. He was able to meet his big sister, get kisses from grandma, snuggle mommy and daddy, walk in the garden with grandpa, and get tickled by his uncles and aunts. He had his birth and life documented by a fantastic photographer, sent to us by Now I Lay MeDown To Sleep. He had a bath, had his hand and footprints taken. He got to do his first and only craft project with his big sister (their hand-prints, together, in a clay heart). My coworkers, friends, and doctors came through.

I still remember the way his skin smelled – perfect, new baby. He was perfectly formed. My boy – my lovely, lovely boy.

He started to fade. Just after midnight he took his last breath. My husband held him, and I remember his whispered, choked words – “He’s gone.”  I remember wailing. I remember being terrified to hold him – something I regret to this day – and I remember my husband walking him down to the surgery ward, where our son would gift his organs to other babies. Our hope was that at least one parent wouldn't face the reality that we were living.

I’m still heartbroken. We have friends with children born close to Henry – it’s hard to look at them. When I see families with a one year old boy and a three year old girl, I die a little inside. Weddings are especially hard – there is always a speech by a sibling. “Thank you for being my best friend, my enemy, my confidant… my sibling.”

I rage some days, because my daughter was cheated of her brother. The other days, I’m either raging that my husband lost his son or that my father lost his grandson. I try not to think about myself – because that’s where it hurts the most. I try to keep my heart happy – my daughter helps with that – but I try so hard to keep myself from diving into that well of grief that has been filling in my core. I’m not sure if it ever goes away. I don’t know if I want it to – it’s a reminder of my Henry. Our Henry. Our angel.

Losing your child is not fair. It’s not okay. You will be changed forever. In the moments where I feel like I’m drowning in my grief, my own personal well, I remember that we did all we could to make his life beautiful. He breathed the air. He smelled the flowers. He was loved. So very, very loved. I still remember him, breathing in my arms, snuggling against my chest. I remember, and I miss him every moment in my soul.

It was all we could do, and we did it as well as we could. 

Remembering Ganya Lily and Zaria Dawn

The following are eulogies written for two very special sisters, Ganya Lily and Zaria Dawn. Both of these precious babies were Carried to Birth after a fatal diagnosis. They are loved and missed every day.

Written by Tanya Loewen-Watson

Ganya Lily - June 9, 2013

Thank you all for being here and showing us your love and support today and throughout these last several months. We are so grateful you have chosen to be here to pay tribute to our daughter’s beautiful, yet short, life. Your support and prayers have been evident in our lives. During times of trial one often feels like God is not near or answering and I have felt this way but knowing in my heart God is always close by. I kept a list of all the cards and gifts people have given to show tangible support and one day looking over the overwhelming generous list, said to myself, 'If I can't hear God right now, obviously He is still speaking to someone and others are still hearing Him and obeying His voice'. God has been faithful and good and shown that to us through all of you here today. Thank you.

Last October we came home from a rare date to a Petra concert and after Brent had gone to bed, I decided I needed to go to the drugstore. I took 'the test' and went to wake Brent and with the most excited silly grin on my face, I showed it to him. I got the biggest hug in response. We were going to have child #4; exactly what we wanted. A family close in age to grow up and play together. The joy was indescribable. We knew we were in for a zoo at home in the first few years but were ready to welcome the challenge. Ganya's life had officially begun.

We continued to be excited in the following months and had started to prepare for where baby would sleep and that never ending conversation about what will we name this one. However, on January 2 our world came crashing to a halt. I had a significant complication that sent me to the ER. I spent New Year's Day waiting at the ER and was sent for an ultrasound the next day. I was taken in and two doctors scanned our baby for an hour and then grabbed a box of Kleenex and took me a room across the hall. There it was explained that there were many abnormalities and one thing cascaded into another for problem after problem. She would not live after birth. They recommended I terminate. That was not an option. This was confirmed to me when I cried out to God in confusion about 'what to do' and I got a sense in my heart clear as day that said, 'I will take her when it's time, and it's not time yet.' I knew then it was my task to carry her and not scientifically knowing the gender knew in my heart we were having another girl. I was not surprised at all when that was confirmed by ultrasound.

