I know why you are here. I get it.
And I am so, so sorry.

This Etsy store is not a business. I am not in this to make a profit off of your loss. I sculpt for both us; for you and for me. I would like this shop to be seen as one grieving and heartbroken parent connecting with another. You are not here because all is well...and you know what? Neither am I.


It wasn't until a few months after my daughter's death that I realized that it was really the end. The end of getting up early, the end of cutting her food, the end of picking up scattered toys and books, the end of hugs and snuggles...the end of pictures, the end of memories, it's done. When my fog lifted the reality of my new life hit me like a Volvo falling from a 5 story building. Life had continued to buzz on around me and I wasn't ready to just jump back in. How does a mother just move on and live without her child? She was my everything, and in the span of an afternoon's nap she was gone. Just gone.

It's been 21 years. Over two decades, and when I think about all of the time that passed between then and now it feels more like I'm trying to recall a dream than remember my actual life. It's a weird place to live if you actually sit and think about it, and I don't honestly think I live there unless I'm actually thinking about it, but it's still very much a part of this process. It's a life long process.

The first time that I went out and attempted to do something normal, i.e. shopping downtown, I remember this big feeling cloaking me like a wet wool blanket. It was heavy, clingy and pervasive and I felt trapped. I needed something physical. I longed for her and the purpose that she brought into my life and, in that moment, I needed to buy her something. The logical side of my brain told me that I was being foolish because she was dead and didn’t need anything, but my soul craved it. So I looked. I looked not really knowing what I was looking for trusting that if/when I saw it that I would know. Then it happened. It was a pair of shoes. Oh, she loved shoes. They were red, red, Mary Janes and they were loaded with glitter. Oh they were ugly but boy she would have loved them. I put the shoe box with the ruby red slippers in my cart, checked out, and I felt a little bit better.

I haven't bought much over the years, but I do do it and it does help for awhile. It's like the relief you feel when you put a bandaid on. There is an instant comfort in knowing that it's there. Knowing that it’s protecting your vulnerable wound. Keeping the dirt out. It makes things okay for a bit, but with time and as the waves of grief crash over your body it's hold loosens and eventually it washes away. Living after the loss of your child is a terribly difficult thing to do, but there are a lot of us out there that are doing it. Please know that you are not alone and that there are loss groups for parents and caregivers through your local home health agencies, parent child centers and online. Please reach out to me or your local community supports if you want to be connected to something in your community or online, we are happy to help. This is hard to do solo.

With that, I'm sorry that you are looking for something to memorialize your baby and keep your memories safe. I know that your heart aches and that your mind swirls, and that those around you want nothing more than to help ease the heaviness of your grief. You must know that you are not alone, but boy I know that it feels like it. The short fuse, the unexpected break downs, the questioning, the ‘what if’s’ are all a normal part of this journey. Normal? Can you believe it? The definition of the word itself, 'Normal', has a whole new meaning now. Nobody signs up for this. We are all a drafted army of mother's who are fighting to survive an unimaginable loss. Our eyes and noses barely above the waterline as we tread through the currents, banded together because we want to fight for our children, for their memories, and most importantly for ourselves. If we wither away who will remember them for us? Who will light the candle or release the balloon on their birthday? Can we trust that to anyone else? No. So we live. We tread for awhile, then we crawl, and as our strength grows we stand. Once standing moving forward becomes easier, and it really doesn't hurt as much. The aches and longings will forever be threaded throughout our bodies and our love and power will reside there. To quote Ernest Hemingway: "We're stronger in the places that we've been broken.”