Dear Ezra...

Dear Ezra,

Tomorrow will be one year since you were delivered into the hands of God, our little devastating blessing. 12 months that have passed without the ability to hold you, hug you, kiss you, see you grow. 365 days that have painfully started and ended without the ability to see you grow, develop, and show your personality.

I had big plans for you. Plans to teach you about sports, life, relationships. Plans for you to grow old with your mom, brother, sister, and me. Plans for family vacations and to show you the world and all it’s beauty. Plans to teach you to go to the bathroom by yourself, ride a bike, cook a meal. Plans to love you as only a father could.

I couldn’t wait to see how you would interact with your siblings, how you would get into trouble, how you would bring smiles to our faces. I was so excited to laugh at your jokes, see life through your eyes, and see what type of legacy you would leave on this world.

But there were other plans. Plans that I wasn’t given the “inside scoop” about. Plans that I’m not a huge fan of, but plans that I’m learning to accept.

Because you are having an impact. You are leaving your legacy on this world. You have forever impacted me, changed me, transformed me. And I hate it. And I love it. I hate that you’re not here with me. I hate that I can’t just pick you up and give you hugs and kisses. I hate that I can’t tickle you and watch you scream into fits of hysterics on the floor. I hate it that I can’t tuck you in each night and read you a story.

And I love that you still speak to me every day. I love that you still visit me in different forms. I love that you flow through my fingers as I write in my journal and on this blog. I love that I can feel your embrace through the warm wind across my neck, through the stars in the sky, through the words that others speak. I love that you are still as present as the day you were born into the hands of God.

But you need to know that we miss you with all of our hearts. Your mom, your brother, and your sister. We all miss you. We talk about you all the time. We cry about you all the time. Our heart breaks as we sing songs about you. As we look at the empty chair that sits around our dinner table. As we let our imaginations float to what you would have been like and what you’re doing now that you’re chilling out with God.

I can’t explain to you how much it hurts not having you here. The words just can’t find their way out. I can’t explain to you the impact you have already had on me. As a father, as a husband, as a brother, as a human being… you’ve changed me as only a son could. You’ve taught me lessons that have been so engrained into me that they bleed from my heart and soul through my veins. Lessons that I have only begun to mine the depths of. Lessons that continue to shake me to my very core.

You taught us all about love. The beauty of love. The heartbreak of love. The risks of love. You taught us that we can’t be in control of everything, that we have to step out of our comfort zone and trust. Trust those around us. Trust in God. Trust that whatever comes our way, no matter how wonderful or difficult, that there is a God that loves us unconditionally.

I can’t thank you enough for teaching me what you have taught me. I can’t thank you enough for making me a better person. I can’t thank you enough for being with us for the short time that you were.

And I miss you so much. Tomorrow we’re going to go visit where we lay you. And we’re going to release some balloons for you in hopes that they find you on your earthly birthday. And we’re going to shed some tears because you won’t be physically joining us. And then we’re going to surround ourselves with people that love us and that we love so much. And we’re going to have a toast in your honour. And I’m going to be a fucking mess through the whole thing…even if I don’t show it the whole time. But that’s okay, because I miss you more than anything I’ve ever experienced.

And I’ll be here the whole day, patiently waiting to feel your presence. To feel your message of love that you’ll show through the wind and birds, through God’s creation, through those around us. I’ll be here thinking about you, dreaming about you, and loving you.

You truly have been our devastating blessing and I’m so proud to call you my son.

with all the love of my being,


Father | Husband | Coach | Speaker | Mediator

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