The death of a child is unimaginable. Your heart breaks into a million pieces as you ponder what their life would be like.
I have sat with a daughter with no life left.
My monster, you see, is the lingering doubt that if I had made a single decision differently at four in the morning on a Monday almost six years ago, my daughter Hudson might still be alive today.
I didn’t want to love him. Five months into my pregnancy, I stared at the shadowy image that appeared on the ultrasound screen—a tiny baby boy who my obstetrician predicted would …
What I understand now is that accepting how little control I have means leaving my heart wide open at all times.
In my worst moments as a mother, the moments where I am cursing my family or getting angry about how much I have to do, I often experience this extreme moment of panic.
I did get the chance to say goodbye to my mom and spend time with her.
My father died—from a cancer that could have been prevented. In fact, the majority of skin cancer is preventable.
When something feels wrong, it usually is.
The condemnation of abortion under any circumstance, which has once again played such an influential part in the outcome of our recent presidential election, pushes grief and depression into dangerous black spots.