The Silence of the Heartbeat: A Journey Through Shadow and Light
There are moments in life where time doesn’t just slow down; it stops entirely. It shatters into a million jagged pieces, leaving you standing in a landscape you no longer recognize. I know I said I was taking a break from this space—and I desperately need to—but the weight of the last 24 hours is too heavy to carry in silence. I am writing this because I have always promised the raw, unfiltered truth of our journey, and right now, that truth is a suffocating darkness.
The Day the Music Stopped
Today, I walked into the clinic for my routine weekly non-stress test. It was supposed to be a day of reassurance, a mundane medical milestone as we counted down the days to September 30th. I was prepared for the cold gel on my stomach and the familiar, rhythmic “thump-thump” of a life about to join us.
Instead, there was silence.
The kind of silence that rings in your ears until it’s the only thing you can hear. Our sweet Jahliyla Grace, the little girl we were ready to hold in just a few short weeks, lost her heartbeat. In a single breath, our world shifted from planning a nursery and a homecoming to planning a funeral. The nursery, once filled with the scent of new clothes and the soft glow of expectation, now feels like a museum of what could have been.
A Shadow From the Past
This isn’t the first time we have walked through this particular valley of shadows. In 2020, we lost another daughter under hauntingly similar circumstances. To lose one child is a tragedy that alters your DNA; to lose another, in the same way, at the same threshold of life, feels like a cruel glitch in the universe.
We don’t have the answers yet. We are currently waiting on genetic testing and an autopsy, searching for a reason, a “why,” a name for the phantom that keeps stealing our daughters before they can take their first breath. We are caught in a cycle of grief that feels both terrifyingly familiar and brand new. We are navigating the logistical nightmare of loss—the paperwork of death—while our hearts are still trying to beat for the life that was just there.
The Paradox of Pain: The Scan for Jazzy
The cruelty of our current reality is that grief does not wait for a more convenient time. While we were reeling from the loss of Jahliyla Grace, Jazzy was scheduled for her critical scans. This is the “Medical Mom” paradox: I am a grieving mother who has just lost a baby, but I must also be the fierce advocate and the steady hand for the daughter who is still here, fighting a war of her own.
Jazzy had her scans today. We are now in that agonizing “waiting room of the soul,” hanging onto every vibration of the phone, waiting for the results that will tell us what the next chapter of her battle looks like. I will post one more update regarding those results when they come in, but the anxiety is nearly unbearable.
A Heart at the Breaking Point
I am speaking to you now with a level of transparency that hurts. I am at my breaking point. I am a mother who is being asked to carry the weight of a dying child and a deceased child simultaneously. I am looking at my family and seeing the exhaustion in their eyes, the same exhaustion that is etched into my own bones.
We simply cannot take any more bad news.
The human spirit is resilient, yes. We have proven that time and time again. But even the strongest foundations can only take so many earthquakes before they begin to crumble. We are at that place. We are holding onto each other with everything we have left, but we are weary. We are so, so weary.
A Plea to the Community
I know so many of you have followed Jazzy’s story. You have prayed for her, cheered for her, and stood in the gap for us when we were too tired to stand. Today, I am asking you to do it again, but with an intensity we have never asked for before.
First, pray for Jahliyla Grace. Pray for her soul as she joins her sister in the heavens. Pray for us as we prepare to say goodbye to a daughter we never got to know but loved with every fiber of our being.
Second, pray for Jazzy’s scans. We need a win. We need a glimmer of light. We are begging the universe, God, and every healing force for “good” results. We need to hear that the radiation is working. We need to hear that there is a path to NED. We need something to celebrate amidst the mourning.
Third, pray for our family. Pray for our mental health, for our strength, and for the wisdom of the doctors who are searching for the genetic answers to our recurring loss.
The Silence and the Break
I will be stepping away again after the scan update. I need to retreat into the quiet. I need to honor Jahliyla. I need to be present for Jazzy without the noise of the digital world. Please do not take my silence for a lack of gratitude. I see your messages. I feel your love. It is the only thing keeping the lights on in our house right now.
Life is a strange, beautiful, and devastating tapestry. Right now, the threads of our lives are stained with tears and heavy with the scent of funeral lilies. But we are still here. We are still breathing. We are still hoping against hope that the scan results will give us a reason to keep fighting.
Thank you for loving our daughters. Thank you for not looking away from our pain. Thank you for being the community that carries us when we can no longer walk.
Please, stay with us. Keep the prayers coming. We are waiting for the light to break through the clouds.
With a shattered but grateful heart,
