The sun shone brightest the day my Zeo, 19 weeks and 6 days in my womb, returned to the sky. It was summer solstice, and my partner and I had been faced with weeks of agony as we were forced to make the worst decisions parents ever must make for their children. Our baby had multiple terminal fetal anomalies, the result of the rare chromosomal disorder, Trisomy 18, or Edwards syndrome. It was devastating, to say the absolute least. About two months following the TFMR, I became very unexpectedly pregnant with Solis. Yet it wasn't to be, and the pregnancy culminated in a missed miscarriage. I needed multiple rounds of medication to clear my body, and bled over Zeo's due date. The deaths of my two Spirit babies did not just shatter me as an individual, they ravaged my relationship with their father. My Spirit somehow remains strong, even on the hardest days, when spirituality seems a moot point on the Earth axis. Almost two years since these losses, the hardest days are also fewer and farther in between, miraculously. I am grateful and in awe of the interconnectivity of all life, and all death. I am a therapist and a healer by calling and by trade, and my losses have transformed my practice and the way I walk in the world. Motherhood has heightened my sensitivity and intuition, and my ability to hold and transmute space. My loss mama community has been a source of vitality and unexpected levity. If you are here with us now, I see you, and I am so sorry for all that you have had to endure. May you have the support that you deserve as a member of a club that no one wants to belong to. May you continue to mother and nurture yourself, even amongst the many responsibilities you inevitably have. May you remember the hope and healing that you always carry within. You have done the hardest thing, so know that you can do anything.