Grief entered my life quietly, but it changed everything. The losses I have carried are not moments in the past—they are part of who I am now. I became a mother to children I did not get to raise, and that truth reshaped my heart in ways I never could have imagined.Each loss came with its own kind of silence. Dreams that never reached the world. Milestones that live only in my thoughts. A love so deep, yet so brief in time. I learned quickly that grief does not follow rules, nor does it fade simply because time passes. It settles into the spaces where love once grew and stays there.There were days when breathing felt heavy, when joy felt disloyal, and when the world moved forward while I stood still. Parenting living children while grieving those I lost taught me something profound—that sorrow and gratitude can exist together. That loving fiercely does not end with loss. And that carrying grief does not mean I am broken; it means I loved deeply.Over time, my grief began to teach me. It taught me compassion for others walking this path. It taught me patience with myself. And it showed me that remembering is not the same as being stuck. Honoring my babies does not keep me in pain—it gives my pain purpose.I no longer ask why this happened. Instead, I ask how I can carry their lives forward in meaningful ways. Through remembrance. Through advocacy. Through holding space for other mothers who feel unseen, unheard, or alone.My children are not defined by how long they lived, but by how profoundly they changed me. They are part of every step I take, every choice I make, and every heart I reach. Their lives matter. Their love remains. And so does mine—for them, always.Grief did not end my story.It deepened it.
