Grief Journal, Day 6: This Is Cassie’s Story
trigger warning: child loss, grief, child death
If you’re walking this road with me, you should know her story. Not just the part where she left, but everything. Because Cassie Marie Dutro wasn’t just the baby I lost. She was the baby who rewrote my entire world.
Cassie was born on February 28, 2024, with soft blonde hair and the most serious little expressions. She was curious and calm. She had the kind of presence that made you lean in closer, like she already knew something the rest of us didn’t. And maybe she did.
I was deep in postpartum depression, anxiety, and PPOCD. My brain was loud and cruel. But Cassie… she was peace. She was purpose. She anchored me in a way nothing else ever has. She made me a mother. She made us a family.
But around 4 months old, we started noticing signs that something wasn’t right. Screaming spells that didn’t feel like normal colic. Missed milestones. Then, regression. And still, every doctor said, “Let’s wait and see.”
So we waited.
And watched her suffer.
And begged someone—anyone—to take it seriously.
At 7 months old, we finally got the answer: Krabbe Disease.
Terminal. Rare. Unforgiving.
A diagnosis that stole the future we dreamed of in a single breath.
From that moment on, we lived minute-to-minute. Cassie needed round-the-clock care. She had meds, machines, alarms, and routines so sacred I would’ve fought anyone who disrupted them. Our life was built around keeping her comfortable. Keeping her safe.
But it was never just about survival.
Cassie lived.
She loved snuggles. She loved music. She was always most content in our arms, wrapped in warmth, surrounded by love.
And she gave so much love in return.
Cassie brought people together in ways I never expected. She healed wounds that had felt unhealable. She brought Josh and me back to each other after some really hard years. She made us strong again, together.
She brought her aunts, Lily and Alison, closer than they’d been in a long time. She made them sisters.
She gave me Her Grief, Her Strength—a project that was born from my love for her, my need to create something out of all this pain. Through it, I’ve found some of the deepest friendships of my life. Through her, I found my people.
She was adored. Fiercely. Fully.
By us—her mom and dad.
By her Nana.
By her aunts: Lily, Alison, Shelby.
By her cousins: Luna, Oliver, Lucy, and Anna.
By her godparents: Ryan and Rachel.
By her honorary aunts and uncles: Anthony, Tori, Chandler, Katie, Gabe, Carlos, Jackson.
By friends, followers, nurses, doctors, strangers who became family.
By a world that knew her through us and still loved her anyway.
Cassie passed away peacefully on June 5, 2025. In our bed. In my arms. With her people beside her. Her passing was gentle, exactly what she deserved after a lifetime of fighting. And even though my arms are empty now, my heart is filled with everything she gave us.
Cassie’s legacy is just beginning.
She is the reason I will keep advocating.
She is the reason newborn screening will expand.
She is the reason grieving mothers feel less alone.
She is the reason this community, this love, this fire exists.
Fifteen months. That’s all we had.
But she gave us forever.
This is her story.
Not just of dying—but of living, of connecting, of transforming everyone she touched.
And this will always be my story too.
Because I will spend the rest of my life telling hers.
June 10, 2025