I was 19 weeks pregnant with my son Sage when he was diagnosed with a fatal condition called Thanatophoric dysplasia. It all came as a shock to me, and I truly couldn't believe anything the doctor said to us that day. 

This was my second pregnancy.

My first ended in a miscarriage around 10 weeks, and I was excited to be pregnant again.

Everything with Sage had been perfect up to this point and I felt I had nothing to worry about.

On the day of his anatomy ultrasound, my husband and I looked away from the screen several times to avoid seeing our baby's gender. We wanted to be surprised at birth! After an hour or so, a specialist came in to give us the news that our son's measurements were about five weeks behind where they should be. She explained our baby had a form of dwarfism that is considered very rare and fatal, and that the only thing we could do for him, if I chose to continue carrying him, was keep him comfortable in the womb. My mind was foggy as I was trying to make sense of it all, and I'm thankful my husband was there to ask the important questions.

We confirmed I could carry him as long as my health wasn't at risk, and we scheduled weekly ultrasounds and multiple genetic tests to confirm his condition. As the weeks went on, I prayed for a miracle that would make it all untrue, that he'd be born alive and live longer than he was expected. I cried almost every night, but during the day I put a smile on my face and looked at life a little differently. The food I ate, the steps I walked, the music I listened to; it all took a new meaning. I was doing everything for him, and 'enjoying' each day as if it was his last.

At 31 weeks I went into labor. It was a Friday night after work that I felt really, really tired. I did a lot that day and I thought I just needed some rest. The next day I woke up to mild back pain and headed to the hospital to make sure everything was okay. I was having contractions but not enough to keep me there, and I went back home. When Monday morning came around, I went to my weekly appointment with my OB-GYN and begin to feel contractions again as I sat in the waiting room. By the time my doctor checked me, I was one centimeter dilated and he said we'd be having a baby that week.

We were prepared...but not really.

Our hospital bags were packed, and our birth plan was set in place with our care team. We just weren't prepared to say goodbye so suddenly.

I knew the day would come, but I thought I had more time.

We made it to the hospital around 1 a.m. on Wednesday, January 29. By 3 a.m. I was 5 cm dilated and a doctor broke my water. A couple hours later I had a room filled with family, including my mother who flew in overnight from out of the country to meet her grandson. Even a friend drove over an hour the middle of the night to photograph his birth. Everyone showed up on time, as if it was meant to be. At 7 a.m. my care team walked in with my O.B. and got me ready to push. I opted to not listen to Sage's heartbeat monitor at this point because I was afraid if his heart stopped beating in the middle of me giving birth, I would go into a spiral.

Sage was born alive at 8:24 a.m. I heard him take a big breath as he was placed on my chest. Something I'll never forget. He never opened his eyes, and he never cried. His heart beat very slowly. His arms and legs were short, but he was still perfect to me. There were multiple doctors and nurses who checked in on him and confirmed his condition now that he was outside of me. We took turns taking photos with him, and before we knew it, an hour had passed. Sage died in my arms around 9:25 a.m.

It's a day I'll never forget. The most beautiful and the most heartbreaking day. His birthday and his death day all in one.

Sage stayed in a room with us for 36 more hours after that. In between caring for myself, and holding him closely, I made phone calls to multiple funeral homes until I found one who offered infant cremation services local to me. They took care of everything, from pickup arrangements with the hospital to filling out the necessary paperwork. We requested for Sage to be picked up at 5 p.m. on Thursday so we can spend the afternoon with him. During that time we gently gave him a bath, changed him into his going away outfit and even snapped photos with him outside in a garden thanks to a nurse named Comfort!

At 5 p.m. on the dot, we heard a knock on the door and it was time to say our final goodbye. I don't know how I let him go. The door closed behind the security guard who came in with the staff from the funeral home, and I threw myself on the floor.

I cried uncontrollably for a bit, and then made my way home empty-handed. That night at home was the worst night of my life. And the days that followed were nothing like I ever experienced before. I really wanted my little boy back in my arms.

In the first months following Sage's death, I found myself lighting a candle for him every single day. It made me feel closer to him and it brought me a sense of comfort.

One day I felt led to learn how to make my own candles. I ordered a supply kit and spent a lot of time mixing and pouring away. At times it's the only thing that kept me busy and calmed my anxiety.

In an effort to give back in memory of Sage, and after months of practice, I opened this candle shop. My intention at the beginning was to gift a candle to a bereaved family for every candle that was purchased here, but eventually I saw a need amongst nonprofits and decided to instead donate a portion of my proceeds to them. To this day, I've made close to $15,000 in donations to nonprofits nationwide. The money has helped provide grief support, photography sessions, remembrance keepsakes, memorial services, and even financial assistance to bereaved families. Some of these services were given to me at absolutely no cost, and I think every family who experiences the loss of a child should be granted the same.

The purchases you make here help make a difference in the world, and I'll forever be grateful for your support.

-Adeyling, Sage's Mama & Founder