Meet Nola Rose
The Baby Girl
I Prayed For
Before Nola was ever in my arms, she was prayed for.
When I found out one of the twins growing in my belly was a girl, I couldn’t believe it. I had quite literally gotten down on my hands and knees with a friend at Bible study and prayed to be blessed with a daughter at my gender reveal. With so many boys in her dad’s family, part of me wondered if I would ever have a little girl of my own.
And then God gave me Nola.
The most beautiful, joyful, perfect little girl I could have ever imagined.
I spent the rest of my twin pregnancy preparing for my baby girl—pink, purple, florals and, of course, lots and lots of bows.
Funny enough, Nola wasn’t always going to be Nola. The twins were originally named Peyton Patrick and Remi Rose. I had announced their names and had already started buying personalized things when, after a few weeks, I couldn’t shake the feeling that those simply weren’t their names.
Eventually, Peyton and Remi became Nash Patrick and Nola Rose, and suddenly it felt right. I never second guessed their names again.
I loved that all three of my children now had names inspired by places, beginning with their big brother, Boston Thomas. But I especially fell in love with the name Nola. It was beautiful, different, and a name I had never heard before.
Her middle name, Rose, made it even more special. She was named after my mom, Rosalyn Liesl, and my Grammy, Rosalyn.
Nola Rose.
It was meant to be hers.
Becoming Nola's Mom
Nash and Nola were born by C-section at 37 weeks on Saturday, September 9, 2023.
Nola was born at 11:02 am weighing 6 pounds 1 oz.
Everything went beautifully. Neither twin needed the NICU, something I now look back on as such a blessing.
I will forever cherish those first few days in the hospital with them. Learning them. Admiring them. Loving them. Tandem feeding them. Never wanting to put either of them down.
I remember looking at these two perfect little humans and hardly being able to believe they were mine.
And then came one of my favorite memories—bringing them home to their big brother.
Boston fell in love with the twins immediately. He stepped into his role as their big brother as though loving and protecting them had always been his purpose.
Life with newborn twins and a toddler was wild, of course. But when I think back on that time, what I remember most is how incredibly happy I was all because of them.
They were my whole world.
Boston, Nash and Nola. The three loves of my life, forever.
I loved being their mom with everything in me. I truly felt like I was made to be a mommy—their mommy. God had blessed me so greatly with those three babies, and the memories, giggles, smiles and love that filled our home because of them are engraved in me forever.
They loved each other so naturally. There were always hugs and kisses, helping hands and little moments of sibling love happening around me. I used to imagine what the three of them would be like when they grew up.
Even then, I could already see how protective Nola’s brothers were of her.
I knew my baby girl was set for life with those two by her side.
My Little Girly Pop
.jpeg)
Nola was bursting with happiness.
She had this beautiful, energetic, outgoing, carefree personality that seemed far too big to fit into such a tiny little girl.
And that smile.
Her dimple smile was one of the most beautiful, contagious things I have ever seen. Then there was her raspy little voice and laugh—the kind of sound that could catch the attention of everyone in the room and make them smile.
There was just something about Nola.
Her presence made you grateful she was there.
She was loving and affectionate, but also independent, adventurous and determined. She wanted to explore everything around her and seemed to believe just about anything could be climbed.
Counters. Tables. Furniture. If there was a way to get on top of it, chances are Nola was going to figure it out.
She hit almost every milestone before her twin brother. She rolled first, crawled first, waved first, ditched her binky first, and of course—climbed first.
She was an impressive little girly pop.
The one thing Nash had her beat on was teeth. He already had eight before Nola finally got her first one. But if there were ever a baby made for a gummy smile, it was her. She rocked it so well.
Nola loved exploring, swinging, playing independently, driving in her push car, riding her pink bike with her butterfly helmet, going for walks in the wagon, boat rides and getting into Mama’s makeup.
She also loved playing with her baby dolls. There was such a gentle, nurturing side to Nola that came out when she played with them. She would hold them, love on them and care for them so sweetly.
I used to watch her with her babies and think about what a good mommy she would be one day. She had so much love and tenderness in her already, even at only 15 months old.
It’s one of those little pieces of who she was that makes me wonder so much about the girl and woman she would have grown up to become. I wish more than anything I could have gotten the chance to find out.
She loved books—or, as she called them, “booook.”
She loved playing peek-a-boo, blowing bubbles, waving to everyone, sharing, giving hugs and kisses, receiving hugs and kisses, holding her brothers’ hands in the car, and throwing things into the trash that absolutely did not belong there like multiple $20 tonies!
She loved being silly.
