A Tale of Miscarriage: A Mother’s Day Due Date



I thought about you yesterday.

It was your due date. And it was Mother’s Day.

You were going to be my best Mother’s Day present ever.

Instead, I cried every day of the week leading up to it.

I watched as several precious babies were born. I saw the pictures of their Mamas tenderly kissing them. The instinct to love and to hold and to protect written on all of their faces. I longed to hold you and to kiss you and to know who you are… who you were. I wished I could have kept you safe.

I wished I could go back to a time when I thought everything was in my control. That I could keep all my babies safe.

I hold my tummy as your brother kicks, and I repeat scripture… fighting to keep the anxiety at bay.

I look at your brothers, and I try to take them in, to cherish them as I watch them play. I pray for long, wonderful lives, and fight the fear again.

No one talks about the anxiety.

In some sense people know it hurts, but they do not understand the panic.

How one can be happy and hopeful and good most of the time, but suddenly a flip is switched. And you begin to walk around feeling like you are on the verge of a panic attack… fighting to stay in control of the irrational fear, and wondering why you cannot seem to control your emotions and get a grip.

What was the trigger?

For me, every time I feel this way I realize that the next day I have an appointment to check up on your little brother. It seems this is how my body must deal with my mind’s subconscious reaction to a deep trauma… to a deep loss.

I have cried silently in my car after most of my appointments, drowning in the relief that your brother is doing well.

I take these moments, and I let myself feel them. I try to fight the fear by acknowledging where it comes from.. by facing it head on. Sometimes this works.. sometimes it does not.

To be honest, it is a coping mechanism I have learned from a long time struggle with anxiety. I determined long ago that I would not be a slave to fear. And even now, I refuse to be a mother and wife consumed by anxiety.

Most people think I am a laid back Mom who just rolls with the punches. Easy going and calm.

And I guess am.

But this person.. this mother… I fought to become her. I still fight.

And I will fight for this abundant life that the Lord has given me. That he promised.

I fight to stay present in the joy of today.

I fight to let tomorrow worry about itself.

I fight to let go of things that just do not matter in the grand scheme of things. 2f7978365792028ed083d2530e355169

I remind myself that I am more than a conqueror through Christ who strengthens me. I am the strong Mom and wife my men need.

So this Mother’s day, after a week of crying, I chose to enjoy your Daddy and your brothers. I chose gratitude. I missed you more than I could ever put into words. I could not even speak the words “baby’s due date”, and those around me did not ask me to.

I chuckled as your brothers played “good guy” vs “bad guy”. I smiled as they pretended to be puppies and then dinosaurs and then robots. I listened to their roars, grunts, and loud laughter. I gave kisses and received them.

I watched your Dad with them, and thanked Jesus for giving me such a wonderful man. He wrapped me in his love. Flowers, new diaper bag, grocery shopping, clean car, laundry complete, all yard work done, favorite coffee, meals and snacks prepped for the week, and all with a smile on his face. How is he real? How is he mine?

Your Dad never said anything, but I know he saw me crying this past week. At night, he would climb into bed and just pull me close to him without saying a word. Just knowing.

There is nothing like it in this world… to be fully known and loved.

And that is what I can give you sweet baby.

You are known. You are loved. And someday we will meet again.

But for now your Mamma is going to enjoy every second with her sweet family here on earth.

I promise to laugh in the morning as I reminisce on your brother peeing all over your Dad and I that night. Chuckling as I look down on the blanket we used to cover the pee stain so we could just go back to sleep.

I will take a deep breath and smile when your brother asks me “Why?” for the 82435679183456014 time.

I will do my best to be thankful for housework because the only reason it exists is because of the many blessings I have been given.

I will fail more times than I can count, but I will walk in grace.

I guess that is what you have given me this Mother’s Day… a resolve to begin anew. To embrace the messy chaos of life, and be grateful.

So I will do my best.

And I will miss you and love you with a smile until Jesus calls me home.








Miscarriage: A Marriage Letter

Dearest Tay,

The other day I stood at our open refrigerator, staring blankly at the neatly arranged meals you made for me, and I began to sob.

I have cried a lot this past month.

You and I, we never knew there were different levels of crying. Last month showed us what it is like to grieve and cry from the deepest recesses of our hearts.

There is a cry that comes from deep within the soul. A cry reserved only for the bereaved. It takes you out of your body, and you wonder who it is who is making all these sounds.

And you wonder how to comfort them. But it is you.


A word that sticks to the top of my mouth like peanut butter, dries me out like a mouth parched for water, and pierces my soul in a place I did not know existed.

A word you and I share.

A loss.

A trauma.

A baby that was ours.

A tiny hope, a little spirit, a piece of you and me.

You and me.

We survived.

It is a pain that takes you to a place where there are no words.

