WORTHINGTON, OHIO — Trigger Warning: The following article contains discussions of miscarriage, stillbirth, infant loss, and grief. These are deeply emotional topics that may be triggering or upsetting. If these subjects are difficult for you, please take care of yourself and consider whether reading this article is right for you at this time.
“Real Estate Agent” is my job title, but it’s not who I am. I’d rather be known for my character and integrity, as someone who cares about my community.
As real estate agents, our day-to-day revolves around navigating life changes: helping a growing family find the house they will bring their first child home to, helping someone sell the home they were raised in, or helping a divorced parent start over.
Humans Over Houses—that’s what it’s about. We’re humans first, helping people find homes. Our work starts with connection and compassion.
Both Lindsay and I have been licensed real estate agents for several years. We are also the parents of three children, including a little boy named Reagan Michael who passed away after spending just two hours in our arms.
Our family is no stranger to both joy and grief.
What do you do with the grief of losing a child? We knew that we could let it destroy us, or we could redirect our energy to helping others. That’s why we started the Reagan Michael Foundation in honor of our little boy. Every year, nurses from our local hospital connect us with moms who are facing high-risk pregnancies. Sometimes, these moms are anticipating months-long hospital stays just to improve the chances their baby will survive. It’s unbelievable the emotional and financial strain that a high-risk pregnancy puts on a family. We help in whatever way we can, whether it’s covering groceries, utilities, rent, transportation, or even funeral expenses.
We hope that through the foundation we started in Reagan’s name, we can honor his legacy by helping others.
When we opened up about Reagan’s short life, I was shocked by how many people came forward to share their own stories. Miscarriage and stillbirth are far more common than we realize. Yet, society treats miscarriage as a private shame rather than a shared reality. This silence around loss makes people feel isolated as if they’re the only ones experiencing it. That’s another reason why we feel strongly about the Reagan Michael Foundation: maybe by sharing our experience, we can help others feel less alone.
In 2016, we were expecting our second child—a little boy named Reagan Michael. The excitement of a baby on the way encouraged us to buy a new home sooner than planned, which we moved into on April 16th of that year.
Like any growing family, we were both excited and scared.
Lindsay had some bleeding that started early in her pregnancy, and it was really stressful. We kept going to the doctor and held onto hope that things could still turn out OK for our precious Reagan.
As his due date inched closer, I was also set to compete in my first IronMan competition. Just before I was set to leave, Lindsay’s bleeding increased and the doctors thought it best to keep her in the hospital for observation. My nerves and anxiety were through the roof. But Lindsay was certain that I should still go participate in this IronMan—something I had poured my heart into preparing for.
Although I tried my best on the day of the competition, my body had different plans for me. I cramped so badly during the swim portion that I had to be pulled out of the water and taken to the medical tent. Later, I learned that an amazing friend I met through IronMan, Gene, died during that swim. He left behind a wife and four kids.
I grieved Gene, and my failed attempt. But most of all, there was fear for our future family.
Returning home, Lindsay’s bleeding hadn’t improved. Best-case scenario, she was staring down three months of bed rest in a hospital. Day to day was our motto and our faith in God sustained us.
Unfortunately, as that week went on, we slowly began to realize that our hearts might be broken. Lindsay went into labor far too early.
There are no words to describe that pain.
The early hours of that Friday morning in April were sacred and drenched in grief. Our Little Ruler (Reagan) Who is Like God (Michael) was born Friday and lingered with us for two unspeakably precious hours before returning to God.
We left the hospital with empty arms, returning to the home we had just moved into. But there was a hole there. Reagan wasn’t in the room we had planned for him. Nothing fit.
Our grief needed an outlet. Like most people who suffer the loss of a child, we didn’t know what to do. Our future wasn’t going to look anything like the one we had planned.
In the aftermath of our tragedy, so many people reached out to help us. We had to channel the excess of love we received into helping others. So we created the Reagan Michael Foundation to honor the memory of our child, and to support families experiencing high-risk pregnancies or infant loss.
Our mission is to transform grief into purpose. This foundation is our way of turning our personal pain into a meaningful legacy that helps others.
We are humbled by the people who have stepped up to help make this foundation successful. Friends at Fat Heads Brewery created a special IPA called Reagan’s Comet. Proceeds from the sales go straight to the foundation.
I hate that I have this fund because of the reason we have it—we lost our child. But at the same time, I’m grateful we have it because it lets us honor his legacy by helping others.
With support from family, friends, and collaborations, the fund has raised more than $50,000, directly benefiting struggling families.
Looking forward, we hope this foundation grows to help even more families. We are forming a board of directors and are looking forward to the positive impact Reagan’s legacy will continue to make.
Our focus isn’t just on selling houses; it’s on being present in the community and showing up for people who need us. Without people, none of what we do in real estate would matter. Our lives have been enriched, and we have found strength through putting Humans Over Houses, always.
