It’s a club no one wants to join, yet so many people are part of.

You’re my light at the end of a tunnel of sadness, of heartache, and of pain.

In the days immediately following the birth of my stillborn baby, I played a lot of baseball.

After the loss of my infant son, I began to notice the vast number of minefields that we navigate during every conversation.

This poem was written for my sister who recently received the heartbreaking news that at 16 weeks gestation her baby’s heart had stopped beating.

I won’t allow myself to give into the fear that terror provides, and I refuse to let my kids live in fear of terrorism.

The familiar words reach our ears. I hate that they are familiar. Isis. Extremist. Suicide bomber.