Category: Uncategorized

Mother’s Day, the annual holiday that always makes me feel a mix of emotions. I get filled with such gratitude for my children, my mom and all the beautiful women in my life. That gratitude always gets intermixed with a longing for Larissa, flashbacks of pregnancy traumas and a longing for time to slow down.

When I got pregnant with Ambree, I swore I’d never be that mom that got stressed about the small stuff or lost her sh**. Fast forward ten years later and even as I type those words I chuckle. The reality is that in the fast paced world we live in and keeping track of the ever growing “to do” list, piles of laundry, school lunches, permission slips and nightly sports/extracurriculars it’s really easy to become stressed and overwhelmed. Shout out to any mom that hasn’t lost her sh**. I want what she’s taking.

We all worry (myself included) about all the details of events, making sure parties and gatherings are Pinterest worthy and that our kids are given the very best. We all say it’s the time together and not things that really matter, but societal norms and social media present a much different picture. Recently, when cleaning out Austin’s room, whom has hoarding tendencies to put it nicely, I may or may not have lost my sh**. As I re-organized and cleaned out the containers of toys, tears filled his 8 year old eyes, as I angrily plowed through the mess, questioning items to keep and toss. I realized as the piles were sorted and items that seemed untouched for months or years held much more powerful meaning to him. The items that mattered were sentimental, given to him by people he adores, or linked to a happy family moment.

It was one particular pile that really pulled at my heartstrings. A pile of handwritten lunch notes from myself to Austin. They are crumpled and have smears of sticky kid’s fingers on them, but mean so much to him and Ambree. It was in that moment, I paused from my out of body experience to listen to he and Ambree read those lunch notes aloud, because she too, saved every last note. To me, they are quick little notes as I rush with the morning routine, not written daily, but on days I can take a second to let them know just how much I love them. I always sign these notes with “Love, Mom ❤️.” When my kids read them aloud, they translate that ❤️ as additional love…read aloud as “Love, Mom, Love.” I never realized my quick scribbled heart held so much extra meaning to them. After hearing those words aloud, I never sign a note without that extra emoji.

A mom’s love to their children has no limit. I’ve seen through the years the many sacrifices my mom made for my sisters and me and I still put in my memory box every hand written card from my own mom. After all, when we reflect on years past, it’s always the moments spent together and the unconditional love a mom will always give that truly matters the most. So take that extra second in the morning and write a quick lunch note because in our rushed days, our kids do notice and feel that extra love. ❤️

As much as I love October, I equally dislike November. Our beautiful pumpkins become rotten lumps and the colorful fall foliage now layers the ground, exposing the barren trees that will become the backdrop of nature for the next several upcoming months. In addition, I’m pretty much convinced the Santa elves of retail work straight through Halloween to transform stores into a Christmas wonderland literally overnight.

I’m always slightly more uneasy these first few weeks of November. It’s hard to deny and forget the sequence of days leading up to Larissa’s birth and funeral. Additionally, these first few weeks of November have been generous to my family with multiple traumas occurring through the years at this exact same time. They say you can’t be struck by lightening twice, but sadly, it sure felt like we had.

The reality is though that life will always throw you lemons. Bad things happen all the time and they happen to good people. It took me a long time to stop feeling like a victim after losing Larissa. After all, life is a risk and having kids is a risk. We take risks every day. Chances are things will turn out okay, but sometimes they do not go as planned. Our vision of starting a family back in 2010 certainly didn’t turn out as we had anticipated, but sometimes life has different plans.

This morning, as I was busy preparing orders for Sprinkled with Joy, Austin excitedly came down the stairs, as I greeted him singing Happy Birthday. There’s not a doubt in my mind that Austin arrived on this day to turn those lemons into lemonade. It’s always a bittersweet day, but eleven years post, there is less bitter and more sweet. A place in life, I never envisioned I’d be again.

I sit here on the morning of Austin’s birthday, coincidentally, the exact day, just three years prior, when the nurse, Mike and I looked at the monitor with no pulsing heart. In that instance, our lives changed. The days, weeks, and months that followed I was a shell of my former self. I’ve come a long way since 2010. Our house is now full of noise, chaos and love. All the things I had envisioned back then.

So, as November passes by and stores become increasingly more crowded, testing our last ounce of patience, we can all do better by being more gentle and considerate. Eleven years ago, I aimlessly wandered stores, going thru the motions as people quickly passed me by. Tragedy knows no timeline and life will continue on. The holidays can be tough, especially when grieving, so remember to spread some joy and be kind. And as always, celebrate not only on birthdays, but try to find something good to celebrate each and every day.

Birthdays have always been a big deal to me. I may or may not have been that annoying kid (and adult), whom ever so eagerly starts reminding all my friends and family of my upcoming birthday as early as August 1st. Yes. I said August 1st.

Recently though, I get mixed feelings as my birthday approaches. Maybe it’s a sign of maturity, but undoubtedly it’s because, as with every holiday, I always feel someone missing. Holidays are like that though. They are days which we celebrate with our closest family and friends, yet also a time that we remember those no longer with us here to celebrate.