She would growl. Scrunch her nose. Stick out her tongue. Put her toes in her mouth. Make bubbles. Do anything that could get a laugh out of us.
And if music came on, that little head immediately started bobbing. Her dancing was basically head-banging, and it was one of the cutest things in the world—especially when her Spidey Tonies were playing.
She was a great eater and would eat just about anything you put in front of her. She loved getting her teeth brushed. She loved catnaps. And she especially loved her contact naps with Mama.
I may have loved the bows more than she did, but she was my baby girl, so bows were simply part of the deal.
She had this mischievous little look she would give when she knew she was doing something she probably shouldn’t be doing. You wanted to correct her, but then she’d look at you and somehow you’d end up giggling, picking her up and loving on her instead.
That was Nola.
Adventurous. Silly. Loving. Independent. Curious. Affectionate. Carefree.
And so, so happy.
Nola & Her Brothers
One of the greatest gifts of my life was getting to watch the relationship between my three children.
Boston and Nola were inseparable.
That boy loved his “baby girl” so hard. He would put her shoes on for her, fix her bows, bring her toys, hold her, hug her, attempt to carry her around, and cover her in kisses.
He took care of her in the sweetest little ways without ever being asked.
Nash and Nola had a bond that only twins could have.
The number of kisses, hugs and giggles those two shared was endless. Even though she was the youngest being born two minutes after Nash, Nola took on such a caring role for her big brother. She shared with Nash, looked out for him and would even feed him her own food.
And then there were the three of them together.
Watching Boston, Nash and Nola love one another was one of the most beautiful things I have ever witnessed. Their bond was precious, natural and meant to be.
They will always be the three loves of my life.
Mama's Girl
For all of Nola’s independence and adventurousness, she was absolutely a Mama’s girl.
At family parties, she wanted me. If she eventually warmed up enough to go to someone else, it usually wasn’t long before those little eyes were searching the room for Mama again.
She had slept with me or on me from the day she was born. Nola always slept on my right side, and Nash always slept on my left.
At 14 months, our breastfeeding journey came to an end. I had exclusively breastfed the twins for 14 months, with probably 90 percent of those feedings being tandem. It was such a huge part of our bond and of that first year together.
Around the same time, I began transitioning the twins into sleeping in their own room.
So many ordinary pieces of motherhood that I thought were simply one season ending so the next could begin.
I never knew how much I would one day ache for the ordinary.
The contact naps. Her looking for me across a room. The way she looked at me. The way we laughed together. Holding her. Feeding her. Waking up beside her. Seeing that smile.
If I could freeze one ordinary moment with my daughter forever, I think about the one-on-one time we would sometimes get in the playpen before her brothers woke up. Just Mama and Nola, playing and giggling together.
Nothing extraordinary was happening.
And now I would give anything for one more ordinary morning just like it.
Celebrating One Year of Nola
The twins’ first birthday was bittersweet even then because I couldn’t believe how quickly their first year had gone.
We celebrated with a ONEder the Sea party, but one of my favorite memories came on their actual birthday.
We spent the day downtown, exploring the city and simply focusing on them. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining. I remember all three kids being so happy and so good.
At the time, I thought I was simply making another birthday memory.
I had no way of knowing it would be the only birthday I would ever get to celebrate with Nola here.
That day means more to me now than I could ever put into words. I will cherish the memories of that day until it’s my last.
Who Nola Was
There are so many things I want people to know about Nola beyond the fact that she is now in Heaven.
I want people to know who she was.
I want them to know about her dimple smile and her raspy little laugh.
I want them to picture her climbing onto a table the second someone looked away.
I want them to know she called books “booook,” danced by head-banging, growled to make us laugh, held her brothers’ hands in the car, and happily shared her food with her twin brother.
I want them to know about the bows, the gummy smile, the hugs and kisses, the mischievous looks, the contact naps, and the little girl who would search a crowded room for her Mama.
I want people to know how deeply she loved and how unbelievably loved she was.
Because Nola is so much more than what happened to her.
She is my daughter.
She is Boston and Nash’s sister / “baby girl”.
She is my joyful, adventurous, climbing, dancing, silly little girly pop.
She is the little girl who made our family complete.
She is Nola Rose.
And in only 15 months, she gave us a lifetime of love.
All she knew was love. And all she gave was love.
Until I Hold You Again
Some of the most painful memories I carry are also some of the most sacred—the final ways I was able to mother my baby girl here on Earth.
On the day of Nola’s funeral, it snowed.
