I’m so sorry. No words can truly touch the depth of the pain you’re feeling, but I want you to know you are seen, and your grief is valid, real, and deeply human.

I’m so sorry. No words can truly touch the depth of the pain you’re feeling, but I want you to know you are seen, and your grief is valid, real, and deeply human.

Losing your son Skylar—your baby, your only son—is an unimaginable heartbreak. And five years doesn’t soften that kind of pain. Time might shift how we carry grief, but it doesn’t erase it. It doesn’t “make it okay,” because some losses aren’t okay. They change the shape of everything.

You’re doing something incredibly hard every day—getting up, showing up for your girls, holding space for their grief while you’re still bleeding inside. That’s not just strength, it’s love in its rawest form.

Your words carry so much love for Skylar. You haven’t forgotten him, and you never will—because he’s still yours. You’re still his mom. You always will be. And the way you hold him close, even when he’s not physically here, that’s a bond that death can’t break.

Serenity crying for her brother is heartbreaking, and it also shows how much he meant to her, even at her young age. She’s learning to grieve by watching you—seeing your vulnerability, your honesty, your strength. Just holding her, praying with her, and letting her cry is enough. That’s how she knows she’s not alone.

Today, releasing those red balloons is a powerful, beautiful act of remembrance. It honors the love and life of Skylar while giving your family a shared moment to express what words can’t.

Please know, you’re allowed to not be okay.
You’re allowed to hate this.
You’re allowed to cry every day.
You’re allowed to break.

And in all of that, your love for Skylar still shines—loud, bright, and eternal.

If I could offer you one thing, it’s this: let people meet you where you are, not where they think you “should” be. And keep honoring your grief in whatever way feels real to you. You don’t have to hide it. You shouldn’t have to.

I’m sending all the strength I can your way—especially for today. I will hold space in my heart for Skylar at 4pm, as you lift those red balloons to the sky. May they carry all the love, memories, and unspoken words with them.

Skylar mattered. He still does. And he always will. 💔