Life After Loss

October 3, 2025

It’s been six months since our sweet Jack met Jesus, and not a single day has passed without the ache of missing him. Life hasn’t been what it was supposed to be. Every day feels just a little off—a little emptier. Your big sister talks about you constantly, and your dad and I miss you every single minute. We long for the day we’ll see you again—to finally feel whole as a family. Because the truth is, I don’t know if we’ll ever feel “complete” here on Earth without you.

In these six months, grief has taught me more than I ever wanted to learn. The biggest lesson? It doesn’t go away. It doesn’t fade. It becomes part of you. Some days feel like one of those old music videos—blurry, fast-forwarded scenes with life speeding by while I stand still. Other times, it’s like driving from point A to B and stepping out of the car thinking, How did I even get here? (Let’s keep that between us—Jared already questions my driving.)

I don’t know how long this fog lasts, but I do know that waking up each day without you is devastating.

Starting IVF while walking through such deep grief has been a rollercoaster of emotions. Hope, sadness, anxiety, excitement—they all swing back and forth like a pendulum. There’s a constant tension between the desire for new life and the sacred space you hold in our hearts. Nothing could ever replace you, Jack. Ever.

Still, the fear of being judged creeps in. The opinions of people who don’t know our full story—or our hearts—can feel loud. And while I do my best to silence those outside voices, it’s not always easy. It should be. But when you’re vulnerable and grieving, even well-meaning comments or glances can feel like stones.

So here we are—navigating grief, love, hope, and healing all at once. And through it all, Jack, we carry you with us. Always.

This week, we completed our first IVF egg retrieval cycle. We were cautiously optimistic going into each step. After two weeks of injectable and oral medications, near-daily blood draws and ultrasounds, we had our procedure on Friday, September 26th.

That morning was gloomy and overcast as I took Nora to school. I couldn’t help but let my mind wander to the negative—classic ominous foreshadowing. But by the time I got home, picked up Jared (my faithful chauffeur for the day), and we headed to our clinic (CCRM, who we absolutely love), the sun broke through. Those big, heavy clouds looked perfect.

Clouds have become something I look for. When Jack passed and we left the hospital with empty arms and shattered hearts, the next morning’s sky was full of the most beautiful clouds. Sometimes I tell myself—just quietly enough not to sound crazy—that those clouds are from Jack. A whisper that he’s still here with me.

The procedure itself went smoothly, and everyone at the clinic was incredibly kind. We were shocked (understatement) to learn they retrieved 34 eggs 😳 and that 28 were mature and would be fertilized that day. 

As we left the clinic, it began to absolutely pour—like step-outside-and-you’re-soaked kind of rain. Hail, wind, wild weather. And then came the tears. Tears of joy. Tears of sadness. Maybe even tears powered by some strong pharmaceuticals. But mostly, tears of hope—because our story isn’t finished yet.

Later in the week, Jared sent me a Bible verse he’d been reading (I love when he does that and thinks of us in those quiet moments). It was from Matthew 7:7–8:

“Keep on asking, and you will receive what you ask for. Keep on seeking, and you will find. Keep on knocking, and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks, receives. Everyone who seeks, finds. And to everyone who knocks, the door will be opened.”

Grief had taken that hope from me these past six months. I’ve become more cynical, more realistic. I tend to expect the worst. Some of the joy and lightness I used to carry may never return. But that verse was the reminder I needed: God is still good. He sees our hearts. He opens doors we’re faithfully knocking on.

On Saturday, September 27th, 24 hours after retrieval we got the call that all 28 eggs had fertilized and would be monitored throughout the week to see how many would continue to grow.

And today, we are so overjoyed to share that we have 15 embryos. Fifteen chances for life. Fifteen chances for healing and hope.

Is that our final number? No. But for today, we’re celebrating those 15.

Next, they will undergo PGT-A testing to screen for chromosomal abnormalities. That will take about two weeks. So once again, we’re holding our breath and taking it one step at a time.

We’re deeply grateful for your continued prayers, support, and love. If you’re the praying type, or the good-vibes-sending type, we’d be honored to be in your thoughts.

Please pray:

• for healthy PGT-A results
• for us as we continue grieving and navigating life without Jack
• for our medical team
• for sweet Nora, who misses her baby brother deeply
• for strength in our marriage as we walk this path together
• and always, always for Jack

And lastly, October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month. Please remember and pray for all the parents who’ve said goodbye far too soon. It never gets easier.

Thank you for walking this journey with us. We feel your love and your prayers every single day.