My son was born five years ago, and the first week after giving birth was a whirlwind of fear, exhaustion, and physical pain. I was sleep-deprived, sore from delivering an 8-pound baby, and overwhelmed by the sudden responsibility of this tiny life depending entirely on me. Let’s face it—having a baby is hard. It challenges us in every way, physically and emotionally. And yet, amidst the chaos, there’s a joy so pure and profound that it can almost make the sleepless nights and endless diaper changes feel worthwhile. Like many new moms, I experienced those soaring highs and exhausting lows with my son, Jaxon. But my story took a devastating turn. Just three days after his birth, the happiness I felt vanished when my husband, Justin, was killed by a stray bullet in our home. From that moment, smiling at my baby or feeling even a spark of joy felt nearly impossible.
I remember the exact moment I smiled again for the first time after Justin’s death. It happened a few days later, while looking into Jax’s bright, curious eyes. The smile that appeared on my face was shallow—not fake, but fragile, overshadowed by sadness, grief, and guilt. To anyone else, it might have even looked like a frown. I had cried so much that when the smile finally emerged, I was caught off guard. My friend Emily, who was with me, gently said, “Honey, it’s okay to smile at your baby.” I couldn’t respond at first. “How can I smile when Justin is gone?” I whispered. “How can I ever smile again?”
Being a new mom should have been a celebration of life, but instead I was consumed by mourning. I carried an immense guilt for being the one there with Jax and not Justin. He would miss his first steps, his first words, his bedtime cuddles—and it didn’t seem fair. Many people told me, “Jax will help ease your suffering.” And yes, he did, but he also deepened it. Watching him grow, learn, and thrive without Justin felt like a fresh wound each day.
After the initial shock of grief faded, the weight of guilt pressed heavily on me. I felt I should spend every moment consumed by sorrow, thinking only of what I had lost. “It’s not right,” I kept telling myself. “I shouldn’t be able to feel anything but pain.” I realized I had unconsciously taken on Justin’s feelings too, carrying the burden of what he was missing in his absence. If he had known he would miss his son’s entire life, he would have been devastated. The pain I carried for him was so intense that I hadn’t even begun to process my own.
With support from family, friends, and countless conversations, I slowly began to understand another perspective. Justin wouldn’t have wanted Jax or me to be trapped in grief forever. He would have wanted us to find moments of happiness, even in his absence. That realization was a turning point. Suddenly, it hit me—I was missing out on my baby! I was feeding him, changing him, holding him, but I wasn’t truly enjoying him. Driving home from the hospital one day, I felt an incredible rush of warmth and light as I looked at Jax, and it overwhelmed me. Other parents try to explain this pure joy, but until you experience it, you cannot truly understand it. Yet even then, guilt crept in—for not feeling it sooner, for not cherishing him immediately after birth. Why had God given me this blessing and then taken another away?
Over the following months, my grief and guilt swung like a pendulum between Justin and Jax. If I spent the day mourning Justin, the next day I’d cry over not enjoying Jax. It was an exhausting, unhealthy cycle, and I knew I needed help. After about a month of seeing a grief counselor, I learned to balance my emotions—allowing time each day for both grief and joy. Mornings became my moments to embrace happiness, evenings my time to mourn. Sunrise brought hope, while sunset reminded me of the absence of Justin. It wasn’t easy, but it was necessary.
Now, 60 months later, I can say I have healed in ways I never thought possible, though guilt still lingers occasionally. It surprises me at the smallest moments, like when Jax recently asked his iPad to play a “Mario song on the guitar.” Seeing his grin, I felt the sting of grief all over again. Justin should have been there, playing that riff, racing him in Mario Kart, sharing those small, perfect moments. But I also know that smiling at Jax, or loving my new husband, Don, does not diminish Justin’s memory. Over these years, I’ve allowed myself to feel fully—every joy, every pain—and I’ve grown stronger for it.
Some battles in life are ongoing, and guilt may never fully disappear. But I’ve learned that it’s possible to live with it, to love fiercely, and to embrace the happiness that remains. Every day, I fight for that guiltless smile, and I know Justin would want nothing less for Jax, for me, and for the life we continue to build.
