Rational understanding doesn’t necessarily direct stress. It’s just more than my body could handle.

I’ve dropped 12 pounds in half as many days, my heart is racing, my eyes are failing, I’m struggling cognitively and have become too weak for basic functioning.

Honestly, it’s a little embarrassing to admit all of this but I figured you all have been following this journey of grief and change with me… this is just the latest chapter.

And I know I’m not the only mom who has physically buckled under the weight of grief and all the loss that can follow the death of a child.

I want to be well. I’m sure it’s nothing major and I’ll be back on the mend in no time.

Thinking of my precious baby who charmed more than a few nurses around these halls and accepting prayers for regained strength and health…. and a super hot doctor — too soon? xo

Not long after, Reegin moved out. Four.

Today, Darrell and I officially ended our engagement. Even the strongest of marriages often don’t survive the death of a child. Grief changes people. There is no blame, just a lot of pain and loss.

My heart is breaking for my Travis who will come home from camp tonight having now lost the man he thought would be dad, and the sister he almost had. The guilt I feel in not being able to keep this family together in the wake of Tanner’s death feels like an impossible weight to carry. It’s all just too much.

Now we are two: just me and my kid.

Please keep us in your prayers.

The day he passed, just one hear ago, I had been planning a “one last good day with him.” He went without warning… I knew he was getting older but has no idea what that morning held.

Seems a lot of love leaves without warning. One day they’re there, the next day they’re not.

It’s hard enough when it’s a dog. Feels impossible when it’s a person.

This has been my hardest week in some time. I won’t give a quantifiable date as to how long because I don’t even know. The hours, days, weeks, months all seem to run together.

This evening I left my home without a destination. I’m not able to drive today so I figured I would follow my feet. They led me here.

As I sit under the noisiest power lines Irvine has to offer, watching the trains go by, looking down the long dirt path my pittie used to happily prance through, missing my baby and my life as I knew it…. there is an ounce of peace to be found.

There is solace in the familiar.

I continue to search for the peace I know awaits me in Him.

It will come. He promises He will come. It must come.

These burdens are far too heavy to carry alone.

But there’s no name for a parent who loses their child.

There should be.

My life was turned upside down the day I lost my beautiful Tanner. I think so many of us parents-with-dead-babies find ourselves grasping for something to identify with, a way to feel seen or understood, an official title to a club we wish we could leave.

I was told recently that I’m different than I used to be.

It’s true.

Grief changes you.

There are some days I wish I was stronger and could move past this faster and be the rock my loved ones need. But most days, I’m almost grateful for the pain. Not because I cherish the hurt, but it’s often all I feel I have that connects me to the child in Heaven who stole my heart.

My heart is so shattered that even in my strongest moments, when I wish to be there for the ones who need me, all I can offer is an outstretched hand with just a sliver of what used to be an overflowing heart.

The sermon on Sunday at Mariners was about listening to God and following him.

Listening and following.

Listening and following.

During a moment of silence, we were led to listen. I prayed God would speak to me: how do I go on when so much of my identity was as Tanner’s mom? But there was nothing. Just silence. Never have I felt more lost or far from the Father in Heaven who is surely holding my baby boy’s hand.

I resent it. He’s taken so much from me and feels a million miles away. And yet, we’re called to trust, to have faith.

The pastor prayed and I stared off to the distance as the worship team rejoined him on stage.

They began to sing….

“You’re a good good Father
It’s who you are
It’s who you are

“And I’m loved by you
It’s who I am
It’s who I am.”

I didn’t sing along. I listened. In that moment of listening, I heard Him.

I will always be Tanner’s mom, the blessed one who got to adopt him and love him for thirteen fleeting years. No one can ever take that from me. It will never change.

But I am first my Father’s daughter, a child loved by the King.

It’s not a new identity, it’s always been my identity.

It’s who I am.

It’s who I am.
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#LivingForTanner
#ForeverMyBabysMom
#ForeverMyFathersChild

I don’t know how to “family” without my baby.

My heart is perpetually shattered.

There’s not a thing I don’t miss about my Tanner: his smile, his eyes, his glasses, the twinkle when he smiled, his silly gestures, “Rock on!”, precious voice, constant dancing, charming strangers, flirting with waitresses, arm snuggles, nose flicks, love of rice and noodles, capes, pockets full of Hot Wheels, singing and most of all — the way he loved me without restraint.

I love you, Tanner.

Be with us, please. I need you. I miss you.