10/16/2026
đ When Light Breaks Through the Storm âď¸
Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Month October 2026
There are some births that change you forever. And there are some babies who leave an imprint on your heart that time will never erase. đ¤ đ â¤ď¸
As a doula, I have the incredible privilege of witnessing life emerge from intense pain. That moment when a mother hears her babyâs first cry, when everything seems to stand still, tears begin to fall, and she realizes just how incredibly powerful she really is.
But sometimes, that first cry never comes.
Sometimes, instead of celebrating the first breath of life, we find ourselves holding space for parents who must say goodbye to a baby they barely got to say hello to.
And there are simply no words for that kind of heartbreak.
I remember asking God, âHow is this fair? Why has this happened?â
I had taken bereavement training. I had supported families through miscarriage, stillbirth, and infant loss before. But something about walking through these particular losses changed me.
These were families I knew. Families I had spent weeks and months building relationships with, preparing for their births, talking about their hopes, their dreams, and the babies they couldnât wait to meet.
I had walked beside them through labor, physically and emotionally supporting them for countless hours, only to find ourselves navigating funeral arrangements instead of birth announcements.
I cried for weeks. Sometimes unexpectedly. Sometimes without even knowing what had brought the tears back.
And I knew that whatever I was feeling couldnât begin to compare to what these parents were carrying.
But through those experiences, I learned something about this calling of mine.
Sometimes the most important thing we can do as doulas isnât to offer answers or try to make things better.
Sometimes our greatest gift is simply being willing to sit in the puddle with a family.
Not trying to pull them out. Not telling them to look on the bright side. Not rushing them toward healing.
Just sitting there.
In the grief. In the silence. In the uncertainty.
Loving them right where they are.
Because grief isnât something we simply get over.
I wrote something a few years ago that still resonates deeply with me:
Grief doesnât simply pass with time; it reshapes you.
At first, it fills every corner of your life, leaving no space for anything else. But slowly, you begin to grow around it.
Grief does not vanish. It remains a part of you, but your life expands to hold both the sorrow and the possibility of joy again.
You are not who you were before the loss. You are someone new, carrying the weight of love in a different form.
And this October, those words mean even more to me.
Because I have now had the incredible honor of witnessing THREE rainbow babies enter this world after their families experienced the unimaginable heartbreak of losing a baby. đđđ
Three beautiful babies.
Three incredibly strong mothers & fathers.
Three families who found the courage to walk through pregnancy and birth again, knowing firsthand # that not every pregnancy ends the way we hope.
And three birth stories that I will carry in my heart forever.
I had the privilege of knowing these families before their losses. Of dreaming with them about their babies and their births. Of walking beside them through labor, through heartbreak, and through the difficult days, weeks, and months that followed.
And then, when they were ready, I got to walk beside them again.
Through the excitement of another positive pregnancy test, mixed with the fear of knowing what could happen.
Through appointments, milestones, prayers, and the cautious hope that comes with pregnancy after loss.
And eventually, through labor again.
Each birth was so incredibly different. Each mother and family faced their own challenges, fears, and moments of surrender.
And each one was absolutely beautiful to witness.
But that third rainbow birth⌠what an incredible way to bring this chapter of our journey together to a close.
This sweet mama had carried so much anxiety surrounding labor, especially the uncertainty of how long things might take and how everything would unfold. After everything she had experienced, there were so many emotions wrapped up in the thought of giving birth again.
We had spent time exploring her options, including the possibility of welcoming this baby in the hospital. I think part of her was still trying to figure out where she would feel the most comfortable and at peace.
And then, in a way that only God could have orchestrated, that decision was made for us.
There simply wasnât time to make it.
This sweet baby came so quickly, right there at home, in a birth that was so incredibly different from the one before.
God spoke before us. He stepped before us. He knew before us.
Before we could make the plans, before we could work through all the what-ifs, before we could even settle on what we thought was best, He already knew how this little oneâs story would unfold.
And what a beautiful story it was.
One of the most incredible parts of that birth wasnât just how quickly this sweet baby arrived.
It was the people who showed up.
I had the blessing of looking around that room and seeing almost every midwife in our community gathered together.
All there for this one family.
For this one precious baby.
For each other.
And, in so many ways, for our entire birth community.
These incredible women showed up with their hands, their hearts, their knowledge, and their willingness to serve.
And I couldnât help but think about how much these families, and even our birth community, have walked through.
What an incredible picture of what it looks like when we come together in love, trust, and service.
I couldnât have imagined a more meaningful way to witness the third of these rainbow babies enter the world.
And as I stood there taking it all in, my heart was overflowing.
Not because the journey had been easy.
Not because the pain of the past had somehow disappeared.
But because I had been given the incredible privilege of witnessing another chapter in this familyâs story.
A chapter filled with love, courage, community, and so much JOY.
And that word⌠JOY.
