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.