I cried, oh how I cried. And the river of tears didn't stop for several months. We continued to prepare for our baby but in a whole different way. This was going to be the only life she had and we were going to prepare for what it was going to be. We prepared for there to be a photographer to capture her life. We met with a palliative care team and neonatology prior to her birth to make sure her life would be comfortable. We asked people in advance to help us celebrate her life here today. We named her and where most keep the name a secret until after birth, I said I needed to share it as this now was going to be her whole life.

Here's some background on how we came up with her name. One night after many tears, I came to Brent and sat on the floor in front of him and put my head in his lap and not yet knowing gender I cried, 'I need to name it Ganya'. With the many discussions of names, this one had come up because of what it meant, Garden of God, and I liked it especially as, on top of its beautiful meaning, it was a take off of my name. Tanya with a G. With that I thought of our child in God's garden and the theme of her life became flowers from God's beautiful abundant garden. But now she needed a middle name. Rose? No, roses have thorns. Daisy? No, that sounded too much like Daisy Duke. Iris? No, that just didn't quite fit either. So I started to think of scripture that had flowers. The only one I could think of was in Matthew 6:28-30 which talked about how God cares for the lilies of the field that are here today and gone tomorrow. He would then look after our daughter and continue to look after us. That was it - Lily was her middle name.

The day had arrived. June 9, with lots of love and support around us and amazing doctors and nurses guiding us, Ganya Lily arrived in our arms at 5:05pm. She and God must have had a chat about arriving on the day of my mother and father's 40th wedding anniversary, to honor them with the gift of her presence.

She was alive. Praise be to God, she was breathing and did not need the medical intervention to help her breath or for pain. God had spared her that. At this time it felt to me that her life was nearing its end. We had known that when she was born most of her life had already been lived inside of me. Now it was time to celebrate her 1 and only birthday. So we celebrated. We took turns holding and kissing her. I was able to do a mother's loving 'duty' of bathing and diapering her. We swaddled her in the blanket made with love, prayers and tears by her grandmother. We held her hands and kissed her toes and bathed her with our tears of 'see you later'. All this time was captured in detail by an amazing volunteer photographer from Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep. I will always be grateful that she was there to document Ganya's birthday.

Though God had only allowed her to be in our life for 1 hour, she was all along only 'borrowed' to us. I am very confused, however, at why God chose to only gift her to me for this short time if it means I will miss her immeasurably till we meet again in heaven. This has also brought me God's lesson that though I call my other children 'mine' that they too are only borrowed to me to raise for Him. And I need to continue growing to be His light in their lives.

It has been and will continue to be our prayer that God be brought glory by her life.

Zaria Dawn - March 19, 2014

Indescribable sorrow. Insurmountable pain. Our daughter has just died and now Jesus holds her hand while she waits for God to bring her parents home to her. Doctors say that the death of a child, especially a baby, is the worst psychological trauma a mother will ever have to overcome. But really, it must have been a fluke. There's no way this could happen again. There's no way God would let this happen again. And with all this sorrow - we needed a reason for joy. So, we have 4 children like we wanted but decide to have a 5th child so we can still have 4 running around us here.

We get pregnant right away and are once again overjoyed. We'll have 2 sets of playmates. We'll have chaos. We'll have the zoo of little ones around us but are once again ready for the challenge so our children can grow up close in age.

Week 10, I go for an early ultrasound as they want to make sure this pregnancy is not high risk. They see some complication that is a possible sign of Down syndrome and try to look for other symptoms but baby doesn't cooperate. That's okay. It will be a different challenge if baby has Down syndrome, but at least they will be here with us. Week 12, they look again. No, it's not actually Down syndrome there's a physical problem. If that's all it is - they can fix it but baby's too small to tell for sure if there more. Week 16, another look. I hadn't kept hope of things being okay because I didn't want to be disappointed. Then, we heard an echo of the past when they say once again that there is problem cascading into problem and this baby would also not survive after birth.

I was shocked. As expected, the question of 'why' resounded in my head and heart over and over again. Oh, how this stabbed my heart. But I couldn't process this immense pain so my heart shut down. I didn't feel angry or sad. After all, we still had 3 children here to look after who needed their mother to be present physically and emotionally.

