“‘Mommy, is this baby going to die?’
Those words hit me harder than I expected. My daughter’s small hand rested gently on my belly, and the innocence in her question made my chest tighten and my eyes fill with tears.
Is this baby going to die?
For most parents, hearing a question like that would be shocking. For me, though, her curiosity made sense. Our daughter is our lone surviving triplet. Born at just 22 weeks, she wasn’t expected to survive. She knows she was extremely sick, and she knows that her brother and sister were too fragile to make it. That’s the reality of life after loss—something many parents are never prepared to explain to a child.
How do you tell your little girl that her identical sister passed away within hours of birth? That her twin brother, who spent days by her side in the NICU, never got to come home? These are questions no parent should ever have to answer, but they are part of our story.
Our home carries the memories of three perfect babies. There are photos, tiny mementos from the NICU, and two small hearts engraved with initials, safeguarding the remains of the children who are no longer with us. One of our favorite pictures shows Peyton with shadows of her brother and sister beside her, as if they were still here, completing a perfect family of five in that captured moment.
There’s no right or wrong way to honor children who live both on this earth and in heaven. Parker and Abby will always be part of our family, and I will always be their mother. As we celebrate their memory through the years, our daughter Peyton will grow up knowing just how special she is—and how incredibly strong she’s been to survive everything life placed in her path to be with us today.
When Peyton asked about the baby, I paused. That question is one I’ve wrestled with daily for months. The fear that comes after loss is persistent. We’ve faced the worst possible outcomes before, and every new pregnancy brings a shadow of anxiety. We cling to hope, but grief can sneak up when we least expect it.
I held my daughter close, letting her small arms wrap around me. Through the tears, I smiled at her and said, ‘This baby isn’t going to die. She’s very healthy.’ I squeezed her a little tighter and added, ‘That’s because Parker and Abby sent her to us.’
Peyton’s eyes lit up, and a small smile spread across her face as she looked at my belly. Life isn’t perfect, and it never will be. But this baby has given us a renewed sense of faith and a glimmer of hope we desperately needed. In that moment, I realized just how resilient we are—and how love can bridge the gaps left by sorrow, carrying us forward toward joy once again.”
