52 Weeks

A Mother's Day letter to every version of myself

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Today is hard. I never imagined ever not looking forward to Mother’s Day. I never imagined this would be what I’d ever experience. Today hurts. Not the type of hurt that a band-aid, Tylenol, or ice can heal. It’s not even the type of hurt that time heals. This changes you. That’s the only way it can be described. Life changing, guttural, heartbreaking pain that changes you in every way imaginable.

A lot can happen in 52 weeks...

Conception. Elation. Celebration. Devastation. Evolution.

52 weeks ago... Elation.

My girl gained 50-ish aunties and cousins just a week prior from Jack & Jill. Little did I know they would become fast family and surround me during the darkest time. I remember envisioning what matching Mommy/Daughter outfit we’d be wearing today. I envisioned the exhaustion but joy I’d be feeling from full hands but an even fuller heart. There was such naivete to what was to come. I can still feel the joy and happiness I felt within my body. It’s a pureness that unless you’ve experienced deep loss, I’m unsure you can understand.

37 weeks ago... Celebration.

I remember my friends fussing at me about not wanting to have a shower. I told them “We’ve been celebrated so much over the last 3 years, that’s enough.” And I’ll never forget one friend responded, “Your friends never get tired of celebrating you.” I am so grateful now that I listened then. And even though I can’t look at many pictures from that day, I am glad I have the photos when I’m ready. Kensleigh is so loved. She only felt love and for that even with a shattered heart I am grateful.

34 weeks ago... Devastation.

Devastation because what happened?! Why Kensleigh? How? What now? And every day since then has uncovered new feelings. New lows. Looking in the mirror not recognizing who I am. Whose body is this? Did this body fail me? Did I fail Kensleigh? I don’t even recognize my life. The devastation is far reaching. I didn’t just lose Kensleigh. I lost my identity, I lost my spark, lost friends, my job, my footing. The ground was just ripped from under me. I lost my sense of stability within myself. But I’ve gained a confidence and security within Kenton. That’s my man, my man, my man...my soft landing. If there’s any glimmer of hope or silver lining, it’s found in him. And somehow, even in the deepest grief, that foundation became the ground I learned to stand on again.

I’ve spent the last 34 weeks wrestling with devastation while also evolving, every day. Every day brings new challenges. But every day I keep growing and keep going.

52 weeks from now... Evolution.

Kensleigh and Kelli of 2025 and of today are so proud of you! You’ve survived 100% of the worst days of your life. But you don’t have to be strong every day. You don’t have to do anything but show up. What showing up looks like is different daily. You have never experienced anything like this before. On the days when you’re unsure, remember Kensleigh is watching and with you. The dream of my daughter didn’t die on September 12th. She’s still coming. And she is already proud of who her mama is becoming.

I don’t know what next Mother’s Day looks like. Honestly, I’m still not okay. But I’m here. I’m still going. And this hope I’m holding onto, it’s not clean or pretty, but it’s real and it’s mine. Maybe that’s evolution.