So, having just gone through this journey, we prepared for our baby in the same way. We chose names. We needed both a boy and girls name ready as part of the complications made determining gender by ultrasound nearly impossible. So, we couldn't share a name ahead of time, which was tough cause I so wanted her life here, while I was pregnant, to be more present with her name known. We met with palliative care to make sure baby's short life would be as comfortable as possible. And we planned for their life to be celebrated by finding meaningful scripture and songs.

We were told that baby was most likely a girl so the name we found for her needed to have meaning. And it needed to fit into our theme. If you take the first initial of each of our children in order, you get S. I. N. G. Sing! So our word needed to be completed. But I also didn't want the same initial used. That meant the last letter would have to be a 'Z' to make a creative spelling. I started combing through names that started with Z and found one I liked but when I looked up the meaning it didn't connect. But a little further down the list, I hadn't even seen the name yet, but the meaning was 'Sunrise'. Oh, how perfect. Zaria also sounded beautiful. Sunrises are in the morning. Fresh starts. Beginning anew with light. Filled with hope. Though, feeling abandoned by God, I had to hold onto the hope that God's love and mercy would never fail, like the sunrise. So, now she needed a middle name. The only thing that fit was Dawn. Zaria Dawn. Perfect! I found confirmation of this light and hope in Lamentations 3:22-24 which talks about being sure of the sunrise and the Lord is all we have to be sure of so we need to continue to put our hope in Him.

As the days ticked by, the anticipation grew and so did my anticipated sorrow. I missed Ganya more and started to already miss the child that we were yet to meet. Yet, on March 19th she arrived in my arms. God's perfect creation. Zaria Dawn's life shone in my hospital room. We were blessed again with a photographer from Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep to capture her memory for us.

I saw her scrunch her eyes at the new world she had entered and heard her click her tongue a few times as she sucked for breath. She was alive! Praise the Lord! We just loved and snuggled her for what felt an eternity. But very quickly, dawn turned to dusk and I knew she had been taken home. 10 short minutes of life here on earth and she got to start her new life in heaven, join her sister in God's beautiful garden, and meet Jesus. It still feels unfair. I'm very jealous but will wait till called home to dance with them there. And continue with the task I feel I'm called to - being the best mother I can to the children He's borrowed to me here. And purposefully grow in the knowledge and love of Christ, so I can be God's light in their lives.

It has been and will continue to be our prayer that God be brought glory by her life.

~ ~ ~

Tanya Loewen-Watson is a Stay at home mom. She is married to strong loving Brent and mother to 3 1/2 year old twins, Sarah and Ivan and 2 year old Nadia. Also mother to Ganya and Zaria already in heaven. Her angels were both diagnosed early in pregnancy with fatal complications and carried until 36 week where they spent very short earth lives never put down and are carried forever in our hearts and surrounded by our love.

How to Know When to Say Something

By Christine Russo

When do we, as mamas who choose to carry to birth, know when to tell people about our precious child's ill fate? It's such a confusing and sometimes uncomfortable discussion to have, and most of the time we're blindsided by it. "Oh look at your sweet belly! When are you due?" Or "Is it a boy or a girl? Are you so excited??" Or "You're probably so ready and buying tons of cute clothes!" Well-meaning sweet people all wanting to know about our growing bumps are potential emotional land mines in a day out running errands, potential triggers that could cause us to lose it at any moment. We can't blame them, they don't know any better. I was once as blissfully unaware as they. Completely innocent and naive to the world of fatal diagnoses in the womb as so many are.

There were days I would show off my belly and just beg people in my mind to talk about my pregnancy. On those good days, I wanted any chance to talk about my precious girl. Those were such beautiful times and I cherish those memories. Then there were my bad days when I would try to hide my belly (as much as I could after week 18) and avoided any situation where someone might say something because I knew on those days, I would break down. I remember how hard it was for me to know when was the 'appropriate time' to tell someone new about Gianna and sometimes it led to me secluding myself.

