Kara always dreamed of becoming a mom, and in the summer of 2014, she and her husband, Jeremy, decided it was time. On their anniversary trip to New Mexico, she noticed something strange. Wine, which she usually loved, tasted awful. A day after their first anniversary, while Jeremy was still asleep, she took a pregnancy test. It was positive. Shock, joy, and disbelief hit her all at once. After only two months of trying, their prayers had been answered. She kept the secret for a bit of while, planning a special surprise. Since Jeremy was a hunter, she laid out a camouflage onesie, orange paint, and a toy bow and arrow on the dining table. The sign read, “Baby B, which bow will it be?” When he walked in and saw it, his eyes lit up. They were both thrilled, already dreaming of the life that lay ahead.
A few weeks later, Kara was still battling terrible nausea. She switched doctors and went in for her first appointment, bringing her sister along since Jeremy was at work. When the sonogram began, Kara froze. There were not one but two babies moving on the screen. Tears ran down her cheeks as shock and joy washed over her. She was going to have twins.
The months that followed were a mix of excitement and worry. At the gender reveal, a box of confetti burst open to reveal pink, and then another—two girls. Kara was overjoyed, Jeremy was nervous but quickly warming up to the thought of being a girl dad. She pictured them in matching outfits, sharing secrets, growing up side by side—the perfect dream of twin motherhood.
Then came the complications. One baby had extra fluid around her, so doctors watched more closely. But scans showed ten fingers, ten toes, and beating hearts. At twenty weeks contractions began. Bed rest, medicine, and prayers carried Kara along, but at twenty-nine weeks her body could no longer hold on. The twins, Bristol and Brecklyn, were born prematurely, tiny but alive. The first hours were filled with joy, until doctors pulled the parents aside with news no parent ever wants to hear. Brecklyn had a rare heart defect. Within hours she was flown to Dallas Children’s Hospital for surgery. No one had seen a defect quite like hers, but the lead surgeon believed she could fix it. Against the odds, the operation was a success. Hope returned.
For weeks Kara and Jeremy lived in the hospital. Brecklyn fought hard, sometimes improving, slipping back. Then one night Jeremy received a call that stopped his heart. Brecklyn was bleeding, and doctors couldn’t find the source. Surgery followed, but she was losing too much blood. Updates shifted from hopeful to grim, and finally the words every parent dreads. She was gone.
On June 19, 2015, after only two months and three days on earth, Brecklyn passed away. Kara remembers every detail of that day, the surgeon kneeling beside her in tears, the crushing silence in the hospital room. The diagnosis came later, DiGeorge Syndrome, a condition that explained why her body had struggled so much. The grief was suffocating. At home, Kara faced the twin nursery, the empty car seat, the stroller meant for two. She poured her love into Bristol but felt an ache that would never go away. She leaned on her faith, believing that Brecklyn’s short life had meaning, that she had taught doctors something new and touched lives far beyond her own.
Slowly, Kara began to let herself feel the pain she had buried. She cried, prayed, and wrote. She chose to live each day for the daughter she held in her arms and the one she carried forever in her heart. Out of loss came a mission: to share Brecklyn’s story, comfort other grieving parents, and spread kindness in her memory.
Every month on the 19th, friends and family honor Brecklyn with acts of love, from buying coffee for strangers to sending small gifts. Kara looks for her in butterflies, rainbows, and even coins she finds on the ground. To her, they are reminders that Brecklyn is still close, still part of their lives. Kara knows she will always be a twin mom, to the child she raises and to the one waiting in heaven. Grief remains, but so does hope. In her words, beauty can rise from the ashes, and Brecklyn’s short life continues to shine through the love she left behind.
