We live in a culture that often tells us to turn our pain into purpose—to find the lesson, the meaning, or the beautiful thing that came from our suffering. But what if we don't? After losing my son Josiah, I found myself feeling pressure to do something with my grief. This is a reflection on the cost of that expectation, and why sometimes simply surviving and learning to carry what happened is enough.

Grief doesn't wait for a better moment — it interrupts. And gratitude doesn't cancel grief out — it sits right alongside it. A reflection on what it's really like to hold both, together, after losing my son.

Seeing my son's story in print for the first time was a moment I will never forget. Here's what it was really like to launch Little Life, Big Loss — the tears, the crash, and the community that made the darkest path feel less alone.

Why would I choose to share one of the most painful chapters of my life? This book is about more than telling our story. It's about keeping a promise I made to my son, Josiah—to always speak his name, honour his little life, and help other families facing the unimaginable know they are not alone.

The NICU introduces you to a world few people truly understand. Alongside the monitors, medical updates and sleepless nights, you find yourself surrounded by other parents walking their own impossible journeys. Some leave with their babies in their arms. Others leave with broken hearts. This is a reflection on the families beside us, the friendships forged in crisis, and the quiet community that carried us through.

Life in the NICU feels like stepping into another world. For seven weeks, our lives revolved around hospital corridors, medical rounds, expressing milk, and precious moments with our son, Josiah. This is the reality of NICU life—the grief, the kindness, the exhaustion, and the love that carries you through.