There were situations where I had to lie; I had to pretend everything was perfect. And boy did those conversations eat away at my soul. Slowly chipping away at the small amount of innocence I had left. It always left me feeling not only sad, but a little bitter. Bitter in knowing what SHOULD have been with my dear Gianna. Once on a bad day, I encountered a woman at a party who didn't know our daughters diagnosis and wouldn't let my pregnancy go. I tried to be short and to the point with my answers (which was horrible because I should be so incredibly excited about my girl) but she always came back to talk more. Finally I knew I had to say something because even people around me who knew looked uncomfortable. I finally said, "I'm so sorry, but she isn't expected to make it after birth." The poor woman looked humiliated. I was humiliated and could feel the hot tears about to flow. So I ran. I ran upstairs, hid in the bathroom and cried. It ended up fine, but it's so hard to go through when you're ready to break at any moment.

I eventually came to a point where I was comfortable with my own tears and feelings. I came to the realization after speaking with several bereaved mommies who have been there before that it's ok to let your real emotions out, even with strangers. Sometimes, grief needs to be witnessed to be healed and, although it didn't help me 'heal' while I was carrying, it made my heart happy to share about Gianna in an honest way. Now I look at those hard moments as things Gianna and I conquered together. She gave me all the strength I needed to get through those hard times. She made sure I was a brave mommy.

It's about whatever YOU are feeling in that moment, there are no right and wrong ways to handle these encounters. Whatever you need to do that day, whether it be hiding out or sharing your precious baby with the world, then do it. Stay true to your feelings and ride those waves of emotions because in the end, this is the only time we get with our angels. Be gentle and understanding with yourself.

~ ~ ~

Christine Russo is a wife to an amazing, supportive husband, and a mommy to Angel Gianna Marie, her first and only child. She carried Gianna after receiving a fatal diagnosis halfway into her pregnancy. Through the love and spirit of their special daughter, who means the world to them, they wish to help support other families who have to say goodbye to a piece of their heart. 

Honoring Loss Dads this Father's Day

This Father's Day weekend, we honor the awesome daddies who did all they could for their babies. 

If you would like to honor the special loss-daddy in your life, we'd love to hear about him! Maybe he's your husband, maybe he's your son, maybe he's your friend, cousin, uncle, or grandpa! Simply comment below with your note to the daddy you'd like to honor. It can be a few words or a full letter, whatever you'd like.   

If he's a father whose child is being carried after receiving a fatal diagnosis, we'd like to honor him with you. If he's a father who has to live without one or more of his children, we'd like to honor him with you. 

We wish all the amazing daddies of the world a very peaceful and gentle Father's Day weekend as they celebrate their fatherhood, while remembering the precious babies who are missing from their arms. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Our first letter is for Bryan Fredrickson

All That Love Can Do was created in memory of our son, Samuel Evan Fredrickson. The following was written by Samuel's Grampa, Dave Carlson. 

My Super Hero!

The first definition of hero is: a remarkably brave person: somebody who commits an act of remarkable bravery or who has shown an admirable quality such as great courage or strength of character; If that is true than I have a super hero. His name is Bryan. Bryan is my son-in-law and he embodies every bit of this definition. Bryan loved a little boy so much that he exhibited courage of the highest degree to me and the rest of the world. Bryan took the hard road and chose life for my grandson Samuel. Bryan absolutely did All That Love Can Do for his son. This is what a father’s heart looks like and I watched it being demonstrated throughout Samuel’s entire life; 35 weeks in the womb and many hours after his birth. 

I continued to witness the tenderness and gentleness and deep, deep love you felt for him as you bathed him and dressed him and held him in your arms for hours. You have continued to love and honor Samuel’s legacy over the two years since Samuel has gone to heaven. 

Bryan, this Father’s Day and every day, I honor you. You fought the good fight, you did everything right. I am so proud of you! 

Samuel’s Grandpa

*To read more about Bryan's time with Samuel, read The Memory Keeper

Father's Day Giveaway {Winner!}

This giveaway is now CLOSED. We have a winner!

DonnaLinn, on behalf of your husband Darrell: you've been selected by Random.org as our winner!
Please contact All That Love Can Do on Facebook within 24 hours to claim your book.

Even if you didn't win this giveaway, we still want to honor all the amazing daddies who did all they could for their babies. We wish them all a peaceful Father's Day this Sunday <3.

~ ~ ~

This giveaway is for any father who has suffered the death of his child, or the father of a baby who is currently being carried despite a fatal diagnosis.

Let's show these very special dads how much we love and appreciate them this Father's Day.

