A Soft Anchor for Loss Parents During Butterfly Run Week
Updated: Oct 10
Butterfly Run week is close to my heart.
Every year, our family walks in memory of our son, Oliver. And I wish I could wrap grief in a sentence that makes sense of it—but it doesn’t work like that. Grief doesn’t line up neatly. It doesn’t stay where you put it.
Some weeks it’s a quiet ache. And some weeks it’s consuming—like it fills the whole room, like it lives in your throat, like you can’t find the right words because there aren’t words big enough.
And still… love asks for something.
Even when you can’t explain it, you want to honour them. You want to say their name without flinching. You want to do one small thing that whispers: you were here. you are loved. you still matter.
That’s what Butterfly Run week is for me.
Walking among other loss parents is one of the only places I don’t feel the need to shrink my grief to make it easier for someone else to hold. A day where tears don’t need an apology. Where tenderness doesn’t need translation. Where you can be seen—fully—and you don’t have to worry about being too loud in your love, or too heavy in your missing.
It’s supportive in a way I can’t quite describe. Healing, in the simplest sense: not fixed, but held.
And creativity has been an anchor in my own healing journey. When words run out, my hands still know what to do. When my heart can’t carry everything, making something—one line, one page, one small offering—helps me breathe again.
So this year, I’m sharing something small. My way of honouring Oliver. And my way of honouring all the little ones gone too soon.
It’s called A Soft Anchor for Loss Parents—a free printable with a remembrance art page you can write your baby or child’s name on, plus a couple of gentle pages with soft words and tiny care actions for the moments when grief feels close.
If you like the art, you are so welcome to use it.
Print it and keep it near you. Tuck it into a journal. Place it somewhere quiet. Or read it once—just once—and let that be enough.
No pressure. No expectation.
Just a small care offering, from one loss mom—with care.
If this week feels tender, I hope you hear this (even for a second):
You are still their mom. Their life still matters. Your love still counts.
May this be a tiny anchor for the moments when grief rises fast and close to the surface.
With care,
Jess
Oliver's mom, and the artist behind Oleabloom & Co.
Free downloads: A Soft Anchor for Loss Parents
Gentle words + tiny care actions + remembrance art page
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