2025 Walk to Remember — Opening Remarks

Two weeks before my son died, I was laying with my boys in bed. We sand our goodnight songs, told our stories, said our prayers and turned on the space nightlight. I had my 3 year old, Henri, rucked into my side, right where he liked to be. With my arm firmly wrapped around him. His arm around my arm as if to lock me in and stop me from letting him go.

My six year old, Walter, was in the other bed, alone. “What would you do if one of us died?” my six year old asked.

“Ummm … I would dig a hole and lie in it, then pull the dirt on top of me. If you die, I die. How can mommy live without you?” I said, like any good mother would. And I meant it. I’d read articles over the years, of people who had lost their children, and I would think, ‘wow, we’re so lucky’ or ‘thank God that isn’t us,’ or ‘how can they possibly go on?’. I’d say the words everyone says: “I can only imagine.”

But you can’t.

What you imagine doesn’t come close to the reality of losing your child. And the bitterness you feel when you have to learn to live without them.

When my 3 year old, Henri, our Henny, was killed in an accident on Easter Day two weeks later, to my surprise, I kept breathing. The world was a strange new place. I was an “After” now. And it was painful. I feel I can say with a certain level of confidence that this is what the community of child loss parents experience as a whole.

If you are here you have been devastated by a loss as well. If you’re here you’ve been lonely, and afraid. If you’re here, you’re in pain. Losing your child sucks, and grief is the worst.

But also…

If you are here you are wonderful and brave. If you are here, you must have loved your person very much to make sure they are remembered. If you’re here, you are a good parent. If you’re here, no matter what you tell yourself, it’s not your fault. If you’re here, you’re trying.

When my Henny died my brain became a minefield of new thoughts and ideas. All my old thoughts and ideas had been put in a box, shaken up, and thrown out onto the floor of my brain and then stomped on. Slowly my thoughts reformed, took shape, and became something new. I felt crazy for a long time. And lonely for even longer. I looked for my tribe everywhere, other people that had lost their children in freak accidents, I never found them. I need to speak my grief out loud into the universe to work through it. I need to talk about Henny so he is remembered.

I’ve let go of a lot of things I don’t understand and probably never will about the event, the world, chaos, all of it. And I’ve decided to just be here, like you, with you. Drawing strength from you, who feel so broken, I know. But even while broken we can find strength in each other, in remembering our babies. In trying to heal, while never forgetting them. In telling everyone know all the cute and sweet things about them, whether we had them for 3 1/2 years, 3 1/2 minutes, or 3 1/2 weeks. You’re here, and they know that, and one day you’re going to be ok.

- Kacie Gagnon