Remembering Hank and Graham

10/5/2026

During this Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month, we are honored to share bereaved donor Courtney’s story about the loss of her twin boys and how she found comfort as she grieves through milk donation. Follow along this week as Courtney tells her story:

Part 1: In the NICU

My husband, Kameron, and I spent two and a half years struggling with early pregnancy loss. We experienced four miscarriages before we conceived Hank and Graham, so when we found out we were expecting twins, they felt like little miracles from the very beginning. 

They arrived much earlier than we ever imagined, but the moment they came earthside was still one of the greatest moments of our lives. Both of my sons were admitted to the NICU as micro-preemies. They were born at 23 weeks and 6 days, and each weighed under two pounds. 

My NICU experience changed me forever. It taught me that even the smallest amount of time can hold an immeasurable amount of love, and that every life - no matter how small - is profoundly valuable. During that week, I had to find strength I didn’t know I had. I spent countless hours beside their beds - reading to them, listening to their doctors, praying over them, loving them, crying over them, and simply being their mother.  It changed the way I understood time, the value of human life, and the importance of care in ways I will carry with me forever. 

My sons, Hank and Graham, changed my life forever. There was so much love packed into those days. As painful as that week was, I would live it over and over again if it meant having those days with my sons. I am so grateful for every minute I was given with them.

Part 2: Remembering Hank and Graham

Their nicknames were Hank the Tank and Graham the Man. Even though they were identical, they were already so different from one another. Hank was my active little fighter. He loved music and was always my busy boy. Graham was my big, soft, docile baby - calm and content and always seeming to just take everything in. We used to joke that Hank was more like me and Graham was more like his dad. They were truly two peas in a pod.

Our family surrounded them with an incredible amount of love…Hank and Graham never had a moment where they could have doubted how deeply they were loved.

They were absolutely beautiful little boys. They were incredibly small, but they fought so hard for every second they had. They had to work on nearly every organ and every part of their bodies, and somehow, despite every obstacle in front of them, they kept overcoming them. I could not be more proud of them, and I continue to find strength in who they were.

Motherhood did not end when my sons died. It changed. I mother them differently now, from Earth, and donating my milk has become one of the tangible ways I can continue to do that.

Part 3: Donating during grief 

My biggest fear during pregnancy was whether I would be able to make enough milk for my sons. But after they were born, that fear quickly became something completely different. My milk came in almost immediately, and I found myself with an abundance of milk. I loved it. I loved knowing that I was providing exactly what my boys needed, and I could see the power of my milk even for two incredibly premature babies. 

There was something deeply fulfilling about being able to nourish my sons with my own body. Even in the midst of everything happening in the NICU, pumping gave me a tangible way to mother them. It was something I could do for them when there was so much that I couldn’t control. 

After they passed away, I still had this milk. I still had this ability to provide, and I wasn’t ready for that part of motherhood to end. Donating became a way for me to continue mothering. It allowed something that had been made specifically for my boys to become a gift for other babies who desperately needed it. And in doing that, I felt like I could continue honoring Hank and Graham while carrying a piece of my motherhood forward through my grief.

Part 4: Leaving a lasting legacy

My decision [to donate] came more from having an abundance of milk and realizing that continuing to provide that milk was a way I could keep physically mothering my sons after they were gone. I wasn’t ready to let that part of motherhood end.

What donating my breastmilk means to me is difficult to put into words. I know that making milk doesn’t come as easily for every mother, and I feel incredibly grateful that my body has allowed me to do this so effortlessly. What started as something I made for my own babies has now taken on an entirely different meaning. 

Knowing that my milk is going to fragile babies who are just like my boys makes the gift feel even more significant. I think about the mothers sitting beside their babies in the NICU, carrying so much stress, fear, and emotional exhaustion. If my milk can give even one of those mothers a little bit of comfort - knowing that someone cares deeply about the tiny life they are fighting for - that means everything to me. 

Donating has also given me a way to continue my sons’ legacy. I can’t physically mother Hank and Graham here on Earth, but I can take something their lives gave me and use it for the good of another baby. Their milk was made for them, but it doesn’t have to end with them. I feel incredibly privileged and honored to be able to do this. It is an unexplainable gift to be able to turn something that came from such profound loss into something that can nourish and help another fragile baby. In many ways, donating has allowed me to keep mothering - and that means more to me than I could ever fully put into words.

Courtney has donated over 2,300 ounces over the last 3 months. Thank you, Courtney, for telling your story and donating your breastmilk in honor of Hank and Graham. We’re honored to remember them and share your story.