Thinking back and attempting to tell the story feels like falling. Falling and grasping for the words, but all that is left are colors and feelings. Even now, I struggle to put my thoughts to pen. Sometimes there is only darkness.

But in the darkness you were there. You and my Jesus.

And somehow, amidst the pain, I felt as if I was being carried… as if I was being hugged. The Lord tells us He is close to the broken hearted, and oh how we know that is true. He was there, but He also gave me you.


Going to work. Picking up clothes. Washing dishes. Bathing kids. Making meals. Grieving. Holding me. Loving me.

After a week of all of this, you sent me out that day wanting me to have time with a friend. Wanting me to have time for me. And I came home to swept and mopped floors, folded clothes, clean sheets, and happy kids.

So when I saw that you had cooked and shopped and arranged my food for the week so I would not have to worry.

I broke.



Kind. Caring. Selfless. You.

Amidst your own pain, you have carried me when I could not walk, and I will forever be grateful.

I love you.

Forever Yours,



— Miscarriage is not often talked about so I will be writing a miscarriage series as I process through my thoughts and feelings. This will not be every week. I will still be posting my funny stories and life as we know it in our home. I am just hoping that I can bring some hope, some companionship, and some understanding to those who have experienced this type of loss. Love you all so very much <3




Love Doesn’t Keep Score

SO I am back from my month off of writing! I have so many stories to tell! I thought for my first blog post after my break I would write a little about my husband Taylor.

When I was first married, I wrote a blog about our first year of marriage together. It was kind of hilarious to learn about men and how different they are from women. Taylor continues to make me smile with the things he says.

Taylor on having girls from here on out now that he has a son:

T: Sure that would be great, but it would just mean I only have one shot at real sports.

S: Girls play sports!

T: (Blank Stare)

Taylor on hair: 

I refuse to have a haircut that requires me to brush my hair… ever.


Taylor on fairytales: 

T: Girls who believe in them are dumb.

S: I didn’t believe in fairytales until I married you.

T: Oh gag me.

T: Most girls who chase some romantic fairytale don’t have a happy ending because they are not being realistic… and if there is no happy ending… I wouldn’t call that a fairytale.

Taylor on assuming I know about the basketball playoffs: 

He is on the computer so I sit down and change the channel.

T: Wait no! It’s basketball.

S: And?

T: (Blank stare)… It’s playoffs.

Taylor on how much he loves me:

S: How much do you love me?

T: A lot.

S: How much is a lot?

T: It is a lot. The word is self explanatory.

S: No. Use a description.

T: Very much?

S: An example.

T: I love you more than football.

S: What if I told you I didn’t want you to watch football anymore?

T: I would laugh.

S: But I thought you said you love me more than football?

T: I do. But you are not leaving if I don’t stop watching football so your question is irrelevant.

Taylor on how much I love him: 

S: Do you know how much I love you?

T: Yes.

S: How much?

T: A lot.

S: Oh for heaven’s sakes… ok yes… but do you really understand how much I love you?

T: Yes. Yes I do… Because unlike you I understand the definition of a lot.


Oh my sweet husband… how I love thee. 

On the kind of man Taylor is: 

I had a rough day the other day. Taylor came home to me in tears, the laundry not done (aka EVERYWHERE), the house not clean, and the baby in need of attention. After surveying the scene and listening to my rant and tears, he just gave me a hug and told me to get dressed. He was going to take me and the boy out for dinner, ice cream, and a Target trip… all of my favorite things.

As we drove over to the restaurant I pondered how lucky I was to have such a wonderful husband. Taylor works full time, and he is in a graduate program doing double the coursework in order to finish earlier. He always spends time with Holden and I. He will help me with anything, often without me even asking. He has no problem helping me with housework even though it is my job since he is working, and I am at home, but when I say something he just tells me it is his house and his baby too so he can help.

So on this day Taylor spent all day working only to come home to a messy house and an upset wife… and his first reaction was to take me to my favorite places? Who is this man and how on earth did I score him? I promise you people I cannot even make this stuff up.

Anyways, as we are walking up to the restaurant I tell Taylor how he is so awesome, and he does all these things for me, and I feel like I am not always keeping up my end of the bargain. I feel like he is doing way more than me in this marriage, and I feel bad.

Taylor just listened to me for a bit, shifted Holden to his other shoulder, and nonchalantly tells me, ” It’s ok. Don’t you remember? Love doesn’t keep score.”

And then my heart burst into a million pieces. I am sure Taylor will never realize the full impact this moment had upon me… but I promise you this… I will never forget that moment. Me, as a young mom, being loved on by my husband of few words.

And I will never stop telling him EXACTLY how much I love him… because it is definitely more than “a lot”.


But of course, it wouldn’t be a Taylor story if it ended just there. 

After a minute I replied, “Well if we were keeping score, you would definitely be beating me.”

To which Taylor responded with a smile:

“Oh that’s ok… I am used to always winning.”



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