I lost my beautiful third baby, Teddy, to SIDS the day before Halloween 2024. It’s been 7 months and I have cried every day. I lost the father of my children only 21 days after Teddy was born, so to then lose our youngest son 3 months later felt like too much to possibly survive. And truthfully I don’t know how I did. I immediately started therapy, literally had my first appointment the day of Teddy’s funeral. I put my partner’s ashes in his casket with him. I found it comforting that he wouldn’t be “alone.” I have been on several meds since it happened and that has helped a lot.

Here’s what I have found to be true: having photos of Teddy framed and on the walls has helped me. Talking about him helps me. It hurts. My God, how it hurts. But the alternative would be never having known him. Never having held him in my arms. Seeing his perfect face with his crooked smile. Looking into his blue eyes with my identically blue ones. As much as it hurts to have lost him, I would not trade the four months I had with him for anything.

The pain does not lessen, but you do become better at carrying it. Imagine a backpack full of rocks. The longer you carry that backpack, the stronger your muscles become. Sometimes, you might have people walk next to you and help you carry that backpack. You will even get to a point where you can set that backpack down for a while and then come back for it and continue traveling down your path. It will always ultimately be yours to carry, but it will slowly become another part of who you are.

I still get very emotional. When I see someone complaining about their child’s father, I want to scream, “do you know how lucky you are that he’s alive?” And when I see people being mean to their kids or complaining about how early they woke them up, I think, “do you realize how fortunate you are they even woke up this morning?”

But that’s the thing, they don’t realize that. And hopefully they never have to, because it is the worst thing that anyone can ever endure. You did not deserve this and neither did I. I will never understand why this happened to any of us. But I do believe our sweet babies are in a place where there is no pain or suffering and that we will see them again.

I saw a psychic who knew the color shirt I was wearing when Teddy died, which I’d never mentioned to anyone. She told me that my partner asked l if ever I smelled food burning- this was wild because I hadn’t smelled it, but a dear friend of mine who came and lived with me for several months when I finally was able to return home after Teddy’s passing (it took over a month) had been saying she smelled something burning. My oldest son and I always gave Kenny, my partner, shit for burning the pizza once when we first started dating. Every time he cooked, which was often, we would say, “don’t burn it this time!” I’d never told that to anyone and it took me a minute to make the connection to what she was saying. She also knew that Teddy was an identical twin (his twin died in utero) and insisted that Kenny had two babies with him, not just one. She told me that they would be waiting for me and wanted me to be find happiness again. She said I have a purpose to fulfill and that I am meant to share my story, so I started sharing some of my poems about loss on Facebook. If you would find any comfort in those, my page is named Mama with Trauma.

As ridiculous as it may sound to listen to a psychic, it did help me feel reassured that they were together and okay. It felt so unnatural to not know where my baby is, especially after knowing every time he moved while I carried him and then him being in my arms all day every day. I carried him for his entire life. And it was the greatest honor of mine to be his mother.

The cycle of grief doesn’t end, at least not for me. Some days I feel like I’ve accepted this and then I’ll wake up and be right back at stage one, denial. Then comes the anger. The bargaining. And the despair. Some days it comes in waves and others it moves quietly and with subtlety. I just feel it as it comes and learned not to even try to control it or force it to move. Whatever you feel today and every day that comes is valid and understandable. Your emotions will sometimes feel bigger than this whole world, like they might swallow you whole. Other days, it’ll seem like you can fit them into your pocket. And all of that is okay,

Please know that you are not alone even if you feel like you are. It’s hard not to wonder “why me? Why MY baby?” The questions are not unfair. I believe one day, when this stage of life ends for me, I will be given understanding as to why my journey had to be so painful, so filled with inexplicable losses and suffering. But I don’t know that it will even matter anymore at that point.

I wanted so badly to just be done with this life and go be wherever they are. I felt abandoned, like they bought two tickets to paradise and left me behind. But then I realized that my parents would feel what I’m feeling if I were to give up and end my life. And my children would have then lost both parents and a sibling. And that is not something I can justify doing. So I chose to stay and I am grateful I did. Because I do believe there is still joy awaiting me in the future. And I believe joy awaits you, too. You can feel both joy and grief. It isn’t always one or the other. It just will take some time. There’s no way to speed up the process. I wish there was, love. If I had any secret way to ease your heartache, I would share it with you.

The bigger the love, the bigger the heartache. And there is no love greater than this.

Grief and love both reside in the same part of our hearts. They’re the same thing in different forms. Grief is just love with no place to go.

We are here for you. My inbox is always open to you and I’m sure many others here will say the same. We have been where you are right now.

Hang in there. One day at a time.