Counting Blessings in a Blizzard

I stood at the hotel window in a Minneapolis suburb on March 15, 2026, staring at the gray sky and thinking: Never visit Minnesota in winter if you can avoid it.

The day before, I had flown in from Denver with filmmaker Susan to interview parents who had lost babies to stillbirth. Our schedule was packed—interviews and B-roll from morning until night—yet the week that followed was filled with chaos, challenges, and also blessings.

The security line at Denver International Airport snaked endlessly, slowed by spring break crowds and a partial government shutdown. But my TSA Pre-Check cleared me through in reasonable time.

The night before our trip, warnings flooded in: a major blizzard was barreling toward the Midwest. Southwest urged passengers to rebook. I pictured canceled flights, a ruined trip, and the interruption of our film’s production. Instead, our plane landed at the Twin Cities smoothly. We reached the hotel just as the first flakes began to fall, giving us precious hours to stock up on food and supplies before the storm hit.

Our first evening interview was canceled at the last minute due to the weather.

However, she was very accommodating in helping me reschedule another interview that worked for both of our schedules. Although this meant that some of our workdays would be longer this week, I appreciated her flexibility and willingness to participate in this project.

Sunday morning, the snowblower’s roar woke me. From the window, a hotel worker looked like a tiny black speck against an ocean of white. The path he’d cleared vanished almost instantly under fresh powder.

The storm was massive—blizzards, power outages, grounded flights—affecting nearly 200 million people across the country. In our area, 12 to 15 inches fell. Had we tried to fly into the Twin Cities that day, the entire trip would have been lost. We were also grateful that we stayed warm, powered, and fed in our room—small comforts that felt enormous.

Sunday afternoon, our second interviewee, another loss mom asked if it was okay to switch from an in-person format to a virtual interview due to the snowstorm. While we wouldn’t be able to use any footage from our virtual interview, I agreed to the change because I didn’t want her to put herself in danger. I was just thankful she didn’t cancel the interview altogether.

Monday morning brought another test. We drove to meet a pregnant loss mom at her bright yellow house (she’d mentioned her love of color, especially orange). Twenty minutes later we pulled up to a yellow house on the same street name—only to discover we were in the wrong city. What were the odds?

By that time, the snow had stopped, but the cold was still biting. The snowplows had done an excellent job on the highways. We eventually met the mother outside the hospital and felt relieved that everyone arrived safely and that she was able to keep her prenatal appointment. We waited for her to finish with the doctor and were happy to hear that both she and the baby are doing well.

On Wednesday, my husband texted from Denver: a massive power outage had shut down the airport for hours—hundreds of flights delayed or canceled. We had originally planned to fly home that day. A last-minute decision to extend our stay by 24 hours meant we missed the chaos entirely.

Those logistical blessings mattered. But the real ones were the people.

I sat with Jasmyn and Brandon Williams, whose daughter Naiomi was stillborn in October 2024. Their grief was still raw, yet they had already channeled it into a foundation supporting families through miscarriage, infant loss, and stillbirth.

Brandon’s words stayed with me: “We have the luckiest life regardless. You must embrace what is going well for you and acknowledge that life will still present challenges.”

After her fourth son, Elijah, was stillborn, Ann O’Neill didn’t buy the argument that stillbirth is something that happens and nothing could be done to prevent it from happening. Through her own research, she learned that abnormal placenta size is associated with increased likelihood of stillbirth and other adverse pregnancy outcomes. Estimated Placental Volume (EPV), a technique developed by Yale University professor Dr. Harvey Kilman and his father, mathematician Merwin Kliman, is an effective tool for estimating placental size in utero and has the potential to improve patients' prenatal care and pregnancy outcomes.

Ann and other loss moms founded Measure the Placenta, a nonprofit pushing for routine placental measurements in prenatal care to help prevent stillbirths. Ask Ann about the placenta and she can speak for hours with quiet fire.

Meeting these parents, I felt both sorrow and awe. We wish we had connected under happier circumstances. Instead, our shared losses have bound us in a different way—through a fierce, collective mission to raise awareness and push for change.

The pain of stillbirth never fully leaves. But in the middle of a blizzard, stuck in a hotel room, I kept counting blessings: safe travels, open hearts, resilient people turning unimaginable grief into action. Our children’s brief lives continue to inspire us. Together, we are determined to make sure fewer families have to walk this road.