My husband, Brayden, and I had recently made the move from Washington State to Idaho, settling into an apartment in downtown Boise. We were enjoying everything about our new life — discovering new restaurants, exploring the city, and meeting people. After three years of marriage, we often talked about starting a family one day, but for the moment, we were perfectly content being just the two of us.
Then, in November of 2021, everything changed — twice. First came the shock that Brayden’s position was being eliminated at work. We were still processing that loss when, the very next day, we got even more surprising news: I was pregnant.
It felt like life had flipped upside down in a matter of hours. We were anxious, unsure of what the future would hold, but we decided immediately to pour all our focus into becoming the best parents we could be. Brayden quickly found another job, we began house hunting in the suburbs, set a budget, enrolled in birthing classes, and leaned on our family and friends for support. We had always imagined waiting until we were thirty before having kids, but once we knew a little girl was on the way, our hearts shifted completely — we were already in love with her.
The months of pregnancy passed faster than I could have imagined, and everything went smoothly. Brayden started his new job, we bought our first home, named our daughter Miclaine, and lovingly decorated her nursery. We celebrated with two baby showers, packed our hospital bags, and kept the car seat ready, knowing she could arrive at any moment.
Then, at 39 weeks, on a warm July night, I realized something was wrong — I hadn’t felt her move much since dinner. I tried all the tricks: juice, exercise, even jumping jacks — but still, nothing. The hospital reassured me it was probably fine but told me to come in just to be sure. Brayden prayed softly on the way, certain our little girl was just teasing us. I, however, had a sinking feeling deep in my heart.
As soon as we arrived, I ran inside while Brayden parked the car. Nurses quickly hooked me up to monitors — but there was only silence. Dopplers turned into ultrasounds, nurses became doctors, and then came the words no parent should ever have to hear:
“We’re so sorry. Your daughter no longer has a heartbeat.”
I screamed and sobbed, begging for answers no one could give. Brayden held me tightly as I cried, “How are we supposed to live without her?” In that unbearable moment, our world shattered.
After her delivery by c-section, I’ll never forget the moment I held Miclaine for the first time. Brayden saw her first and gasped — she was perfect. When they placed her in my arms, I pressed her cheek against mine, memorizing the feel of her soft, warm skin. Nearly three years later, I can still feel that warmth. She had dark hair, long lashes, chubby cheeks, and tiny fingers. She was everything we had dreamed of — beautiful, whole, and loved beyond measure.
Leaving the hospital without her was indescribable. We had to plan her funeral, pick out a tiny casket, and eventually pack up the nursery that had once symbolized our joy. The grief was crushing, but Brayden became my anchor. He handled the calls, the cemetery, the arrangements — everything — while also making sure I took my medication, went to therapy, and didn’t face the darkness alone.
In the months that followed, I started Miclaine’s Mission, a foundation that provides free gift boxes with personalized items and grief resources for other parents who experience stillbirth or infant loss. Nothing can erase that pain, but receiving something that honors your child can bring real comfort.
As time passed, Brayden and I knew we still wanted to grow our family. We began trying again as soon as my doctor gave us permission. Even though no baby could ever replace Miclaine, our hearts longed for the chance to hold a living child.
Getting pregnant wasn’t difficult — staying pregnant was. Over the next year, we endured a chemical pregnancy, a missed miscarriage at 9 weeks, and an ectopic pregnancy. Despite multiple tests, specialists, and even IVF, every result came back “normal.” Still, we lost another pregnancy after 9 weeks. In total, five consecutive losses left us emotionally and physically exhausted.
Adoption had always been something we talked about, even early in our marriage. As we navigated our losses, that quiet calling grew stronger. We began attending adoption seminars, meeting adoptive families, and researching agencies. After much prayer and reflection, we felt drawn to a local agency called A New Beginning, and officially began the adoption process in February 2024.
By the end of April, we had completed everything — training, counseling, home studies, and medical clearances — and our family profile book was ready. Just a couple of weeks later, we received our first synopsis: a young mom in nursing school was looking for a loving family for her baby boy, due any day.
We didn’t expect much; we were told most families wait years. But two days later, the phone rang. Our coordinator said the words that would change our lives:
“The birth mom chose you!”
We were stunned — we had only been in the waiting pool for two weeks! Even more incredible, she didn’t want to interview anyone else. She said she simply knew we were meant to be her son’s parents. And she was being induced in just four days.
I called Brayden, and we both rushed home — laughing, crying, praying, and scrambling to prepare a nursery for our son. Thankfully, most of what we needed we already had from Miclaine, though this time we stocked up on blue onesies and little boy blankets.
And then came the twist that still gives me chills — on Mother’s Day, the very day after we said “yes” to the adoption profile, we found out I was pregnant again. Suddenly, we were preparing not just for one baby, but two — a son and a daughter, born less than six months apart.
A few days before our son’s birth, we met his birth mother, a kind and soft-spoken young woman. We were nervous, fearing she might change her mind, but she was peaceful and confident. We discovered we lived in the same neighborhood — a sign that this match was meant to be. She had named her baby boy Cooper, and we decided to honor her by giving him the name Callum Cooper.
She invited us to the hospital for his birth. The experience was emotional — it was the same hospital where I had delivered Miclaine. One night, while waiting in the hallway, a photographer approached us and asked gently, “Are you Miclaine’s mom?” It was the sweetest question I had ever heard. She knew of Miclaine’s Mission from church and offered to take free family photos once Callum was home. It felt like a small but divine reassurance that our daughter was still watching over us.
When Callum finally entered the world, I was there beside his birth mom. Hearing his first cry was everything I had ever hoped to hear. In that moment, I knew he was my son. I cut his umbilical cord, Brayden met him moments later, and we shared tears of joy and gratitude.
Over the next two days, we stayed in the hospital near his birth mom, helping with feedings and bonding as a family. When Brayden held Callum for the first time, a rainbow appeared outside our window — another sign from our girl in heaven.
Leaving the hospital this time felt entirely different. Though adoption often carries both joy and grief, our experience was filled with peace. Callum’s birth mother was certain in her decision and found comfort knowing it was an open adoption, meaning she would remain a part of his life.
The following months were pure happiness. Callum was a dream baby — calm, smiley, and gentle. By October, when his adoption was finalized, he was all giggles and clapping in the courtroom, surrounded by friends, family, and love.
And just a few weeks later, our family grew again — our biological daughter, Remy, was born. Unlike her mellow big brother, Remy was spirited, stubborn, and full of energy. The early days were chaotic, but watching Callum gently hold her hand and try to soothe her with her pacifier melted our hearts.
Now, as we watch our two babies grow, we are overwhelmed by gratitude. Our journey to parenthood wasn’t at all what we imagined — it was full of heartbreak, loss, and unexpected turns. But through it all, we’ve seen beauty rise from the ashes. We believe Miclaine led us to Callum, and that her love surrounds us still.
We will always tell Callum and Remy about their big sister in heaven. We will teach them about compassion, faith, and resilience. We will continue to honor Miclaine’s memory and support other families walking through grief and adoption.
Our story is one of pain and loss — but also of redemption, love, and the miraculous ways families are formed.