Sandy Jorgenson

But what can be said for the day upon which I am no longer enough? I dread that day.

Death, we know because it’s drilled into us from an early age, is a natural part of life.

When a bereaved mother is left alone, how deep into the recesses of her mind does she wander? Does she surface for air? Does she want to come out at all?

The night I discovered that tumor on her back was essentially just like any other.

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You'll have to excuse me while I sit myself down for one stern-ass pep talk about the importance of trusting my gut, having the courage of my convictions, and marching bodly ahead in my resove to absorb every last minute I get with my growing girl, knowing that never again will these days be upon me.

Griping about adulting is a fun thing that we like to do, I know.

You’d have a hell of a time if you ever dared to crawl through the recesses of a first-time mother’s brain.

Whether this is news to you, seemingly irrelevant to you, or deeply personal to your experience, this truth remains that statistically speaking, one in every four pregnancies will end in miscarriage. Some of you are vaguely familiar with this, many of you have suffered this loss yourselves, and the likelihood is high that almost all of you know someone who’s lost a child in utero, whether or not they’ve ever spoken publicl about it.