There's An Urn Where Her Smile Should Be

The Sweetest Mother's Day Gift!

Have you ever sat in the mortician’s office?

I have.

I never planned on it. Nobody does.

But then you lose a child. And there you are.

Choosing an urn and figuring out some sort of ceremony to honor the little one you barely got a chance to know.

None of it is fair. It will never, ever be fair.

You will do your best. What else can you do? You will be depressed beyond anything you could have imagined. You will sink so low you think you never will rise again.

This I know.

I’m looking at my daughter’s urn on our fireplace right now. The space it occupies should be filled with her pictures instead. Photos of she and her surviving twin sister. Running, playing, smiling. But that space is not what I want it to be. Not what I planned it to be. So, every day, every night, I look up at my fireplace, when everything around me is chaotic and stressful. When my children who reside on this earth are being crazy and my husband and I are just trying to stay afloat.

And I am sad. And I cry. More than I ever thought I would or could cry.

And I remember sitting in the mortician’s office. I remember his somber face and tone. I have to believe he didn’t want to be there any more than we wanted to be.

He asked us questions about what we wanted to do to remember our daughter. He showed us pictures of urns and wrote down our daughter’s full name. He helped us pen our daughter’s obituary for the local newspaper.

I pity that man.

For all his studies, for all his professional preparation, did he know what he was getting himself into?

Did he know what it would be like to look a grieving mother in the eye and help her plan a memorial service for her 3-week-old child?

I will never know. And I will forever be grateful for the compassion and grace the mortician showed my family during the darkest time of our life.

I would never, ever wish what we endured on anyone in the world. Not a soul. Because the hurt—the agony a grieving parent experiences—is too much. It’s brutal.

Almost seven years after losing my daughter, the pain of losing the child who grew inside me keeps me up at night and makes me cry into my pillow on a regular basis. I think of her every second of every day.

When I am happy and joyous, it is genuine. Life has gone on, and I am blessed with my wonderful spouse and the amazing, beautiful children we have gone on to have in this world.

And yet . . . there is a darkness inside of me. Something is missing. Perhaps it is cliché to say that, but it is the truth. My beautiful family is incomplete. We always will be.

I wonder what the mortician does at night. Is he sad after all he sees and hears? Is he numb to the pain? I don’t judge or begrudge him if that’s the case. Maybe that’s the only way to survive that kind of business.

I hope you never have to sit in the mortician’s office. I wish I had never been there myself. And yet, I can’t change my story or journey. I will continue to wake up every day and vow to take care of my earthly daughters and be the best possible mother I can be.

I will do that, and I will simultaneously miss my daughter, Hannah, who left this earth too early. Who I believe visits us in the form of exquisite rainbows and multi-colored butterflies.

If I’m being honest, it is a tiny consolation. It’s not enough. But here we are.

If you have lost a child, if you have visited the mortician’s office, I am truly sorry, from the bottom of my broken heart. I send you love and light.

Yours truly,
A grieving mama

You may also like:

To the Moms and Dads Who Suffer Loss: You Are Not Alone

My Baby Was Stillborn, But Still Born

The Loss Mom Club

So God Made a Grandmother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

Order Now!

death of a child Grief grieving mom I lost my baby infant loss loss Motherhood urn

Leslie Froelich

Leslie Froelich is a freelance writer and co-founder and facilitator of a postpartum depression support group in the Cleveland, Ohio, area, run through the organization POEM (Perinatal Outreach and Encouragement for Moms). Her work has appeared on Her View From Home, Scary Mommy, The Huffington Post, American Greetings, Postpartum Progress, Motherly, Hot Moms Club, and The Purrington Post. Leslie has two earthly daughters (Elizabeth and Maggie), a daughter in Heaven (Hannah), as well as a large, fluffy cat named Garran. She has been married to her spouse, Nick, since 2007.

I Miss Having Parents

In: Grief

Grown daughter posing between smiling parents

I have been living with the ache of loss for so long that I truly don’t remember what it feels like not to carry it. Sometimes it rests quietly beneath my ribs, dormant and almost polite. Other times it rises without warning—on an ordinary Tuesday afternoon, in the middle of a coffee line—and cuts straight through me. Today, it was a song. I was waiting for my coffee when “Pictures of You” by The Cure drifted through the café speakers. I hadn’t heard it in 20 years. In my twenties, it meant heartbreak—young love unraveling, relationships ending before they were...

Keep Reading

What No One Tells You about Losing a Sibling

In: Grief

Nobody tells you that when you lose a sibling, your entire childhood flashes before your eyes. There’s no better witness to what you experienced growing up than that one person who was standing nearby for all of it. And when they’re gone, a part of that childhood and a part of that story goes with them, because it was only ever known between the two of you. There’s no last chance to say, “Remember when?” or to laugh about the things that made you laugh to tears together, a million times at the kitchen table. There’s no last conversation about...

Keep Reading

Grief Didn’t Break Me, It Rearranged Me

In: Grief

I survived losing my father after his long, grueling battle with cancer. It was one of the most difficult seasons of my life. I had a front row seat to watch cancer pick him apart piece by piece. When you lose a parent, you lose a part of yourself. They say time heals all wounds, but you never stop missing the good ones, and there are days when it feels like it just happened. By the grace of God, I survived, but I will always miss my father. Then, almost a decade later, I lost the career that helped me...

Keep Reading

I’m Learning To Be Soft and Strong

In: Grief

During the weeks we cared for my grandmother in hospice, survival mode felt necessary. There were medications to track. Visitors to update. Logistics to manage. I remember sitting on the couch that served as my makeshift bed and listening to the rhythmic hissing and puffing of the oxygen machine one night. While my mom showered off the day, I texted my sister updates and sent my husband a quick message of love. I could still smell the lavender candle we had lit earlier in the day to mask medical scents. The house was quiet, but my mind wasn’t. I was...

