Finding Purpose After Loss: A Journey Through Grief and Healing

Brylea Gibson
Nov 13, 2024
6 min read

Updated: Feb 26

Losing a child is a heartbreak no parent should ever have to face. It’s a pain so deep, it echoes in the quiet moments, in the spaces where dreams once lived. I never imagined this would be my story—yet it is. Not once, but three times, I found myself in the grip of grief. But it was losing my third baby, Brexton, that broke me in a way I didn’t know was possible. It was the loss that left me shattered—but also, somehow, set me on a path toward healing and, eventually, purpose.

This is the story of how I found my way through the darkest days, how I stumbled through unimaginable pain, and how I slowly, piece by fragile piece, began to heal.

The Dream of Brexton

The pregnancy with Brexton was different. For the first time, I felt like I was finally reaching the point where we would meet our baby. I had made it so much further than I had before. We knew his gender, we had his name picked out, and we’d already stocked his closet with clothes and all the baby essentials. We were ready for him, and I was in love with him before I even laid eyes on him.

But at 8 weeks, we learned there was a complication. It was a terrifying moment when we first heard the news. By 10 weeks, the diagnosis was confirmed—Brexton had an omphalocele of the liver. For those unfamiliar, an omphalocele is a condition where a baby’s abdominal organs develop outside of the body in a sac. Our hearts sank as we learned the severity of it. But despite the diagnosis, we held onto hope. We were told that it was something that could be managed, something that we could work through.

Every week, we looked for signs of improvement. Each ultrasound, each test, kept us hanging on. We allowed ourselves to believe that we would be able to bring him home and hold him in our arms.

The Devasting Diagnosis

Then, on March 12th, my world came crashing down. It was just another ordinary day at the office. I was working for my OBYGN at the time when my doctor asked if I’d like to do an ultrasound to check on Brexton. My heart raced as I followed him to the ultrasound room.

The moment the probe touched my belly and I saw the screen, I knew. It was a gut-wrenching realization that I couldn’t shake. Brexton was gone. My heart shattered into a million pieces. It felt surreal. I had made it so much further along in my pregnancy this time. How could this happen again?

This was my third loss, but it didn’t feel like the others. I was so much further along, and I had envisioned holding him in my arms, bringing him home, raising him. Now, that dream was gone.

Navigating the Unimaginable

In a daze, I went to my car, called my mom (who was seven hours away), and then called my husband to let him know. I remember telling them that we’d be starting the induction that evening at 7 p.m. I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t want to be alone in the pain. So instead, I went back into the office and finished seeing patients for the day. I kept telling myself that I just needed to keep moving. If I stopped, the reality of the loss would crush me.

When I got home, I packed my hospital bag, took a shower, and cleaned. I tried to stay busy, anything to keep my mind occupied. I felt numb. The hours dragged on, and the three hours we spent waiting to go to the hospital felt like an eternity. We didn’t speak much during that time. There were no words that could fix the situation.

Once the time came, we made our way to the hospital, where I began the induction process. Twenty hours later, our sweet boy was born, but not into our arms—into heaven.

Brexton was perfect. He had tiny hands and feet, little fingers and toes, and long legs. He was beautiful. He was everything I had dreamed of, but he was gone. We were able to hold him, take pictures, and spend a few hours with him. But in the end, we had to say goodbye.

We stayed in the hospital for three foggy days, just trying to navigate the overwhelming emotions of the loss. When we came home, the house felt eerily quiet. I didn’t know what to do with myself.

Grieving the Loss

The grief was unlike anything I had ever experienced. I didn’t know how to function. My husband had to go back to work, and I was left alone with my thoughts. My mom stayed with me for a week, doing her best to keep me busy, but nothing could erase the pain. I couldn’t stop crying. It felt like I was drowning in sorrow.

In an attempt to escape the grief, I went back to my hometown to be surrounded by family and friends, thinking it might help ease the pain. But it didn’t. The truth was, no one could understand what I was going through—not really. I was thankful for their support, but I felt completely alone in my grief.

After a week, I returned home. I knew that as much as I wanted the world to stop, it couldn’t. I had to learn to live in this new, painful reality. But the pain was all-consuming. It was impossible to go back to normal life.

Struggling with Postpartum Depression

As time passed, the grief became all-encompassing. I found myself falling deeper into postpartum depression. I couldn’t see the way out. I was trying to leave my husband for no reason at all. I moved out of our home for about a month, still coming in and out, but my heart wasn’t in it. I stopped talking to everyone who cared about me. I was isolating myself, sinking deeper into the darkness.

I have never felt more alone, confused, or vulnerable than I did during that time. But through it all, my husband showed me nothing but grace. Even as he was grieving the loss of his son, he stood by me, gently guiding me through the storm. I will forever be thankful for his unwavering support.

Eventually, I sought help. I started taking antidepressants, and slowly, I began to feel better. When I was ready, I weaned off the medication. It wasn’t an overnight fix, but I started adjusting to my new normal.

Finding New Purpose

Losing Brexton, along with the two babies before him, changed me in ways I can’t fully describe. I will never be the same. But I also realized something important during my healing journey: before the losses, I never truly felt like I had found my purpose. I was drifting through life, unsure of where I was meant to be.

But after sitting with my grief for so long, I realized I wanted to do more. I wanted to help other mothers who were going through the same unimaginable pain I had experienced. My husband encouraged me to follow that desire, and I’m so glad he did.

I began reaching out to other grieving mothers, offering support and understanding. In helping others, I found a sense of purpose that I never knew was there. It didn’t take away the pain of my losses, but it gave me a new way to move forward—one step at a time.

Moving Forward, But Never Moving On

Grief isn’t something you get over. It’s something you carry—forever. But over time, it becomes lighter. Softer. Something you can hold without it breaking you.

Some days, I still break down. Some days, I feel strong. Both are okay.

If you’re reading this and carrying your own grief, please know this: You are not broken. You are not alone. The pain might feel unbearable right now, but there is light—somewhere, somehow—waiting for you.

I carry Brexton with me every day. In my heart. In my work. In the way I now love harder and live deeper.

His life, though short, changed mine forever. And in that, there is purpose. There is love. And there is hope.