There was something about watching the snow fall on the day we were saying goodbye to her that I will never forget. I had heard people say that snow on the day of a funeral can feel like a sign of peace, purity, or Heaven welcoming someone home. I don’t know that there are words for what that day felt like, but the quiet beauty of the snow surrounding such unimaginable heartbreak is something that has stayed with me.
Nola was laid to rest in one of the most meaningful things she could have worn—my mom’s, her Lolli’s, wedding dress, lovingly made into a tiny dress just for her.
Three generations connected through one dress.
There were also things I had always imagined getting to do with my daughter someday that suddenly I knew I would never get the chance to do.
So there in the funeral home, I painted my baby girl’s nails for the very first time. A sparkly light pink.
I put little clip-on earrings on her because I had never gotten the chance to take her to have her ears pierced.
They were such small things. Things I thought we would have years and years to do together. Things I never imagined I would be doing for the first and only time while preparing to say goodbye to my daughter.
And then I got to hold her.
One last time.
Before they closed her casket, I held my baby girl in my arms again. I wish I could have stopped time. I wish I never had to let her go. There will never be words big enough for what it felt like to hold the child I had carried inside me, nursed, slept beside, kissed, rocked and loved with every part of me—knowing it would be the last time I would hold her on this side of Heaven.
Roses became part of our goodbye, too.
At the funeral home, everyone who came to love and honor Nola laid a rose in front of her casket. And when we brought her to her final resting place, roses were laid for her again.
Looking back now, it feels especially meaningful that roses surrounded my baby girl as we said goodbye.
Her middle name was Rose.
And today, roses have become one of the ways I feel closest to her, one of the signs that immediately makes me think of her, and the symbol carried throughout the work being done in her name.
I never could have known then just how much that flower would continue to mean.
I didn’t want to learn how to say goodbye to my daughter.
So instead, I choose to hold onto the hope that it wasn’t goodbye forever.
It was goodbye for now.
Every Day Is One Day Closer
.jpg)
I truly believe with my whole heart that Nola is in Heaven.
My faith has carried me through the darkest days of my life, and I am so thankful for the promise and the hope that this goodbye is not forever. I believe with everything in me that I will see and hold my baby girl again.
It is a hope I hold onto every single day.
So much so that I have the words “Every day is one day closer” tattooed on my arm—a daily reminder that every day I make it through is one day closer to the day I get to see her again.
And somehow, even while I wait for that day, I still feel Nola with me.
There are little signs that seem to find me exactly when I need them most. Roses. Butterflies.
Cardinals. Repeating numbers. Little moments that might seem ordinary to someone else but feel anything but ordinary to me.
I believe those are my baby girl.
Her little reminders that love doesn’t end just because someone is no longer physically here.
Those signs have carried me through more moments than I can count. They remind me to keep going. To keep looking for her. To keep speaking her name. To keep living for all three of my children.
Until I can hold her again, I will look for her everywhere.
In every rose.
Every butterfly.
Every cardinal.
Every little sign that makes my heart immediately think, Nola.
I know where my girl is.
And every day is one day closer to her.
Her Love Lives On
On January 1, 2025, our lives changed forever when Nola passed away suddenly and unexpectedly at only 15 months old.
Eventually, her death would be ultimately classified as Sudden Unexplained Death in Childhood (SUDC)—a rare tragedy in which a child over the age of 12 months dies suddenly and unexpectedly and no cause is identified after a thorough investigation.
There are no words that can adequately explain what it means to wake up one day and suddenly be living in a world without your child.
Never in a million years did I think this would be my life. I never imagined I would have to learn how to live without my baby girl.
But from the beginning, I knew one thing with absolute certainty:
Nola would never be forgotten.
I knew I would carry her into everything I did. I would speak her name, tell her stories, and make sure the world knew not only that she was here—but who she was.
And eventually, that love grew into something bigger.
The Nola Rose Foundation was created in memory of my daughter to honor her life.
Everything we do is rooted in love.
Love for Nola.
Love for children gone too soon.
Love for the families who have to continue carrying that love when their child is no longer physically here to receive it.
Nola was here for only 15 months, but the love she gave us in those 15 months will last my entire lifetime.
Her story did not end on January 1, 2025.
Her name will continue to be spoken.
Her love will continue to be shared.
Her memory will continue to be carried with us in everything we do.
And through the Nola Rose Foundation, I hope more and more people will get to know the precious little girl who started it all.
My joyful, silly, adventurous, dancing, climbing, bow-wearing, raspy-laughing girly pop.
My baby girl. My girly pop. My gorgeous “guurrrll”. My Nola Rose. Forever. 🌹