Wave of Light 2020

 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.  We invite you to light a candle (or send "light" thoughts/prayers) from 7pm-8pm in your local time zone. October 15 is infant & pregnancy loss remembrance day and observed through the international wave of light.  

 

This has been an enormously heavy year with grief around the world.  Grief traditions have been disrupted. Many around us have experienced deep loss.  As I read the daily news, there is so much chaos in the world around us.  

 

And yet, I share with both guilt and gratitude, that it’s been a wonderful year (so far) for our family on earth.  Lexi and Ellie are mostly playing together as friends, our bedroom is full of snuggles, and laughter fills the air.  We have spent a lot of time during this pandemic in nature, staring at the stars in the sky, collecting rocks and pinecones, and general meandering. The complexity of emotions prevails in grief, even when you are feeling happy. 

 

I’d like to think that honoring Louie is being present in the highest of highs and lowest of lows.  I would trade anything to have a little boy take up space in this house in the midst of princess dresses.  It’s hard to imagine how different the girls would be if their big brother was around. But we continue to love him and honor him.  We hope you will join our family in remembering him and so many other little ones as well

Happy 6th Birthday!

Dear Louie,
It's your 6th birthday. What I can say is that it is truly an unusual time in the world right now. 

We are currently in the midst of a COVID19 pandemic.  We have been watching the expansion of this disease, the case counters, and responding to the changes daily and almost hourly. 

Schools are closed.  Work has been moved to WFH for those of us who can telecommute.  Churches have moved online.   Any gathering >50 people will be postponed for the next 8 weeks.  It's weird to think the best way we can protect our society and most vulnerable is to distance ourselves.  And yet, that is where we are.  And that is the best thing we can do for others.

During this time, I have often thought about those who have and will lose loved ones.  I hope that our hearts expand to include those who we don't know.  I hope that our patience grows beyond the inconveniences of what we need to do differently.  And most importantly, I hope our gratitude for life and each other emerges as part of this crisis.

I know these are lessons that you taught and continue to teach me.

Your sisters brought you their favorite watering can. They knew exactly what to do when I said we were visiting Ge Ge (big brother).  In this particular case, Ellie eventually woke up from her nap and then remembered how it was her favorite and would not leave it for you.  I trust that you will understand as any older brother would.  We're grateful for you. We miss you every day.

Wave of Light 2019

Dear friends and family, 

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

This is my first year that I will be remembering Louie away from home as I'm currently in London. I was pregnant in London only weeks before his death and it's weird to imagine that version of myself.  I remember sneaking in a touristy visit to see the Rosetta Stone, purchasing my fav Cadbury eggs for the Easter season, and seeing a play space of the Big Ben at the airport and thinking that I'd have a kid "the next time" I was here.  

These days, I've been holding space for Louie by volunteering as a facilitator for HAND.  It feels nice (albeit sad circumstances) to have a place where I get to tell his story, say his name, and he's the kid I get to talk about.  Being his mom has given me sacred access to the broken hearted and I try to honor his life through those moments. 

I hope you have a chance to send your "light" to those around the world today or at minimum, give an extra hug to your loved ones.  I would do anything to get to hold my little guy one more time. 

5 Years of Making Space and Silver Linings

When my son Louie was born 5 years ago and drifted away shortly thereafter to the arms of God, there were a host of existential and spiritual questions that plagued me for the months and years to come.  Did this really just happen?  Why did God see fit to have my son live just long enough to be born?  Why was this happening to us?  Why did other people seem to have it much easier?  What was the purpose in all of this?  

From many well-intentioned friends and family there was a familiar refrain encouraging us to move on, focus on the positive, try to have the next child, and to trust God’s plan.  It was truly hard to listen to some of that at the time.

One of the challenges of having a child who is no longer here, is the utter invisibility of it. People commonly ask how many children we have and I still struggle with how to answer.  I wish there was a less awkward way to give my son enough space in the world which he left so quickly.  (Dead kids aren’t a whole lot of fun to talk about at dinner parties).

The reality is that despite my strong allergic reaction to talking about “silver linings” in difficult things, I must acknowledge that having Louie and then saying goodbye so soon produced incredibly precious things — a mysterious healing in my marriage, a level of gratitude for my daughters that I cannot explain otherwise, more grace for others.  It’s not an exaggeration to say I’m a better husband, father, and friend.

In addition, there is currently a deep well producing clean water for a village of people we may never meet with Louie’s name inscribed on it and a Peruvian boy who turned 5 today whom we sponsored because he shares the same birthday as Louie.  A whole community and a young boy will eat, learn, and live a bit easier for many years directly because of our desire to give our son some more space in the world.

