Kaila Mugford

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash Kaila...why don't you write? I stopped writing, really writing , almost 3 years ago.  Sometimes I share my old posts. Sometimes I just read them on my own, so glad I put words to my feelings at the time.  Sometimes they remind me that the feelings haven't gone away. Last night as I put the kids to bed, Edward said, Mom, I know what I want for Christmas.  What's that, buddy? He paused for a moment. I want a wittle brudder. This isn't the first time he's asked. It likely won't be the last. We're honest with Mira and Edward that we can't have any more kids; and to try would risk my life. There's a bit of confusion just because of their ages, but they're getting to the point where it's really starting to settle in. Mom, can we go get a baby? Like, adopt?  We've walked this thought-road as well, weighing our options. We've weighed every. single. option.  We've considered trying again, rolling the dice...

 "I wish I had your energy." "How do you do it?" There's a weird sense of pride taken when I wear myself too thin. I'd blame it on culture, on the go-go-go mentality of everyone around me. I get swept away in things. Good things. Things that take time and energy.  My schedule is mine to make and mine to keep. No one says yes to things *for me*.  How do I do it? How do I have the energy? The thing is I don't. I don't have it. I force it. Age is on my side right now I'd say in that my body can take a lot more than I should be forcing on it. It will  catch up with me one day if I don't change something. The late nights. The early mornings. The social calendar. The planning. The doing. The yeses that should have been nos.  I'm a broken record to those closest to me. I talk about the need to cry fairly often. I need to...but I don't. I hold it in because I don't have the energy to cry.  I don't have the time to feel my feelings.  I...

I have served in youth ministry for a number of years. Last year, I came to a point where I realized that although we will no longer be bringing home any more babies, God has given me more children than I know what to do with. My high schoolers are amazing young people. In a short time I have had the privilege to meet and build relationships with many kids, and I care for each and every one.  One girl in particular was especially close. Mary. Full of spunk and always asking me if I had time to chat after our small group time. Jamey knew that I would never make it back from youth group 'on time' because either she or another girl would share their lives with me and I just loved to listen.  When Gabriel died, Mary pushed me in ways that many adults wouldn't have thought to even try. She constantly challenged my faith and my thinking, sometimes to the point where I would even ask her to just hush for a moment so I could get my thoughts out. She could talk forever, she always m...

"But He could have saved my boys.  He could have . I'm so angry He didn't. I'm going to have to work through that with God, and I'm going to need time to do it. This isn't a quick fix, and there is no band-aid big enough to patch this damage. This cut is so deep it's going to take some major reconstructive surgery." I wrote that nearly two years ago. Two years. I wasn't wrong. There has been no quick fix. There was no band-aid. I'm still working through this with God. I still need time. I'll likely be working on this grief until it's my turn to leave this world. What I can  say is the waves have settled a bit; the intensity of the grief not quite so severe. I don't talk about them as much anymore. I no longer desire to go back to the hospital and cradle their cold bodies. We're done having children....even that  thought isn't as painful as it was just a year ago. Sam's birthday is April 30th. Gabriel...

I had a doctor make a promise to me in January of 2018. A promise that now, looking back, I should have known she couldn't keep if it came down to it. Today I got a phone call and a voicemail while out shopping with my kids. We had planned a fun day out and had just gotten started. I clicked the little voicemail icon as the kids tugged on my legs. "Hello, this is your insurance company. We are calling to tell you that a decision has been made on your final appeal. The decision...the decision has been upheld." My heart sank. I sat down on a small bench listening to the entire message as tears began to form. I spoke softly to Mira and Edward, Hey guys, could you sit down next to me for just a moment, please? I need to take a minute.  They didn't notice the tears, but they did manage to sit still while I took a deep breath. In January of 2018, our world stopped when we learned that we would lose yet another child to a fatal prenatal diagnosis. Mere minutes...

I noticed only recently something about myself. Something awful. Something hard. I take so many pictures and videos of my kids. What? That's not awful. Or hard. So let me add this: I take so many pictures and videos of my kids because I fear I won't have enough when the day comes we have to bury them. I hate that. Hate it. I look at their faces as we sing our Happy Birthdays and open presents. I make cute signs and dress them up for the beginning of the school year. And then I click click click all the while, wondering, how hard is this going to be when they're gone? The thought is never an if . It's a when . I hate that. Hate it. I'm not negative, pessimistic, or morbid. I'm typically a joyful optimist. A joyful optimist who has buried two children. A paradox. One that brings me such joy I can hardly contain the love I have for the people in my life. My love goes deeper than I could have ever thought possible... because my loss has g...