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HGHS Blog
This space created from the heart, by two moms navigating the unique challenges of raising children with complex medical needs. This isn’t just a blog; it’s a community, a safe haven, and a call to action.
Monsters
from the silence that screams —
“I used to be afraid of monsters ..”
Yet
from the tired thankful—
I’m grateful yet so very tired.
Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.
from the griefkeeper—
"Grief isn’t linear. It’s not a tidy list of stages you check off and move past. It’s a storm—chaotic, relentless, and impossible to predict. Some days, I cycle through every stage in a matter of hours. Other days, I’m stuck, drowning in one for what feels like forever.
Denial came first, wrapping me in a false hope that this wasn’t real, that the test results were wrong. Then anger, sharp and consuming, would crash over me in the silence of the night. Bargaining brought endless 'what ifs,' each one more cruel than the last. And depression? It’s where I’ve been sitting lately, a place where the pain feels so heavy it’s almost physical.
Acceptance? I’m not sure I’ll ever fully get there. Maybe that’s okay. Maybe grief isn’t something you overcome; maybe it’s something you carry, learning how to live with its weight. Some days are heavier than others, but I’m still here. I’m still carrying it."
the loss of my life
from the weary heart —
"It’s 6 AM, and the world is still. But in this room, the silence is heavy, broken only by your cries and my whispered reassurances. Since 3 AM, we’ve swayed to this fragile rhythm, up and down, as if trying to outrun time. I hold you close, feeling the weight of your tiny body and the war it’s waging—a fight it was never meant to endure. Each breath feels heavier, each moment more fragile.
And yet, as I cradle you, I wonder… will this be the last time?
My sweet baby, you’ve changed me in ways I never imagined. You, the one who made me a mother, rewrote my heart in ways both beautiful and unbearable. If you are tired, my love, it’s okay to rest. You will always be my always."
Split Yet Whole: A Bond Beyond Control
words from jj knight —
Grief is a paradox. It fills you with emptiness, drowns you in longing, and yet somehow carves out an even deeper capacity for love. As I watch my daughter, a part of me, yet so far from my control, I feel everything all at once. Love and fear, joy and sorrow, hope and dread. The ache in my arms mirrors the ache in my soul, a constant reminder of how fiercely I wish to protect her from a world I cannot shield her from.
This poem is a reflection of that duality: the brightness of her spirit and the shadow of my fears. It’s about living with the unbearable, about praying for time while cherishing each fleeting moment. It’s about what it means to love someone so much that even the thought of losing them feels impossible to survive, and yet, somehow, you do.
The Titles I Didn’t Ask For
from the reluctant healer —
I never wanted to be a nurse or a caregiver, those titles were thrust upon me when life demanded it. As a mother navigating the chaos of medical caregiving, every moment is a delicate balance of love, vigilance, and exhaustion. These roles are heavy, unrelenting, and ones I never asked for, but I carry them all for her. Because she needs me to.
Rain Sounds and Midnight Reflections
from the silent mourner —
In the stillness of midnight, accompanied only by the rhythmic patter of rain and the hum of my child’s sound machine, my thoughts unravel. Grief and love intertwine in ways I never expected, reshaping everything I thought I knew about life, motherhood, and the weight of emotions too big to hold. As the rain falls, so do my reflections—on love’s power, grief’s permanence, and the unyielding beauty of both.
Cracks in the Foundation
words from shelby hergenrather –
A crack in the foundation lets light pierce the darkness that consumes her mind, a fragile reminder of resilience amid chaos. Sirens and hospital monitors echo in her nightmares, pulling her between past peace and present pain. She wakes to organized chaos, dreading the day yet smiling through it, holding onto strength she’s not sure she possesses.
This glimpse into the quiet survivor’s world reveals the weight of a stolen innocence and the unyielding determination to face each morning, no matter what it brings.
Wakeful nights
From the quiet dreamer –
In the stillness of 3 a.m., I find a fleeting sense of freedom. These stolen moments, though quiet and unremarkable, are a lifeline—a connection to a version of myself that feels so far away. Even as exhaustion waits for me in the morning, I cling to the rebellious sacredness of this time. Because in these wakeful nights, I’m not just stealing hours; I’m holding on to pieces of who I am.
Reflections in the Quiet Snow
from the heart of a fellow traveler —
“This morning, I stepped outside into a world untouched by the day, quiet, still, and blanketed in fresh snow. It felt sacred, almost like the earth itself was taking a deep breath before the chaos of life began again. In that peaceful moment, I found myself reflecting on how much life has changed, how grief and parenthood have reshaped me in ways I never imagined.”
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