this life is possible....

I strongly believe that part of my healing is tied to helping others process their trauma and grief, and to remind them that there is still light at the end of the tunnel. The light may not look the way we imagined it would, but it shines nonetheless.

For those who have been here for a while, you know I share it all....the highs and lows of being a NICU and medical mama, the grief of burying a child and a husband, the struggle of finding myself again, and the journey of turning my ashes into beauty.

Seven years ago, after giving birth to Kolin at just 25 weeks, I moved into the DC Roland McDonald House for six weeks while he fought for his

life in the NICU. I could never repay them for the kindness they showed my family, but I can do my best to make the path a little easier for the families who come behind me.

A few months ago, I received a call asking if I would lead support groups at both the DC and Virginia Ronald McDonald Houses. I immediately thought, "This is my chance to truly make a difference."

Today, I kicked off both groups, and my heart is so full.

I sat with several families, listened to their stories, and shared pieces of my own journey. I talked about the things I wish someone had told me when Kolin was first admitted to the NICU.

One dad asked me, “I just want to know what life is going to look like once we go home.”

I answered honestly. I shared how hard it can be to navigate healthcare systems, unexpected hospitalizations, therapies, and the countless challenges that can come with life after the NICU.

But I didn't stop there.

I told him that even though our life looks different than I once imagined, my son is happy, deeply loved, and living a beautiful life. I showed him a picture of Kolin smiling in his wheelchair, his feeding pump visible beside him.

Because sometimes people don't need false hope. They need someone to show them that this life is possible.

Today, I got to be that person for someone else.

And that is exactly why I do the work that I do.