Having the title of adoptive parents is a privilege, an honor, and a gift. It has allowed us to become parents, something that we had desired so deep in our hearts for a long time. The new joy that filled our souls, however, meant that someone else’s was shattering. Our girl’s birth moms loved them first and allowed us to enter into that sacredness, giving us the honor to love and raise them every day after. The brokenness they had to endure and the courage to choose life, will never be lost on us. There are not enough words to express our gratitude and admiration for them. After becoming an adoptive mom, there was this even deeper drive to uphold this gift of parenthood.
This meant diving into further education on raising adoptees from nutrition and developmental support. Being able to provide our daughter’s donated breast milk was one of them. Having to let go of the desire in being able to provide this as a mother was difficult. We have been incredibly blessed along the way when family and friends stepped in to help with both girls.
When I stumbled across Holden’s Milky Way, my heart was heavy again of the heartbreak Taylor and Ryan had to endure. To overcome the devastation and channel it into a mission to help other mamas, is admirable. Because of them, their loss and brokenness, we are again blessed with new relationships and a precious gift.
To benefit off of someone’s loss again and again, has been difficult to come to terms with. There are few words to truly explain our gratitude for the gift, love, and desire to help our little girl thrive. Our daughter’s birth mom and her donor milk mamas are true super heroes in our book. The heart and passion of Holden’s memory is felt all through this non-profit. Holden and his beautiful family will always hold a special place in our heart. We hope we can continue upholding the honor of raising our little girl tribe and sending our appreciation to those that have allowed us to do just that.
In order to give back, I am writing on behalf of my own adoption journey for this organization and plan to share all that it entails, hoping to help some other adoptive parents along the way.
xo Kayla, Paul, Hadley, & Amelia
January 10th, 2020 – There is an overwhelming strength in your presence, so I write.
Complicated grief is unlike any emotion I’ve ever felt. When Holden was in the hospital, his noise machine made the sounds of the ocean rolling quietly in and out, all day and all night; you loved the sound of the ocean – it calmed you.
I hold on so tight to that sound now. I found myself day dreaming of when we would make it out of that hospital room, together, to see and hear the waves rolling in, in person.
We would sit with our heels deep in the sand and I would hold you and stare, as the sounds and smells surround us; the stuff that the best memories are made of.
So today, I woke up and drove all the way to the ocean, so I could sit and listen to the waves rolling in, for the both of us.
Here, I feel safe to let myself fully feel everything as I think of you. Here, I feel you with me.
December 22, 2019 – I have noticed that sharing and being vulnerable has been bringing those who have lost forward in strength. Those who unfortunately, can relate to my family’s current situation.
So here it goes.
I’m having a super hard time this morning. Anyone grieving knows that emotions change by the hour, the minute, & even the second. It feels horrifically surreal that Holden isn’t here sleeping a room over from me in his nursery; the same nursery that I go into over fifty times a day, completely devastated that we aren’t rocking back and forth together, reading the one of many books that he was lovingly gifted. Books I planned on cracking open every night for so many years to come.
I was born to be a mom, but specifically to be his. He looked so much like me; I can’t shake the image of that adorable round little button nose in my head. I don’t want to, no matter how much it breaks me when I do.
Every time I look in the mirror across his room, all I see is him. I miss him more than I could ever explain. It’s actually impossible to describe.
He is, and always will be, the best gift that I have ever been given. Mamas and others who have lost, you are not alone.
Holden Hausfeld was born December 5th, 2019 at 6.9 pounds and 18.5 inches long. Our first born had finally arrived after eons of loving anticipation. He was perfect in every way – his smell, intoxicating. His skin as soft as silk. His cry as timid as the new kid in class and as sweet as cake. He had an old soul and was as calm as they come – the sweetest disposition.
His pregnancy was one full of perfect health checks, passing with flying colors.
Holden was unknowingly born with a congenital heart defect, which we were not made aware of until twenty four hours after birth.
Those were, to date, the best twenty four hours of my life. These hours were followed by the worst four days of my existence.
He was immediately transferred for care, but ended up passing away December 10th. If love could have saved him, he would still be lying on my chest as we speak.
In those five short days, Holden was able to take in milk, exceeding amounts that the health care team had ever witnessed. If he loved one thing, it was breastfeeding and his mama’s milk.
My supply had come in so quickly to meet Holden’s feeding demands, that I had to continue to pump after he had passed. I made the ultimate decision to continue to pump, as emotionally painful as it was, in order to gift other babies who were sick in the ICU, fighting as hard as he had. To give these babies a fighting chance at a heightened immune system and a beautiful life. A life Holden was unable to live. He was such a fighter.
In his name, I wanted to continue to fight for him and for the others who needed help fighting for their lives.
Fighting for the mom who just couldn’t get her little one to latch. For the mom who had chemo, therefore had no supply. For the mom battling postpartum depression, left feeling little to no support to breastfeed. For the baby who’s heart is ferociously beating through a defect, to see another day.
I fought. I continue to fight. To all the mama’s looking to make a difference – join me in this fight and donate to those who need us the most!”