Life After Loss

January 11, 2026

The holiday season has come and gone, and I’m not sure it will ever feel the same. As much as I love the lights, the music, the familiar smells, and the time together, something will always feel wrong. One stocking missing from the shelf. One face missing from our family photos. A quiet absence that echoes through every tradition.

At the very end of my pregnancy with Jack, I was diagnosed with preeclampsia and cholestasis, which began to affect my liver and kidneys. Even eight weeks later, after I was physically healed, my liver enzymes remained elevated. That led my OB to refer me to a gastroenterologist for further testing. 

During an abdominal ultrasound, they found a large polyp in my gallbladder. I had no pain or symptoms, but I was sent for a surgical consult where my options were explained.

The polyp measured 9 mm, and my surgeon shared that anything at 10 mm raises concern for malignancy. I could continue to monitor it with frequent ultrasounds, wait until it reached 10 mm and then remove my gallbladder, or have surgery now before it had a chance to grow.

I chose the second option and scheduled my surgery for Monday, December 22. I told myself—and everyone else—that it was the perfect time because I’d be on winter break. I wouldn’t need to use precious sick days I’m trying to save in case my next maternity leave is unpaid (yes, teachers don’t receive paid maternity leave—we use our sick days as FMLA, and then once those days are gone, then we go unpaid). But if I’m honest, part of me wanted to disappear from the holidays altogether. Every celebration was a reminder of who should be here and isn’t.

It felt easier to hide away on the couch under the guise of “recovery” than to be out in public, on the verge of tears at any moment. Was it the healthiest choice? Probably not. But it was the one I needed. Going to Christmas Eve services without both of my children was not something I was ready to face, and pain medication mixed with overwhelming emotions is never a good combination.

Our pastor said in church today that the phrase “time heals all wounds” doesn’t apply to every kind of grief. I couldn’t agree more. Time keeps moving. Life keeps happening. But the ache in my heart remains—steady, quiet, and always there. Even moments of joy and laughter are met with a soft “I miss you” in my heart. Celebrations and cheers carry a silent “I wish you were here.”

When your big sister says she’s sometimes mad at God, I tell her I am too. And yet, time still moves forward. Life keeps asking us to show up. Nora deserves my presence. Jared deserves my presence. My friends, my family, my students—they all deserve my presence. Some days, though, it feels like the heaviest, most impossible thing to give. 

Now that I’ve recovered from gallbladder surgery, we are continuing our IVF journey. On the 19th, I will have a saline ultrasound and a mock transfer. The ultrasound will give my doctor a clear view of my C-section scar to ensure my uterus has healed properly and to reduce the risk of an ectopic pregnancy in the scar. During the same appointment, they will also perform a mock transfer to make sure everything is aligned and ready for the real one.

After that, we enter another season of waiting—waiting to pass the one-year mark and for my cycles to become predictable enough for us to transfer our miracle.

Please pray for:

• Patience in the waiting
• Clear ultrasound results and complete scar healing
• Families who are missing loved ones while life continues around them
• Financial clarity and provision as we continue our IVF journey