It keeps finding its way back into my story.
Last October, I reflected on how God had been weaving that word into so many different moments of my life.
A dear friend had given me the book Living Fearless as I left for an advocacy training, just before one of these rainbow babies was due to arrive. I returned home in time to witness that sweet birth that also went incredibly fast barely making it to the hospital in time, and later finished reading the book.
Months later, I was unexpectedly invited to the Parkridge Pregnancy Center Gala, where the author of that very book was speaking. The theme of the evening was Be the Light.
Just two days earlier, I had witnessed another rainbow baby enter this world.
And that sweet babyâs mother had chosen initials for her children long before she ever knew the heartbreak her family would experience.
Those initials spelled JOY.
That same week, our pastor preached about joy and where it truly comes from.
I remember sitting there thinking that there were simply too many coincidences to be coincidences.
And now, another year later, having witnessed all three of these beautiful rainbow babies welcomed into their familiesâ arms, I find myself reflecting on that word again.
JOY.
Not the kind of joy that means everything has gone perfectly.
Not the kind that comes from never experiencing heartbreak.
But the kind of joy that comes from knowing God is still present, even when life looks nothing like we imagined.
The kind that can live alongside grief.
The kind that doesnât require us to forget what we have lost in order to be grateful for what we have.
Isaiah 61:3 speaks of beauty instead of ashes and the oil of joy instead of mourning.
And Romans 15:13 reminds us that our God is a God of hope, who fills us with joy and peace as we trust in Him.
I think back to a sermon Pastor Ryan preached years ago, during one of the hardest seasons of my work as a doula.
He asked us to reflect on when our faith had grown the most.
And I immediately thought about those families and those babies.
I thought about how often we exhaust ourselves trying to understand the storm, trying to find answers, trying to make sense of something that simply doesnât make sense.
But sometimes faith isnât about understanding why the storm came.
Sometimes itâs about trusting that God is still with us in the middle of it. Looking inward to find him can be such a JOY.
I still donât have answers for why these families had to experience such unimaginable loss.
And I donât believe the arrival of another baby is an answer to that question.
But I have witnessed something beautiful in walking beside them.
I have seen courage in the middle of fear.
I have seen strength in moments of complete vulnerability.
I have seen families continue to love, hope, and trust even when doing so felt incredibly hard.
And I have seen JOY find its way back into rooms where sorrow once felt overwhelming.
But I want to be very intentional about something.
These rainbow babies did not replace the babies who came before them.
Those precious babies mattered.
Their lives mattered.
Their names, their stories, and the love their families have for them will always matter.
And I hope that when we celebrate the beautiful rainbow babies who have come after a storm, we never forget to honor the little lives that came before them.
Because the JOY of holding a new baby does not erase the grief of missing another.
A mother can be overwhelmed with gratitude for the baby in her arms while still aching for the baby she wishes were there, too.
And both of those feelings deserve space.
GRIEF and JOY can exist together.
As I look back on these three beautiful rainbow births, I am filled with gratitude for the families who trusted me to walk beside them through both their heartbreak and their healing.
I am in awe of these mothers, their strength, their vulnerability, and the love they carry for ALL of their children.
And I am forever grateful for the babies who came before.
The babies who changed their families forever.
The babies whose lives, however brief, left an everlasting impact on everyone who loved them.
To those sweet babies who were born sleeping, or whose time here was far too short:
You are not forgotten.
You are loved. You are remembered. And your stories will continue to be told.
And to every family still sitting in that puddle of grief, whether your loss was yesterday or decades ago, I hope you know there is no timeline for your healing.
No expectation that you must find the bright side.
No requirement to turn your pain into a lesson.
Sometimes just making it through another day is enough.
And when JOY finds its way into your life again, I hope you can welcome it without feeling that you are leaving anyone behind.
Because love doesnât have to make room by letting go.
Our hearts simply grow to hold more.
Three rainbow babies. Three incredible families. And three precious siblings who will forever be part of their stories.
Years ago, I sat in church with tears streaming down my face, asking God why these families had to walk through such painful storms.
Today, I still donât have all the answers.
But I have a deeper understanding of what it means to trust Him in the waiting, to find Him in the storm, and to recognize His presence in the moments of joy that follow.
And perhaps one of the greatest gifts these families have given me is the reminder that we donât have to understand every part of the story to trust that God is still walking through it with us.
âThose who sow with tears will reap with songs of joy.â â Psalm 126:5
This October, I am honoring them all.
The babies we got to hold.
The babies we had to say goodbye to.
And the families whose hearts have somehow learned to carry both sorrow and joy.
Thank you for allowing me to sit in the puddle with you, and for trusting me to stand beside you as you welcomed new life.
I will never forget any of your babies. đ¤đ
In loving memory of all the babies who were carried for a lifetime in their familiesâ hearts, even when they could not stay in their arms.
