Our Story

My husband and I only got to see Logan one time in our first and only sonogram session. “See that little flicker?” The ultrasound tech said. “That’s your baby’s heartbeat!” That was it -- we were smitten. We had just moved into a new home and with Christmas only 3 weeks away, we were already planning how to tell our families that a new little person was about to join the party.

Little did we know that exactly one week later, we would be at the local hospital hearing the words,

Nothing prepares you for those words. It feels like a trap door opens from under you and you’re just falling into an endless, bottomless pit. Not knowing about our growing baby, we had to tell our friends and family about our baby’s birth and death all in one breath - one of the hardest things my husband and I ever had to do.

Our friends did everything in their power to help us go through our grief, despite not knowing how. “We were so shocked, we didn’t know what to do,” they would say. “We did so much googling before meeting up with you. We don’t know what to say… we can’t even imagine what you’re going through right now.” They were right. We were so grateful for their efforts but we also felt so alone. Why doesn’t anyone talk about this, I thought. If it’s so common, why do we feel like we’re going through this by ourselves?

My sister gave me a notebook where I could write letters to my future self: letters to open during big life events, reaching out through time and passing forward all my hopes and dreams for the days of my life to come. I had written one for my due date, one that was meant for a day with a different outcome than the day I was living. Instead of reading that letter, I wrote words of love to my past self, the one crying for her unborn child, the one treading water through the waves of grief. I wrote words of comfort for every mother whose baby didn’t come home from the hospital, for every life that was changed by death, for every dream that was taken for a reason they couldn’t control. 

The light from a lamp post in our neighbourhood park flickered constantly after Logan died. It reminded me of that first little heartbeat, the one we fell in love with. Through a lot of love, tears and support, we decided to share the story of our baby’s short life as a way to shed more light on the world of pregnancy and infant loss. With a few creative and kindhearted friends, I designed cards to express what we otherwise can’t find the words to say: I’m so sorry your baby died. Please know that I’m here for you.  

To Logan with Love is in honour of our baby Logan, who we only knew for such a short time, but who changed our lives so drastically. I make cards and prints that send words of comfort and help heal hearts broken through loss. Though we only saw his heartbeat on one occasion, I hope that his flicker of life will make one mom or dad feel less alone in their grief. 

If you’re looking to help a loved one though miscarriage or stillbirth, we are so sorry: their baby’s death is your loss too. We also want to thank you. Thank you for being here. Thank you for trusting us with this difficult chapter in your life. In your friend’s life. In your family’s life. We know it’s not easy but you don’t need to face this death alone. You still may not know what to say and that’s okay. Check out some of our cards to help you out. 

We’re here to walk with you every step of the way.

Love,

Logan’s Momma