Because they are still fathers...
Because they grieve...
Because they are loving and missing their babies...
Because we want to recognize all they do...

We honor them.

Enter to win a FREE copy of the book, Grieving Dads: To the Brink and Back.

Grieving Dads: To the Brink and Back is a collection of candid stories from grieving dads that were interviewed over a two year period. The book offers insight from fellow members of, in the haunting words of one dad, “this terrible, terrible club,” which consists of men who have experienced the death of a child. This book is a collection of survival stories by men who have survived the worst possible loss and lived to tell the tale. They are real stories that pull no punches and are told with brutal honesty. Men that have shared their deepest and darkest moments. Moments that included thoughts of suicide, self-medication and homelessness. Some of these men have found their way back from the brink while others are still standing there, stuck in their pain. The core message of Grieving Dads is “you’re not alone.” It is a message that desperately needs to be delivered to grieving dads who often grieve in silence due to society’s expectations.

To enter:
1. Like All That Love Can Do on Facebook.
2. Comment below. If you're the loss dad, say so, if you're entering for the loss dad, telling us about the amazing loss dad in your life*. Why is he the BEST DADDY you know?
3. Tell us about the special baby(ies) you are/he is missing this year, or loving while being Carried to Birth.

*Anyone may enter on his behalf, but the book must go to the father.

Be sure to share this post with family and friends so they can also enter for you!

The winner will be chosen on Thursday, June 12th and announced on this blog.
He will have 24 hours to claim his prize.

Good luck!

Honoring Babyloss Mothers Project - Mother's Day

Today is Mother’s Day. For many women, it’s a day that’s not at all how it should be. Before you read today’s letters, please take a moment to hold in your heart, all the women trying to survive this day without one or more of their children.

*If you are a loss mom, please be sure to read to the end. There's a special letter, just for you <3.

For this project, we have been posting notes and letters to babyloss mothers, written by the friends and family who love them. Learn about it HERE. Each day, we’ve posted more of the letters we’ve received for these beautiful mamas.

If you just learned of this project, you can always participate by simply commenting below with a note to the special loss mama in your life. Be sure to let her know where she can find your note!

To read all the letters, click HERE.

~  ~  ~

To Dorothy Fernandez, Mother to Christian and Savannah

(Submitted by Priscilla Fernandez)

To my courageous and beautiful daughter. How I wish to have had the power to take away your pain and sorrow. How happy and elated were you the day you told us you were pregnant. How we shop for maternity clothes and plan for what was not meant to be. I wish you never had to break the news that your baby boy Christian was miscarriage. I remember like it was yesterday. Your anguish and desperation when they told you Savannah Rose your baby girl was Very sick. I will never forget the long and many hours your had to endure to come home empty handed.
My sweet baby girl you have suffered so much thought out your life. You still take time to console and help everyone around you. People only see your smile but not too many get to see the sadness you hide. Happy Mother's Day, yes you are also a mom to two beautiful angels.

I love and admire you, and I’m so proud to be your mom.

To Katherine Bisluig, Mother to a Special Baby Boy

(Submitted by Priscilla Fernandez)

To my granddaughter,
You are so young and have sufferer so much. My heart breaks every time I remember you got to hold your baby boy for such little time. So sorry I was not near you to hold you while you cry. You were so strong when you dress him to put him to rest. My sweet great grandson.
I know he is looking down from heaven so happy to have had you as his mom.
He will never forget like you will never forget him.
Happy Mother's Day my baby girl.

Love you more each day.

To Michelle Williams, Mother to Sawyer
(Submitted by Jen DeBouver)

Michelle, I have really enjoyed having you as a friend and as an inspiration in my life and I look forward to getting to know you more as we go on our Mended Little Heart’s ventures and grow our Angel’s program. I am so happy that our boys brought us into each other’s life. I wish you a very special Mother’s Day.

To Kris Richardson, Mother to Milo
(Submitted by Jen DeBouver)

Kris, it really has been a pleasure to have you as a new friend. Our loss is something that not everyone can understand and it’s nice that we can lean on each other for support. You are a strong, amazing mother and Milo would be so proud of you. I am wishing you a peaceful and very special Mother’s Day!

