On December 21, 2025, I gave birth to Atlas Scott Thomas Sommers, via emergency C-section at just 29 weeks gestation. He weighed a tiny 2 pounds, 4 ounces but was otherwise healthy. Small but mighty!
From the very beginning, he showed us what strength, and resilience looked like. For the next two months, the NICU became our second home. Every day was a victory. We celebrated every ounce gained, every successful feeding, every milestone reached, and every precious moment we were able to spend with him. Our days and nights were spent beside his incubator, learning to live one hopeful moment at a time. Knowing Atlas was in great hands at Children’s Hospital did offer some solace but the postpartum mother in me felt off, like something was missing and it became more strange each time I’d come home from the NICU without him in my arms. My heart ached to be apart from him.
Nevertheless, Atlas kept fighting, we maintained hope, and finally, the day we’d waited anxiously for was here. After spending two long months in the NICU, on February 21, 2026 our sweet baby boy was ready to come home! For the first time our family felt whole. With the stress, fear and uncertainty of the NICU in our rearview, all felt right with the world again and we were finally living the life we dreamed of throughout my pregnancy and during each day of Atlas’s hospital stay.
We watched him grow, smile, and discover the world around him. We stayed up late together, we read the books I started hoarding when I found out I was having him, and we snuggled. We snuggled 24/7 and every day with him felt like a gift, one we had fought so hard to receive.
Each day we were grateful. We made plans of the future and discussed all the wonders of what would be. What would his first word would be? What places would we would take him? What movies would he’d have to see? We made plans for camping trips where he’d learn to swim & to sign him up for t-ball so Thomas could teach him how to win. I’d teach him how to golf & use his putter, we’d look for fossils and rocks on mom’s agate beach. We’d celebrate his first trip around the sun & then create the magic of his second Christmas. While we were busy planning, little did we know, we were on such a short timeline. We wouldn’t have the time to do any of that.
On May 3, 2026, our world shattered. After only two beautiful months at home together, Atlas passed away unexpectedly.
He was healthy. There were no warning signs. No illness. No indication that anything was wrong. He was simply gone.
The shock, confusion, and heartbreak are impossible to put into words. We await answers from his autopsy, desperately searching for understanding in a situation that feels unimaginable. Every day we wake up only to remember that our precious boy is no longer here. The grief of losing Atlas is unlike anything I could’ve imagined. A part of me is gone and I will never be the same.
Some days are hard and some nights harder but every now and then I remember, I need to live each day well for the days he didn’t get to at all. Atlas was not only deeply loved—he was wanted, prayed for, fought for, and celebrated every single day of his life. As we navigate this devastating loss, our family faces financial challenges. Apparently, death is expensive and so is the time needed to grieve. I don’t have an option to return to work yet, as I am not medically cleared. I need to take care of myself before I can go back to caring for others. The grief has been so intense that I thought I was dying from a broken heart. Turns out, you can. In addition to any outstanding funeral and burial expenses, I’m experiencing ongoing medical complications that have required continued treatment and hospitalization. At the time of writing this I’m on day 7 of my stay in the Cardiac Unit at Abbot Northwestern Hospital where I’m receiving great treatment from the wonderful medical team here.
The emotional and physical toll of the last several months has been overwhelming, and my return to work has been delayed. I’ve learned many lessons from this particularly difficult season of life and one is to ask for help when you need it. I haven’t always been great at that, but there’s a first for everything.
I humbly ask for your help. The funds raised will help cover: Remaining funeral and burial expenses for Atlas; routine household expenses during work leave; medical expenses related to my ongoing treatment and recovery; moving expenses so we can leave the apartment where we lost Atlas behind and begin fresh—healing in a new environment. Funds raised will also support counseling, grief support, and other therapeutic needs as we learn how to survive this unimaginable loss.
If you are unable to donate, we totally understand but would be just as grateful if you’d share Atlas’s story with others. Every share helps us honor his life and reach others who may be there to help.
Lastly, we ask that you remember him. Atlas’s life was far too short, but it was meaningful. He taught us courage. He taught us hope. He taught us that even the smallest people can leave the biggest impact on the world.
