We are doing it.

There are a few blissful seconds when I wake up in the morning. Then it hits me.

My name is Karissa Widder. I was pregnant, gave birth, and my daughter died. It wasn’t a dream. This is my life.

I start each day running through the painful maze that is my reality. I didn’t make it up. She wasn’t just in my head. She was real, here. And now she’s not.

Nothing can prepare you for the pain of losing a child. And nothing should, this isn’t supposed to happen. It’s a club no one wants to belong to, a cup you always pray passes over you. The nightmare you only see in movies.

Until it happens to you. You’re the one covering your ears, drowning out the noise of chest compressions. It’s you being wheeled into the hospital at 3 AM, knowing you’ll leave with empty arms and a shattered heart. You’re the one they ask about funeral plans. You’re the one who winces walking by the room that should have been a nursery. It’s your nightmare. The one you never wake up from.

My daughter, Kennedy Claire Lycette, was born on July 19th. It was beautiful & wild- the best and worst day of my life all tangled into one. I’ve never been a fan of flowery language surrounding death. Yes, she’s in heaven, she got her angel wings. Sure she’s in a better place. But the truth is: she died two days later on my chest. She’s gone. Part of me is too.

I’ll never get that part of my heart back. No matter how many wonderful things happen in my life, there will always be a deep ache for what should have been. She should be here. And she isn’t.

There’s nothing else to say.

During labor, Connor made me say “I can do this. I will do this.” but that didn’t feel like enough. I added with gritted teeth, “I AM doing this”.

Same rules apply.

We can do this. We can wake up every day & keep going. We will do it. We are doing it. It hurts like hell, but we are doing it.

Every day is for you, Kennedy Claire. 🩷

With love,

Your Mom.