He Fought. We Fought With him.

People say, “I’m so sorry your baby died.”

And while that is true… it barely scratches the surface.

Our story isn’t just that our son was here, and then he wasn’t.

It was the moment he was born and couldn’t breathe the way he should. It was being told he’d be okay… only to be rushed by ambulance to another hospital where suddenly he might not live. It was walking into a children’s hospital with staff lined along the halls, and still having no answers.

It was hours of waiting while machines took over his tiny body. It was hearing “there are no options”… followed by “there’s one more thing we can try.”Over and over again.

It was 28 days of holding our breath.28 days of hope and fear living side by side.28 days of watching our child fight while we stood there helpless.

It was being called into rooms filled with people, knowing what that meant. It was surgeries, CPR, prayers, and impossible decisions. It was watching them try to save him—again and again.

And then…it was the day everything changed.

It was watching CPR happen in front of us. It was knowing before anyone said the words. It was saying goodbye when we weren’t ready.

It was leaving our son behind. It was walking out of the hospital with empty arms. It was going home to a life that no longer made sense.

So when we talk about grief, please understand—this isn’t just loss.

This is trauma.This is 28 days of living in crisis. This is love, fear, hope, and heartbreak all tangled together in ways words can’t fully hold.

Our son, Barrett, didn’t just live and die.

He fought. We fought with him.

And we will carry every second of those 28 days for the rest of our lives. 🤍