No amount of growth and impact justifies the loss - those calculations don’t make sense in this life.  But I have spent the last five years doing my best to accept Louie’s precious place in my life — and by protecting and keeping space for him, I’ve been able to see good things grow from poisoned soil, beauty emerge from ashes, and life resurrected from death.  I will accept such gains as a small reminder that death does not have the final say in this life -- that love actually has the last word.  

Happy Birthday, my little guy.  I'll be seeing you soon.

Love,

Dad

It's a world of laughter, A world of tears

My dear Louie,
I write to you on what would have been your 5th birthday.  As March 16 approaches each year, I wonder what emotions the next year will bring as I reflect on yet another year without you.

I want to tell you about the story of how my longing for you recently bubbled to the surface in our first family trip to the "happiest place on earth".  There was so much irony to that moment as grief has often forced me to be in two places at once.

We were walking from the perfectly optimized parking lot of Mickey & Friends to the tram.  Once I heard the Disney music sing through air, this extraordinary ordinary family moment of walking from the parking lot suddenly made your absence so palpable that it brought me to tears.  Your little sister, L, skipped to the tram (no surprise as she's been practicing that skill) and your baby sister, E, insisted on using her 17-month old style of waddling/walking. Oh - how I wondered how you would have approached the entrance.  Would you have run towards the train?  Would you have been brave to meet the characters?  Would you have danced to some familiar and never-ending tunes?

These days, the pangs of sadness seem to come out of family experiences where the triggers have yet to be tripped.  They happen when we go to a place or try out an activity for the first time.

Our first ride at Disneyland was "It's a Small World".  While I've heard the song a million times, I never listened closely to the words.

It's a world of laughter
A world of tears
It's a world of hopes
And a world of fears
There's so much that we share
That it's time we're aware
It's a small world after all

Through the last 5 years, we've experienced all of those emotions and journeyed with so many along the way.

I recently became a facilitator for HAND (Helping After NeoNatal Death), which is the support group that we joined shortly after your death.  Each time I facilitate a meeting, I get to share the story of you and us.  It's lovely to have a place to share where you always belong.  I am awaiting the time when we get to create a family memory where we are all together.

There is just one moon
And one golden sun
And a smile means friendship
to everyone
Though the mountains divide
And the oceans are wide
It's a small world after all

 

"Grief doesn't change you. It reveals you." - Wave of Light 2018

Dear friends and family, 

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

These annual milestones remind me how much I still crave for Louie to "have space" in the world where he barely existed.  While I'm so thankful that my heart is full with our family on earth, I still yearn to have my full family here.   

I recently went to my 20th high school reunion over the weekend.  There were a few classmates that came up to me to share how they've been following our story through the years and have kept us in their thoughts and prayers.  I've always been touched how far kindness and love can travel.   It springs up in places, even when we are not completely aware of it.  It reminded me in a different way that my sweet son is getting his space through all the love, prayers, thoughts that have covered our family from near and far. 

One of the quotes that has stayed near me through this journey is from The Fault is in our Stars (a teeny bopper book that I unashamedly like). One of the main characters who suffers from cancer says that "Grief doesn't change you...it reveals you". 

Louie has revealed so much about a mother's love and strength to me.  Being a mother to a child who is no longer here is much more complex and heartbreaking, but I like that it changes over time.  Since I cannot make new memories, I can at least continue to learn and grow from our mother-son bond and learn to love others better.  

So tomorrow I will take that expanded heart and honor my little love.  I will send my biggest, warmest, brightest wishes to all the invisible babies and their families on this earth.  I hope that you will remember him too.  

I love you to the moon and back as long as I live

To my beloved Louie -
It's hard to know where to start these letters.  You would have been 4 this year.  Each one of your birthdays / anniversaries adds a new layer to our family life.

Recently, I've spent a lot of time reflecting on the serenity prayer.

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. 

My sweet boy, I cannot change that you are not here. I also cannot change that I am not there.  And for a very long time, my only wish was for us to be in the same place.  In these four years, I've just started to accept that we cannot change our separation at this moment.

So what can I do?  I've found the courage to live here without you.  Your two little sisters have pulled me to the present.  I've found the courage to be happy.  I've found courage to dream of a family life of laughing, dancing, and even lightness.  I've found the courage to open my heart up again.

I want you to know that it's taken me some time to believe that living was not betrayal to your death. Perhaps that's where I'm leaning into the wisdom between change and acceptance.  So I continue to do my best to protect your place in our family and in our hearts.

Your dad found this heartbreakingly beautiful song and passed it along to me a few months ago.  The words spoke so deeply to me.

CHORUS:

I love you to the moon and back my little winterbear
I know you know how much that is because you are already there
I never knew a love like this could ever possibly exist
I love you to the moon and back as long as I live

For as long as I live, my sweet Louie, I remain a doting mother to my first-born son.  We miss you dearly, my little lobster.