So, as I’m celebrating 41 revolutions around the sun, I’ve been reflecting more on things I’d love to still accomplish. Is 40 the mid-life crisis age? I had always thought it was 50, but after COVID cancelled our Turks and Caicos celebratory trip last year and I pouted like a child, legit like a child, I found myself yearning to do more in memory of Larissa.

Perhaps it was the extra time at home during quarantine, enabling me to sit and think. However, I also think that sometimes the universe is just sending us signs or ‘nudges’ as I’d like to call them. I recall when I lost Larissa, being encouraged to help with my grieving process by engaging in things I loved prior to my loss.

So, I slowly started baking again. I vividly remember making a lemon meringue pie because my previous attempt at meringue had been a flop, literally a flop; no peaks at all. Anyone familiar with making meringue knows you have to beat the egg whites until peaks form. Done by hand or a hand mixer, it’s a laborious task. Done by a Kitchenaid mixer, it’s a piece of cake (or should I say pie?).

I have a Kitchenaid mixer, but somehow I felt compelled to torture myself and beat those darn egg whites with a whisk. Initially, it was therapeutic. I had a lot of pent up anger, so whipping those eggs into peaks was a release, but then I just got increasingly frustrated and even more angry at those darn egg whites and life as a whole. I poured so much of my emotion into that stupid, sad (yet picture perfect) pie. The picture my husband snapped of me holding that pie with a super forced ‘smile’ is lost somewhere in our archives but forever engrained in my mind. I made a promise to myself and Larissa that if life was ever good agin, I’d bake and spread that joy.

Fast forward to 2021, forty-one (yikes!) years of age and creating cocoa bombs, cookies and various other sweet concessions all in the name of Larissa. People who know me, know my back history on my desire to bake. After all, who doesn’t love a tasty baked good and the smell when walking into a bakery? But for me, and most importantly, it’s the smiles on people’s faces when they taste their pastries. THAT’S joy. I want to spread that joy like confetti. So, I hope Larissa knows that each pastry I make, every cocoa bomb I seal and with every mix of my whisk (or Kitchenaid mixer), I smile. I smile in her memory and knowing that I’m FINALLY at a place where I’m sprinkling that joy as I had envisioned.

Dear Sweet Larissa,

Today was one of those days. These type of days have become lesser in frequency as the years have passed on, but my loss and longing is always there. It’s ever existing presence is like lugging around a heavy suitcase. Initially, the weight too heavy to bear, eventually giving way to a lighter load, but always very much there, very much a part of me.

My days, my sweet Larissa, are filled with more happiness than not. Other women who shared in my grief, promised me better days ahead, and I held onto that hope, as at the time smiling and joy seemed a forever distant thing of the past.

You see my sweet Larissa, Ambree and Austin have restored us so much joy. Raising your sister and brother has enabled us to provide the parenting we longed to have provided you. However, grief is tricky. It ebbs and flows and in that suitcase there’s so many missed milestones, what ifs, and wonder.

Missed milestones has got to be one of the hardest things about losing you my sweet Larissa. So, to elaborate on where I started, today was one of those days. One of those days, where your siblings’ milestones brought light to your missed milestones. Ambree, excitedly started 4th grade and your brother, Austin, second. My Facebook feed was flooded with faces of kids embarking on a new school year. I too, shared the photos of your sister and brother, and as always, I couldn’t help but wonder how different things would be, had you still been here.

Friends kids began middle school and I was grateful to have one more year before Ambree joins them, because I’m not quite ready yet. But you see, my sweet Larissa, things would be different if you were still here. I’d be among the moms with butterflies and fear as my first born joins the ranks of middle school. I’d be purchasing the locker mirror, mini disco ball and lights which Ambree admired. “Not yet. Next year that stuff will come.” I told her. As I silently thought “I’m not yet ready.”

Next year, when Ambree embarks on one of the most challenging school years, and butterflies and fear engulf me, I’ll remind myself “You got this Momma.” There are much heavier suitcases to carry.

How many kids do you have? Us bereaved parents, have all heard that infamous question. It’s one I have dodged with an awkward gracefulness, but also one I haven’t been asked as frequently in recent years. Most people close to me know the answer to that; we have three children, two of whom are here with us. However, as our kids get older and our social circle expands, with the addition of sports friends, camp friends and school friends, I find myself once again dodging that question with less awkwardness and perhaps more grace, but always with regret.

We have three kids. Larissa is as much one of our children as Ambree and Austin, but because she’s not here and infant/baby/child death is uncomfortable and taboo, per say, I find myself denying Larissa’s existence, answering that question with “We have two.” As that response leads to further small chat regarding our children’s ages, teacher, grade level, and hobbies, I half pay attention to my responses and small conversation as I struggle with internal battle of not mentioning Larissa.

I know why I do it. I do it to protect others; protect them from the shock and unimaginable loss that no other parent wants to ever endure. I’m not alone though. Sadly, so many moms and dads share my silent grief. No parent would want to ever deny their child’s existence despite how brief their time here on Earth may have been. The reality is I have three kids. I wasn’t ever afforded the opportunity to parent Larissa, but she is still my firstborn, forever in our hearts and always my daughter.