To Kristine Brite McCormick, Mother to Cora
(Submitted by Jen DeBouver)

Kristine, you are such an inspiration for all the things that you do in Cora’s memory and the fight you had to make changes all because of her. You and Cora have made such an amazing difference in the CHD World. I know that Cora would be very proud of you and continues to be proud. I hope that you have a peaceful and special Mother’s Day!

To Francesca Cox, Mother to Jenna Belle
(Submitted by Jen DeBouver)

Although I have never met you, I have been so inspired by all that you have done in the baby loss community and even in your new venture with Wildfeathers Vintage. I love seeing your daily photos to see what new inspiring things you are up to. I always try to be as inspiring to other baby loss moms as you have been to me so thank you for setting such a great example. Loss isn’t easy especially our kind of loss so thank you for showing us that we can all do amazing things in memory of our children. I am wishing you a very special and peaceful Mother’s Day!

To Carly Marie Dudley, Mother to Christian
(Submitted by Jen DeBouver)

Although I have never met you, I have been so inspired by all that you have done in the baby loss community and continue to do. I love seeing your daily photos to see what new inspiring things you are up to. I always try to be as inspiring to other baby loss moms as you have been to me so thank you for setting such a great example. Loss isn’t easy especially our kind of loss so thank you for showing us that we can all do amazing things in memory of our children. All your challenges and projects have really made a difference in getting through my grief and I really enjoy doing them. I am wishing you a very special and peaceful Mother’s Day!

To You, the Most Brave and Beautiful Mother I Know

By RaeAnne Fredrickson, Mother to Samuel Evan, creator of All That Love Can Do

Beautiful mama,

I know how hard today is for you. It’s so far from what it should be for you and my heart aches that your arms are not full, as they should be. I wish more than anything the world could be put right and your baby returned to you. Please, always remember, you are brave. You are beautiful. You are the best mother there is. You did everything a mother could possibly do for her baby and it’s not your fault that death is a thief. You are amazing.

Today, on this very hard day of triggers and reminders, please be extra gentle with yourself. You deserve just as much – really, more – love, respect, and admiration as every mother. You deserve to be honored and so that’s why I’m writing this to YOU. All your baby knew of this life was love. That makes you the best mother there is.

I know it’s not happy, so instead I’ll wish you LOVE, PEACE, and REST this Mother’s Day. You are a beautiful mother <3

Love,

RaeAnne

Honoring Babyloss Mothers Project - Day Seven

It's Day Seven of our project! Did you read the letters from Day Six?

For this project, we'll be posting notes and letters to babyloss mothers, written by the friends and family who love them. Learn about it HERE. Each day, we'll be posting more of the letters we received for these beautiful mamas.

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To Kristina Peterson, Mother of Layla Esther
(Submitted by Jana Heidebrecht)

Dear Kristina,
You are an outstanding mom. When you carried sweet Layla it was humbling to watch how you treasured each moment. You never took one moment for granted and you still don't. I know you don't feel like you are, but you are one of the strongest woman I know. You live up to your middle name Love. You have loved all your babies with your all. You gave Layla the best during her short time on earth. You were and still are Layla's voice and we got to love her and still do because you shared her personality, her likes and dislikes with us. We love you so much!

Jana

To Kristina Preece, Mother to Stella

(Submitted by Jaime Gee)

Kristina Preece is an amazing, strong, beautiful and loving mother of little Stella, who left this world very suddenly a few months ago. Her strength and courage continues to inspire me and we all know Stella is still with her, and all of us in a new and different capacity now. One of the things Kristina has made clear, is that she wants everyone to continue talking about Stella, by thinking about and sharing what she would be doing, things she's done, and everything in between. Stella will always be in our hearts, but with this request, and Kristina continuing to demonstrate what an amazing mother she is, Stella will also continue to be in our conversations.

Happy Mother's Day, Kristina!

xoxox

To Dana Sue Thompson, Mother to Tristan

(Submitted by Debra Leach)

My sweet daughter Dana Sue Thompson. I love you so much and I want you to know how amazing a mother you are to Elex and to your sweet angle Tristan. You loving and caring for Tristan while you carried him was beautiful. I love the fact that you talked to him, sang, rocked and read to him almost everyday.

