Wave of Light 2022

 Dear friends and family, 

It’s that time of year again. The Wave of Light is a tradition for our family to remember Louie and other little ones who are no longer with us. October 15 is infant & pregnancy loss remembrance day and observed through the international wave of light. We invite you to light a candle tomorrow (or send "light" thoughts/prayers) from 7pm-8pm in your local time zone. 

Tomorrow I will be at an event with charity:water and was reminded of Louie’s well. As I step out to light a candle, I always imagine the wave of light that walks across the world connecting us all.  Even in our darkest moments, we wanted his life and memory to be honored with hope and meaning. We hope to make him proud with the life we live on earth.  

These days, I’m delighted that there continue to be more moments of joy than sadness and do not take this for granted. Our family of “all girls” as we hear so often is filled with loudness, laughter, fights, whining, and squeals.  While it can be a bit cacophonous in our home, I know that it’s better than the silence.  

Louie, you are ever present in our family. We miss you every day.  

Wishing peace and love to those who have experienced loss and grief (in many forms) these last few years.  You are not alone and we are all connected.  For those who have your loved ones around, please give them a hug. And for those who have lost loved ones, we are here to carry on your love.

(Visiting Alive and Kicking Lobster - Louie’s namesake - during our summer Boston trip)

Beyond the horizon

My dearest Louie,

This is the first year that I got your birthday year mixed up. I couldn’t remember if it was 7 or 8 years. What a surprise to me that the number wasn’t etched into my heart and brain. Happy 8th birthday, my little lobster. 

As I was reflecting on what to write in your birthday letter for this year, I thought of a poem that a family member sent to me in the first few days after your passing. It has always stayed with me and brought me comfort. 

“Life is eternal; and love is immortal; and death is only a horizon; and a horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight. - Rossiter Worthington Raymond

This year, we took our first vacation outside of the Bay Area since the pandemic started.  We went to Hawaii.  After looking at photos, I realized it was one of the few places that we took you before you were gone.  I had forgotten how majestic the sunsets are. When I’m out in nature - near the ocean, in particular - I think of you. I think of you beyond the horizon - where heaven touches the earth.

In the early days, your dad and I started to write your name in the sand near oceans. We would write your name and then watch it wash away.  Sometimes we didn’t even finish your name before the waves crashed over.  The fleeting nature was fitting for how little time we had together. 

As we wrote your name in the sand during this trip, it was lovely to see how your little sisters joined the ritual as well.  They miss you too.  I’ve been moved in the recent years seeing how they are building their own relationship with you.  

I think of you in Hawaii as it's a rare place where all of my children have been, though 8 years apart. And so perhaps time is just the limit of our sight while we are on earth.

Until we reunite in heaven, you go wherever we go.  You are part of every family trip.  We miss you and love you.