After 8 years of infertility and multiple losses, sitting in the waiting room at the OB/GYN’s office was not where I enjoyed being. I finally had a pregnancy make it to 11 weeks for the first time, and while most people would be excited for their first ultrasound, I sat on the table almost paralyzed with fear. As soon as the tech started scanning, a big smile swept across her face as she turned the monitor so my husband and I could see it – a healthy, squirming little gummy bear shape with the strongest heartbeat lit up the screen. We were nervously excited and decided to only tell close family first. I had lost my mom to leukemia less than 4 years prior, and it broke my heart knowing I’d never get to share the exciting news with her. I called my dad, who’s own health was declining, and he cried, telling us that it gave him a glimmer of hope to hold on to. On July 14, 2018, just four days after sharing the news with my dad, I answered my brother’s phone call and heard him say “he’s gone.” My dad suffered a cardiac episode that morning, and unfortunately passed away enroute to the hospital. I immediately fell to the ground, sobbing; while his health had been going downhill, his death was unexpected. We flew from our home in Vegas back to my hometown in Pennsylvania. Everything felt like a dream that I just hadn’t woken up from yet. We made the arrangements, had the burial, and packed up my childhood home, all within a week. While there, the leaked news of our pregnancy was making it’s rounds, which added a small touch of joy to all the sorrow. On the flight back to Vegas, I started to experience some lower back pain, which we attributed to overdoing it while clearing out the house. My boss graciously gave me another week off work so I could relax before coming back to the chaotic office. During that week, I started having some slight cramping, lingering back pains, and overall, just felt off. I called my OB who assured me these were all normal second trimester symptoms, and that my body was just likely tired from all the travelling. She suggested as much rest as possible. On August 5, 2018, I woke up to terrible pains in my back and bleeding. We rushed to the emergency room at 4am, where an ultrasound confirmed our worst fears: I was losing the baby at 15 weeks. Nothing could be done to save the baby, so they released me to go home, where I delivered a perfectly formed, sweet angel baby that we named Reilly. After experiencing so much loss in such a short span of time, I found my mental health waning. We managed to have a successful pregnancy shortly after losing Reilly, but soon found myself in the throes of postpartum depression. Over the past five years, I have worked tirelessly to get myself on back on track with my mental health. I recently found a renewed sense of purpose, wanting to create a better future for myself and my now 4-year-old son. Just three weeks before the fall semester of 2023 started, I chose to go back to school at 36 years old, working on a degree in radiologic technology. I often think of how grief has shaped my life, and I always come back to this quote: "What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly." - Richard Bach