Love you!

To Nati Garcia, Mother to Twin Boys

(Submitted by Rosalinda Macias)

My dear sister in law, my best friend.... You have been a light on my path of grief. You suffered such a huge loss when you lost your boys and you were still able to be there for me when I lost my babies. Your an amazing mother not only to the children you have here with you to raise but also to your angels. You speak of them so often that there is never a chance of forgetting them. They are with you every single day and I think of them everyday as well. Every year you go to the beach to honor their lives and their death and you do this with so much strength and grace I only hope one day to be as strong as you are. Your angels are exactly that YOUR angels and they are with our loved ones and their cousins watching over us. I'm so proud to call you my sister everyday I love you Nati and I love your boys and one day we will all be together.

To Kelly Rae, Mother to Asher

(Submitted by Dorothy Fernandez)

Dear Kelly,

On this mother's day, I would like to honor you. Your beautiful son, Asher, is looking down on you from heaven. You are such an amazing and strong woman. Although we have never met, I feel you are one of the few people I look to for strength and inspiration. Your son was conceived under such difficult circumstances. But that did not stop you from moving forward and fighting to give your Asher a good life. You were young and all alone and scared but you didn't give up. You suffered such a terrible loss but you used that to help others. Your beauty and strength shines in your beautiful daughter. I'm so happy you have your earth baby. You have so much love to give and I'm glad you have been able to share it with your daughter and granddaughter. Thank you for being such an amazing friend and inspiration. On this mother's day, I will be thinking of you and Asher. And I know he is looking at you from heaven and he is so proud of you. Happy mother's day Kelly Rae.

To Stephanie Erdman, Mother to Levi and Baby A

(Submitted by Larissa Genat)

Dear Stephanie,
You are such a beautiful mother and I wanted you to know that I'm thinking of you this Mother's Day. I'm so glad you have your girl with you but I know there is no one who can fill the Levi shaped hole. You are such a blessing to me and I hope Mother's Day is gentle and peaceful.
With love, Larissa

To Tash Foote, Mother to Hugo, Star and Sprout

(Submitted by Larissa Genat)

Dear Tash, you are one of the loveliest mamas I have ever known. You love for your babies shines in everything you do and I'm so sure they would be proud of all you do in their memory. You are an inspiration! Happy Mother's Day, from your precious Hugo, Star and Sprout (and me!)
With love, Larissa

To Special Mothers of Babies Lost to SIDS

(Submitted by Samantha Harmon Lovins, Mother to Owen)

My message would be to all my fellow SIDS Moms especially Heather Kiegel mother to Gwyneth, Melissa Ross mother to Isaiah, Michelle Lofton mother to Caleb and Amanda Hester mother to Jace. Without the continued support of these beautiful women these years since I lost our precious son Owen to SIDS I don't know where I would be. I've learned two things since that horrible Christmas Eve, that like speaks to like and that our angels may be gone but they will never be forgotten.

To Marie Knutt, Mother to Connor

(Submitted by Diana Frazier)

Dearest Marie,
You are a strong, beautiful, generous mother. What a gift you gave Connor, to be able to see life and to feel love, be loved, and give love. He was an incredible warrior, overcoming the odds since he took his first breath. Your love for him and Ryan is a testament to your inner beauty and strength. You are so very loved. Connor will always be remembered.

To Jamie Brown, Mother to Joey

(Submitted by Mellisa Higgins)

I had the pleasure of spending one weekend with Joey and Jamie. Although we had never met in person before, I immediately felt a strong bond with Jamie and we became immediate friends. I got to witness the unconditional love that Jamie has for Joey and was able to fall in love with him as soon as I saw him. Jamie never got frustrated when Joey cried, never showed anything but love and adoration to him. Going through airport security with a child with a feeding tube and a running pump was horrendous but Jamie kept her cool and did what was best for her son. The true love I witnessed that weekend will stay with me forever and i am honored that i was able to meet such an amazing little boy before he became an Angel. I love you Jamie, Happy Mothers Day to one of the greatest mom's I have ever known and will ever know. You and Joey will forever be in my heart and I am proud to call you my friend.

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Tomorrow is the last day for these beautiful letters! Be sure to come back tomorrow to read the rest.