Keep Reading

The Legacy Our Mothers Leave Is In the Details

In: Grief

Woman's hands holding beautifully wrapped small gift

It has been two months and nine days since my mom passed away. The first several weeks were spent on the details and logistics of planning her service. She passed in December, so once her beautiful service had passed, I busied myself with the preparations for Christmas. By mid-February, I finally began to process some feelings of grief on a deeper level. The quiet of this less-busy season is allowing the grief to soak in a bit more. Not the big things; not the obvious, grief-heavy reminders that stop me in my tracks. Instead, I’ve been noticing the small things....

Keep Reading

You Never Get Over Losing Your Mother

In: Grief

It’s been 10 years since I last heard my mother’s voice. Ten years since I could pick up the phone and ask a question I already knew the answer to, just to hear her say it anyway. Ten years since someone loved me in that very specific, unconditional, occasionally annoying way that only a mother can. My mom died in 2015. And while “passed away” sounds softer, more polite, the truth is that she left. Suddenly. Permanently. With no forwarding address. She was gone. What I’ve learned in the decade since is not what I expected. I thought the biggest lesson...

Keep Reading

My Husband Is By My Side Through Every Storm

In: Grief, Marriage

The year 2025 began as a quiet storm. I was slipping into the fog of depression while navigating the early chaos of perimenopause, and some days simply getting out of bed felt impossible. My thoughts felt dark and heavy, my body unfamiliar, my energy nonexistent, and my moods uncontrollable. And yet, in the haze, there was one constant: my husband. He noticed the subtle shifts I barely acknowledged. The sighs, the quiet retreats into myself, the moments I almost broke. Instead of judgment or frustration, he offered presence. He held space for my struggle without trying to “fix” it, and...

Keep Reading

Losing My Mom Shaped Me As a Mother

In: Grief

Becoming a mother has a way of bringing old wounds back to the surface, even ones you believed had healed. I never imagined grief would surface so strongly in my motherhood journey. I thought it was something you carried silently, something that faded with time. But becoming a mother felt like my loss rising to its feet and saying, I’m still here There are moments when I reach for my phone to call my mom, only to be met with the reminder that I can’t. I want to ask her if what I’m feeling is normal, if the exhaustion softens,...

Keep Reading

Memories of My Grandma Live On

In: Grief

Be intentional. Take the picture. Create memories. Because even when we think we have all the time in the world, one day it will slip away. Sadly, this is exactly what happened to my grandma and me. While I was growing up, my dad and his parents had a strained relationship, and they were estranged for about the first five years of my life. Thankfully, they reconciled, and my grandparents and I finally had the opportunity to establish a much-anticipated relationship. Though I was never able to form the same closeness with them as I had with my maternal grandparents,...

Keep Reading

Netflix Captured What I’ve Treasured for 17 Years: My Daughter’s Room Exactly How She Left It

In: Grief, Motherhood

Girl's bedroom with posters on the wall and toys on the bed

It was a Sunday evening. I was alone, scrolling through Netflix, searching for something, anything, to fill the quiet. Then I stumbled upon a documentary I had no clue existed, called All the Empty Rooms. After reading the description, my heart immediately went out to all the parents who contributed to this film, and to the man behind it, Steve Hartman, whose compassionate heart radiates in every frame. One statement he said hit me like a freight train: “What we need to talk about is the child that’s not here anymore.” Period. Powerful truth. Curiously, I started watching. Then I...

Keep Reading

Stay the Course, Stay-at-Home Mama

Motherhood

Stay the Course, Stay-at-Home Mama

Maybe We're Living in the Age of Anxiety

Living

There’s An Urn Where Her Smile Should Be

None of it is fair. It will never, ever be fair.

Did he know what it would be like to look a grieving mother in the eye and help her plan a memorial service for her 3-week-old child?

And yet . . . there is a darkness inside of me. Something is missing. Perhaps it is cliché to say that, but it is the truth. My beautiful family is incomplete. We always will be.

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

Leslie Froelich

I Miss Having Parents

What No One Tells You about Losing a Sibling

Grief Didn’t Break Me, It Rearranged Me

I’m Learning To Be Soft and Strong

The Legacy Our Mothers Leave Is In the Details

You Never Get Over Losing Your Mother

My Husband Is By My Side Through Every Storm

Losing My Mom Shaped Me As a Mother

Memories of My Grandma Live On

Netflix Captured What I’ve Treasured for 17 Years: My Daughter’s Room Exactly How She Left It

Get It Now

So God Made a Mother

There’s An Urn Where Her Smile Should Be

None of it is fair. It will never, ever be fair.

Did he know what it would be like to look a grieving mother in the eye and help her plan a memorial service for her 3-week-old child?

And yet . . . there is a darkness inside of me. Something is missing. Perhaps it is cliché to say that, but it is the truth. My beautiful family is incomplete. We always will be.

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

I Miss Having Parents

What No One Tells You about Losing a Sibling

Grief Didn’t Break Me, It Rearranged Me

I’m Learning To Be Soft and Strong

The Legacy Our Mothers Leave Is In the Details

You Never Get Over Losing Your Mother

My Husband Is By My Side Through Every Storm

Losing My Mom Shaped Me As a Mother

Memories of My Grandma Live On

Netflix Captured What I’ve Treasured for 17 Years: My Daughter’s Room Exactly How She Left It

Previous Post

Next Post

You May Also Like