josiah+co. Blog — Pregnancy + Infant Loss

I’m not quite sure when I started holding my breath. It was far before I heard the words “there’s no longer a heart beat.” And long before the church taught me my body didn’t belong to me.

Mother's Day can be filled with a mixed bag of emotions, especially for those of us stuck in the pits of grief. Some of us have lost children and itty bitty babies, some have lost mothers, many are struggling to become parents at all, and some of us simply cringe at the thought of being ‘celebrated’ when the world around us is falling apart.    This day brings up a lot for me. There is a bittersweet dichotomy in parenting living children while holding space for the ones who wait for me in the stars. Add on the layers of...

How do you wish a happy 10th birthday to a baby who never took a breath? When the birth was wrapped in death, and the first hello was also the final goodbye—how do you mark that? It’s been a whole decade since Josiah was birthed into eternal death. Ten years. A full-blown lifetime. And yet this one calendar date—April 18th—drops me right back into that hospital room. Into the sterile stillness. The excruciating silence. The weight of it all still lingers, even now. How do you capture a life barely lived? A baby who only ever existed within me—held in...

Grief is a deeply personal and often isolating experience. It comes in many forms, each with its unique weight and complexity. Whether you are mourning the child you never got to meet, the partner you thought you’d grow old with, or the faith that once gave you a sense of certainty, grief leaves its mark. It changes you—but it doesn’t have to define you forever. Perhaps your grief is tied to the version of yourself you thought you’d be by now—the one who imagined a life filled with joy, stability, and dreams realized. Or maybe your loss is less tangible...

8 years of missing you. The sting of your absence has stretched out with time. At certain moments the scar gets scratched open and the salty triggers remind me of all we are missing and have missed. Brothers chasing each other in the greenhouse, and imagining you with yours.Pregnancy announcements, even still, and the breath I hold desperately hoping they make it.Dear friends with two under 2, and the reminder of how desperately I wanted you and your brother close in age. The birth of fresh new babies, even after holding three healthy ones of my own. The sadness that...