josiah+co. Blog

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 has a way of unearthing the deepest parts of us. It shakes the foundation of who we are, leaving us questioning everything we thought we knew. For many of us, the journey of rediscovery begins with deconstruction – a powerful process of unlearning, reevaluating, and rebuilding.  If you’re navigating grief and identity shifts, this could be the path to reclaiming your authentic self. What is Deconstruction? Deconstruction is the process of critically examining beliefs, values, and systems that once shaped your identity. While it’s often associated with faith, it can apply to any area of life. After a loss,...

Yesterday she told me she wants me to have another baby. And my heart nearly broke open.  Even though that chapter is so far behind me, it still stings like hell.  The grief of my wretched fertility journey still lingers on the surface. The subtle reminders of all it took to get here, and all that I lost along the way.  There's this odd duality to it all. Being grateful for where I am, yet this unnamable emotion attached to the deep pain experienced along the way.  It's not hatred, or anger, or bitterness, because the pain is so attached to the joy. And without the pain of what...

Grief often feels like a holding of breath. I hold my breath, not wanting to release, in fear I’ll lose my connection to the ones (and things) I so desperately wanted to hold close.  I hold my breath, not wanting to release, in fear I’ll never come down the other side. I hold my breath. I hold my breath. I hold my breath. Every,last, breath.  My grief has become my closest companion. It has seen me through the darkest of times, and I can’t simply let it go. I can’t let her go. So I hold my breath. I hold my breath...