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Broken Hearts & Blue Butterflies
Heartbreak is part of many motherhood journeys—whether through miscarriage, stillbirth, sudden infant death, or infertility. These are griefs that pierce the soul, often silently, but deeply. I have witnessed them up close—in my own life, in the lives of dear friends, and in the brave women I've worked with over the years.
Hello~Goodbye
Sometimes there's no happy ending, only devastation.
Sometimes there are no logical reasons why nor divine clarity—and sometimes, you have an answer.
Your heart is broken and shattered into a million pieces. You feel your body has betrayed you. The universe is silent. It is a kind of silence that haunts you.
You are utterly sure there is no way through the next breath, because the wholeness that was once you now lies in pieces scattered all over the floor.
You need to move. You may not want to move, but your body forgets how.
Grief rewrites the laws of motion. It has paralyzed you. You are a shell in stillness. A soul torn open.
And then somewhere deep within—a flicker, a breath. A whisper of strength not your own.
You sit up. You place one foot in front of the other. Not because you want to, but because somehow, God's grace moves you.
And then, moment by moment, you find courage to live the very next day.
The Blue Butterfly: A Quiet Symbol of Honor and Hope
During my time working at a local hospital here in Colorado, I witnessed a simple yet profound practice:
When a mother experienced the heartbreaking loss of her baby, a small blue butterfly was carefully placed on the door leading into her room.
This delicate symbol silently communicated to all hospital staff that, within those walls, a sacred loss had occurred. It was a sign to enter gently, to speak softly, and to care for this mother and family with an extra measure of tenderness and reverence. No words were needed—the butterfly said enough.
In Christian tradition, the butterfly is a powerful symbol of Christ’s death, burial, and resurrection. Its life cycle—from caterpillar to cocoon to winged flight—reflects a journey of transformation, of life after death.
For a grieving mother, this image can carry profound meaning.
At the moment of conception, we believe a soul is created—a spark of eternal life. Her womb becomes a sacred cocoon, a dwelling place for this new life to grow. And while death may have overcome the body, the soul lives on—rising beyond what we can see, held now in the arms of God.
The blue butterfly reminds us:
- This child was real.
- This loss is honored.
- And life, even in its shortest form, continues beyond the grave.
For many families, that small butterfly becomes a symbol not only of loss but of hope—a gentle reminder that their baby’s soul is not lost, but lifted. And that one day, in eternity, they will be reunited.
My Story: From Devastation to Compassion
I understand the weight of this grief.
The kind that crushes your chest, darkens every corner of your mind, and makes you question how the world is still turning. I’ve lived it.
It was a quiet December afternoon. I had my two toddlers with me as I headed to what was supposed to be a routine prenatal check-up. A quick appointment.
I remember the nurse placing the doppler on my belly to check the baby’s heartbeat. She lingered for a moment, then quietly stepped out of the room. She returned with the OBGYN.
He took over, gently moving the doppler around, searching. Still nothing. He looked puzzled, but calm. He told me not to worry—it was probably just an issue with the equipment. Still, he asked me to drive to his larger clinic, 45 minutes away, just to be sure.
I called my husband and reassured him everything was fine. But thankfully, his intuition told him otherwise. He met me at the clinic.
There, together, we received the news no parent is prepared to hear:
Our baby, Hope Noel, had passed.
At that moment, time stood still. I remember the silence. The weight. The disbelief. The impossible became real.
I couldn’t have imagined then that one day I would be called to walk beside other mothers who would face that same haunting silence. That same devastation.
If you are in that place right now—if the world has stopped for you—I want to say this with every ounce of truth I know:
- You will survive this.
- You won’t “get over” it. That’s not how grief works.
- But you will live through it.
- Each day, the pain will release—tiny bit by tiny bit.
- Some days will feel impossible. Others will carry unexpected light.
- And still, the echoes of your loss will remain—forever etched into the corners of your heart.
- Grief will surprise you.
- It will show up in the grocery store.
- In a lullaby.
- On a due date that never came.
- When it does, feel it.
- Cry.
- Yell.
- Run if you need to run.
- There’s no right way. Only your way.
- But don’t be afraid to surrender to healing.
- Because even though the darkness is suffocating, it will eventually lift.
- And in its place, you may find something softer than joy:
- The courage to keep going.