Losing Levi has left an indescribable mark on all of us, but watching the ripple effects it’s had on my other children is a pain I never anticipated. Each of them is grieving in their own way, and as a mother, it’s both heartbreaking and humbling to witness the depth of their love for their brother.
My older children carry their sadness in different ways. Sometimes, it’s quiet—just a heaviness in their eyes or a crack in their voices when his name comes up. Other times, it’s anger. Anger at the world, at the unfairness of it all, at how something so devastating could happen to someone so young and full of life. They want answers that I can’t always give them, and their frustration is palpable. It’s as if they’re searching for a way to make sense of something that will never fully make sense.
My daughter, in her grief, has channeled her energy into determination. She’s focused on change, researching ways to ensure that no one else has to endure what we’ve been through. She talks about law changes and dreams of advocating for a better future. I see Levi’s fiery spirit in her—the same refusal to accept the status quo and desire to turn pain into something meaningful.
Then there’s my seond youngest son (Levi was the youngest), Levi’s closest brother. He feels the loss most intimately, I think. They were inseparable, partners in everything. Now, he tries not to talk about it too much, as if saying the words would make the pain too real. But when he does, it’s always about the memories they shared—the games they played, the jokes only they understood, the bond that was uniquely theirs. He mentions Levi’s name in those moments, as if to remind us all that Levi is still part of our family, still present in the love we carry for him.
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