“Tie my shoes tight and bury me in comfy clothes,
because when I get to heaven,
We’ve  got another baby waiting for us
and we’ve got running and playing to do.” 

The past few months, Jake and I have carried a completely miraculous secret. It felt like such a gift—far more than we could have asked for, thought of, or even comprehended. It felt like a rainbow for after the storm. What better way to step back into life at home after frontline Cancer treatment than by welcoming a new little life into our family?

At the same time, these past couple of months were some of the hardest for me physically. I found myself so aware—so deeply grateful—for the health and strength I’ve been given over the past year. The all-day morning sickness was intense. Not quite as extreme as with the others, but this time, there was no rest. We are still in the middle of fighting this ugly monster called cancer.

As I neared the end of the first trimester, I started to feel a small shift—just enough relief to not be constantly gagging or dragging myself from one moment to the next. I felt hope returning in my body.

And yet, even in the beauty of it all, there were concerns. I’m the one who handles all of Avry’s medications, oral chemo, and one of them in particular is not safe to handle  during pregnancy. (I want to be clear—this is not what caused the miscarriage.)

Jake’s first response was honest: “What are we going to do with a baby? How are we going to manage this on top of everything?”

And I remember gently reminding him—if we’ve made it through over 365 days of cancer, we can handle a baby.

And slowly, our hearts caught up. What started as  a massive surprise, uncertainty turned into excitement. Real excitement. We let ourselves dream and plan and hope again. 

Until April 14…
when the doctor told us that our baby’s heart was no longer beating.

And just like that, everything got quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that feels peaceful…
the kind that feels hollow.
Like something that was there—something alive, something full of promise—was suddenly gone. Our world dimmed. 

There are no words that make sense of it.
No explanation…no platitudes that touch the rawness.
Just the ache of what could have been…
and the weight of a love that had already begun to grow.

I didn’t just lose a pregnancy.
We lost a baby.
A piece of our family.
A future we had already started to picture.

And it’s strange, because life doesn’t pause.
We still wake up.
We still show up.
We’re still in the middle of fighting for Avry’s life.

Grief doesn’t wait for a convenient time.
It doesn’t ask if your plate is already full.

It just comes.

I  just don’t understand why God would give us a taste of something so beautiful and unexpected and so exciting… such a rainbow to look forward to😭😭And then  take it away
In this season 💔💔💔
The only thing that makes sense is that He just wants us to be so connected with heaven…

And yet… even here…
even in this place I never would have chosen…
We still believe.

We still believe that God is who He says He is.
That He is near to the brokenhearted.
That He sees  the pain and no what we’ve lost.
That this baby’s life—no matter how short—still matters.

Deeply.

We don’t understand it.
We don’t have answers wrapped in a bow. And sometimes I wonder is this finally the thing that breaks us??

But we do know this—
We have another baby in heaven 

Whole.
Alive.
Waiting.


So when my time comes…
tie my shoes tight. Because I won’t be walking—
I’ll be running.
Running straight into eternity,
toward the sound of tiny voices
that we’ve carried in my heart all along—

“Mama… Daddy…”

And in that moment,
every ache, every longing, every tear will finally make sense.

We are surrounded with love and kindness! On Wednesday, there was a steady stream of flowers and groceries and coffees and so many gestures to remind us we are loved and cared for! Thank you 🙏 so much. 

Please pray for strength and courage to keep going. 

We head back to the hospital in a week and a half, and Jake has a long haul scheduled during that time. I wish he could just be here to help carry things and pick up the pieces, but work is calling and he has to go.

I honestly don’t know how I’m going to get through the next few weeks—how I’ll be strong enough to care for Avry and step back into hospital life again.

But I also know this to be true: I’ve found the strength 100% of the time this past year. Every single time when I thought I couldn’t, somehow I did. And I believe, even if I can’t see how yet, that it will continue. We will come thro yet again! 

Please pray for healing. ❤️‍🩹 

-our story for Gods glory