Eight months in heaven. Eight months since the world shifted in a way no parent ever expects, no heart is ever prepared for, and no prayer can fully soften. Today marks
eight heavenly months for Baby Kaleb, their precious “Baby K,” and the ache still feels as sharp as the day they said goodbye. Grief does not follow calendars. It clings to memories, to empty spaces, to dreams that were supposed to unfold slowly across a lifetime — not end before they truly began.
His parents never imagined life without him. From the moment they learned Kaleb would be born with an extremely rare and serious heart condition, they stepped into the identity of “heart parents,” carrying both hope and fear in the same breath. They heard the medical language, the complexity, the warnings — words that no parent should ever have to hear spoken about their child. Words that suggest fragility, risk, and uncertainty. Doctors didn’t believe he would survive the first surgery. The odds were cruel. The path forward was impossible to predict.
But they believed. And they prayed. And they watched their tiny son fight harder than most adults will ever have to. They saw resilience in a body so small it didn’t seem possible. They saw strength that could only come from something greater. Because despite every “he may not make it,” despite every grim prediction,
Kaleb did make it through that first surgery. He lived. He fought. He stayed. And that felt like a miracle.
There were nights when fear stretched endlessly — but their faith stretched even further. The night Kaleb coded was one of the worst moments of their lives. Alarms. Rushing footsteps. The cold shock of realizing how close life and death can sit beside each other. But even in the middle of chaos, even when machines screamed and the room filled with urgency, they clung to one unshakable truth:
God had the final say.
Kaleb’s room became a sacred place of constant watching, constant praying. Two nurses attended him around the clock for 96 straight hours, never leaving his side. His levels fluctuated wildly — one moment steady, the next moment spiraling — leaving his parents’ hearts suspended between hope and terror. Every small improvement felt like a gift. Every setback felt like the ground opening beneath their feet. Yet through every wave, they held on to God with both hands. Their faith was not naïve — it was survival.
They prayed and cried often, sometimes silently, sometimes uncontrollably. They asked God to keep guiding them, to show them the way, to help them walk by faith even when faith felt heavier than they could carry. And the night before they learned how severe Kaleb’s situation truly was, his mother prayed with a desperation only a parent fighting for their child can understand. In that quiet, aching moment, God revealed something gentle and powerful to her:
Kaleb was safe. Held. Protected. Loved — whether here or in heaven.
And then, too soon, their baby slipped from their arms into eternity.
Since that day, time has become a strange thing. Some moments move slowly, painfully, as if every hour is a reminder of what is missing. Other moments rush by, leaving them breathless with grief. Every day feels long, like years without him. Every sunrise is another day lived with a hole that cannot be filled. Navigating life through this level of pain feels impossible at times. There are days they don’t feel strong. Days when the memories come like waves. Days when the silence in the house feels unbearable. Days when the longing is so deep it hurts to breathe.
But even in the heaviness, even in the heartbreak, there is still God.
Only God sustains them now. Only God gives them the strength to wake up, to keep moving, to hold onto hope when everything feels like loss. Faith didn’t prevent their heartbreak, but faith is the only thing keeping them standing in the aftermath of it. They know Kaleb is safe — they hold on to that truth like a lifeline. They imagine him every day, what his smile would look like, what his laugh would sound like, how his little hands would feel in theirs. They imagine the milestones he should be reaching, the memories they should be making. They imagine a life that should have been but wasn’t, a life they will always wonder about.
Losing a child changes everything. It reshapes the heart, the home, the future. It changes how a parent breathes, how they see the world, how they hold on to the people they love. But one thing never changes — the love they carry for their son. That love is eternal. That love will outlive every sorrow.
So today, on his heavenly 8-month mark, they celebrate him. They remember him. They whisper his name. They honor the boy who fought so bravely, who proved doctors wrong, who taught his family what faith truly looks like. They thank God for every minute they had with him.
And they miss him with every beat of their hearts.
Baby Kaleb, you will always be loved. You will always be missed. You will always be theirs. Forever. 💙
