October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month. For many, it’s a month of remembrance. For me, it’s another reason why October is so special to me, it’s a reminder of a loss that changed my life forever.
My firstborn daughter, Sunshine Amari, was born on May 29, 2014, at just four months and one week into my pregnancy. Losing her was the most heartbreaking experience I have ever faced. One moment I was dreaming about becoming a mother, imagining her future, and planning for the life we would share. The next, I was sitting in disbelief, trying to understand how everything had changed so quickly.
I remember feeling completely broken. I kept asking myself, “Why me?” I couldn’t understand why something that brought me so much joy could also bring so much pain. The excitement of carrying my first child had turned into fear, grief, and confusion.
One of the moments that has stayed with me all these years was my doctor’s response to the situation. Instead of compassion, I was met with words that felt cold and cruel. I remember being told that if my daughter was born alive, she would be “like a science project” because she likely would not survive. Those words cut deeper than anyone could imagine. As a grieving mother, all I could see was my baby. She wasn’t a medical case. She wasn’t a science project. She was my daughter. She was Sunshine.
After losing her, people tried their best to comfort me. They would say things like, “She’s in a better place,” or “God had bigger plans for her.” I know they meant well, but those words felt empty. There was no explanation that could make losing my daughter hurt any less. No phrase could fill the space she left behind.
The truth is, grief never completely goes away. It changes shape. It becomes something you learn to carry. There are still days when I miss her deeply and wonder who she would have been. What would her laugh sound like? What would her personality have been like? What dreams would she have chased?
Over the years, I’ve learned that healing doesn’t mean forgetting. Healing means allowing myself to love her openly and remember her without fear. I cope by talking about her. I celebrate her birthday. I speak her name. I share her story. Because she mattered. She still matters.
Sunshine Amari made me a mother. Even though her life was brief, her impact on my life has been immeasurable. She taught me about unconditional love, resilience, and strength in ways I never expected.
This October, I honor my daughter and every family who has experienced pregnancy or infant loss. If you’ve experienced this kind of loss, I want you to know that your baby matters, your grief is real, and you are not alone.
Sunshine Amari, you were loved from the moment I knew you existed, and you will be loved for the rest of my life. Your light continues to shine in my heart every single day. Mommy loves you forever and always.🌻💛
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