Thank you for taking the time to read our story. Thank you for your kindness, your prayers, your support, and for helping us carry the weight of this loss. From the bottom of our hearts, thank you.
From the very beginning, he showed us what strength, and resilience looked like. For the next two months, the NICU became our second home. Every day was a victory. We celebrated every ounce gained, every successful feeding, every milestone reached, and every precious moment we were able to spend with him. Our days and nights were spent beside his incubator, learning to live one hopeful moment at a time. Knowing Atlas was in great hands at Children’s Hospital did offer some solace but the postpartum mother in me felt off, like something was missing and it became more strange each time I’d come home from the NICU without him in my arms. My heart ached to be apart from him.
Nevertheless, Atlas kept fighting, we maintained hope, and finally, the day we’d waited anxiously for was here. After spending two long months in the NICU, on February 21, 2026 our sweet baby boy was ready to come home! For the first time our family felt whole. With the stress, fear and uncertainty of the NICU in our rearview, all felt right with the world again and we were finally living the life we dreamed of throughout my pregnancy and during each day of Atlas’s hospital stay.
We watched him grow, smile, and discover the world around him. We stayed up late together, we read the books I started hoarding when I found out I was having him, and we snuggled. We snuggled 24/7 and every day with him felt like a gift, one we had fought so hard to receive.
Each day we were grateful. We made plans of the future and discussed all the wonders of what would be. What would his first word would be? What places would we would take him? What movies would he’d have to see? We made plans for camping trips where he’d learn to swim & to sign him up for t-ball so Thomas could teach him how to win. I’d teach him how to golf & use his putter, we’d look for fossils and rocks on mom’s agate beach. We’d celebrate his first trip around the sun & then create the magic of his second Christmas. While we were busy planning, little did we know, we were on such a short timeline. We wouldn’t have the time to do any of that.
On May 3, 2026, our world shattered. After only two beautiful months at home together, Atlas passed away unexpectedly.
He was healthy. There were no warning signs. No illness. No indication that anything was wrong. He was simply gone.
The shock, confusion, and heartbreak are impossible to put into words. We await answers from his autopsy, desperately searching for understanding in a situation that feels unimaginable. Every day we wake up only to remember that our precious boy is no longer here. The grief of losing Atlas is unlike anything I could’ve imagined. A part of me is gone and I will never be the same.
Some days are hard and some nights harder but every now and then I remember, I need to live each day well for the days he didn’t get to at all. Atlas was not only deeply loved—he was wanted, prayed for, fought for, and celebrated every single day of his life. As we navigate this devastating loss, our family faces financial challenges. Apparently, death is expensive and so is the time needed to grieve. I don’t have an option to return to work yet, as I am not medically cleared. I need to take care of myself before I can go back to caring for others. The grief has been so intense that I thought I was dying from a broken heart. Turns out, you can. In addition to any outstanding funeral and burial expenses, I’m experiencing ongoing medical complications that have required continued treatment and hospitalization. At the time of writing this I’m on day 7 of my stay in the Cardiac Unit at Abbot Northwestern Hospital where I’m receiving great treatment from the wonderful medical team here.
The emotional and physical toll of the last several months has been overwhelming, and my return to work has been delayed. I’ve learned many lessons from this particularly difficult season of life and one is to ask for help when you need it. I haven’t always been great at that, but there’s a first for everything.
I humbly ask for your help. The funds raised will help cover: Remaining funeral and burial expenses for Atlas; routine household expenses during work leave; medical expenses related to my ongoing treatment and recovery; moving expenses so we can leave the apartment where we lost Atlas behind and begin fresh—healing in a new environment. Funds raised will also support counseling, grief support, and other therapeutic needs as we learn how to survive this unimaginable loss.
If you are unable to donate, we totally understand but would be just as grateful if you’d share Atlas’s story with others. Every share helps us honor his life and reach others who may be there to help.
Lastly, we ask that you remember him. Atlas’s life was far too short, but it was meaningful. He taught us courage. He taught us hope. He taught us that even the smallest people can leave the biggest impact on the world.
Thank you for taking the time to read our story. Thank you for your kindness, your prayers, your support, and for helping us carry the weight of this loss. From the bottom of our hearts, thank you.