By Gwyneth Hyndman, HMHB Storytelling Coordinator
I place Hamnet on my knee at page 207 and stare beyond the wing of the Boeing 737 window. My face is wet with tears I wipe away with a sweatshirt sleeve, feeling everything that powerful stories ignite.
Icy peaks of the Gallatin Range and Tobacco Root Mountains rise through the clouds, thousands of feet below as we head south and west towards the Pacific Ocean. I give Maggie O’Farrell’s imagined backstory of Shakespeare’s tragedy a pause so I can pull it together, accept the tissue handed to me from the woman in seat 27 B, and remind myself I’m only gone five days and that traveling alone right now is a luxury.
Instead, the ache to hold my daughters is almost gravitational.
Flying solo with Jessie and Eliza, now 6 and 4, were some of our first bonding moments. I had more than 40 years of travel on my own before I became a mother. After four pregnancy losses, I suspect part of me held back from planning beyond nine months. Both births became C-sections. I was never able to breastfeed successfully. I shook off fumes of failure every time I stood in the checkout line with baby formula at our local grocery store. But flying with each of them at six weeks old to visit my parents in California, watching skies, mountains, oceans, their sea shell earlobes and twitching noses as they slept in my arms, undisturbed by the world below, as the turbulence worked its magic, was like we were finding our footing. Up here, it was safe to fall in love with this new life in my arms, without feeling like I was tempting fate.

O’Farrell’s words were a reminder that this rose-hued season – with all its conveniently forgotten exhaustions, frustrations and nightmare toddler travel tales to come – is behind me now. And if you’ve read Hamnet, or watched the stunning film adaptation as it soars through the 2026 awards season, you’ll be aware that it is a guide through the darkest places a parent can walk.
Hamnet is a reminder that storytelling – both the story, and the telling of it – is illuminating.
In my first few weeks as the Storytelling and Engagement Coordinator for Healthy Mothers, Healthy Babies, I’ve made my way through half a decade of storytelling in Montana. I’ve cried while washing dishes and listening to “EnduringLoss with Emily Tosoni” in the first season of the Mother Love/LIFTS Podcast. I’ve stood in the middle of my office and said “Huh,” out loud to no one in particular, when a statistic hit home in the “Mining City Stories” series of Season 4. I’ve allowed myself to be unsettled and angry while watching Siloed, a documentary on the disparities in maternal healthcare in rural Montana, and more than once, as first-person narratives were shared in the last five years of our LIFTS Magazine, thought: Hey, me too.
Stories don’t just bring us to tears and leave us there. They can move us to take action. They ask that we clarify our purpose and at their best, face and explore our fears.
For those of us reading on our couch during naptime, or listening in our cars, stories can be ports in a household storm, a stolen hour of stability and connection in the chaos and devastation of the world outside.
For the storyteller, the very art is like dumping a purse all over the floor to sort out what’s actually been buried in there. We make decisions on what’s treasure and what’s trash every time we pick up a pen or open our laptop.
What do I hold on to? What can I throw in the garbage to make this handbag a little less heavy? What can I share that might be valuable?
As the team at Healthy Mothers, Healthy Babies sits down to map out our 2026 season of the LIFTS Podcast, and look ahead to the 6th annual issue of our LIFTS Magazine this summer, I’m honored to step into a role that Claire and Emily established and shaped with such respect, trust and tenderness, bringing our rich stories across Montana to the page and podcast.
If you have any thoughts on topics, issues and policies that you believe are important to parents, caregivers and providers in our state, you can reach me at gwyneth@hmhb-mt.org
And as always, we welcome your story submissions at stories@hmhb-mt.org
I’m so thrilled to read and hear your words in the months to come,
Gwyneth
I eventually got into the drug court program, and went to treatment, and that’s when Callie and her family got involved as foster parents.




In many Indigenous communities, birth is more than a medical event—it is a sacred ceremony, deeply rooted in tradition, community, and ancestral knowledge. While the term “Doula” is widely recognized today, its origins are tied to Western frameworks that may not fully capture the depth of Indigenous birthing practices. Long before Western society formalized the role of Doulas, Indigenous families, Elders, and community members played an essential part in supporting birth as a ceremony.
Diona Buck, representing the MOMS Program provided guidance and resources for Indigenous Birthworkers to engage and support families and elders in their communities. 
SHELBY:
knowledgeable and do my homework. Greyson was there at my graduation, as a little man, just a couple months old. It was so awesome. Eventually, I want to go to college.


Plastic bag painting


My feelings were complex during pregnancy, and talking them through with my partner and friends was incredibly important. I often worried that I wouldn’t know how to connect with my son. I leaned into the words I read from other parents, that “once your baby is born it will be fine, he will just be your baby.” Before becoming a mother, I didn’t know that love for your children grows out of thousands of tiny moments of nurturing, not because your baby shows up in a certain way. And when Alex was born, I could see the depth in his sparkly little eyes and knew I didn’t need to worry about connecting. I’m saddened now that I didn’t understand this before. People with Down syndrome are just people, and being able to connect really isn’t surprising.
When looking into preschools, we were referred to someone at our local Child Care Resource and Referral office who equipped us with information on reasonable accommodations and a list of questions to ask when we visited different programs. This helped us self-advocate and, ultimately, we chose a program that was open to adaptations and that valued my family as collaborators in Alex’s education.



By the time that we moved, Bugs had been diagnosed with some conditions requiring many doctor appointments and hospital stays. Anaconda does not have an Early Head Start (EHS) program, so when we moved to Butte, we started looking at the process of getting her enrolled in AWARE’s EHS program. AWARE runs EHS programs in Butte, Helena, Belgrade and Billings, while other communities provide EHS through different organizations.
There are many parks and play areas across the state that are perfect for young children. Before heading out, check the LIFTS online resource guide for
Have a Picnic
Visit Montana State Parks

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