Havi never spoke a word nor walked a single step during her time with her parents. But she communicated with them “powerfully through her smiles and tears, through the brightness of her eyes and the back-and-forth movements of her head.”
Havi, at two years and sixteen days old, died peacefully in their bed and in their arms on January 20, 2021, at 9:04 a.m.
What the Death of a Child Taught Them
“Havi taught us that life can be even more beautiful and painful than we ever imagined. And when we live at the edge of that deepest beauty and deepest pain, then everything—our hearts, our world view, our community—will deepen and expand,” Myra shared.
They honored Havi’s life every Friday night through a celebration of both Shabbat and birthday, or what they call Shabbirthday. For them, it was not enough to limit her birthday to two. So, they threw her 57 shabbirthdays before she died.
But, they didn’t have to pretend Shabbirthdays are fun times. They didn’t throw the parties “to distract or numb the pain.”
“We found moments of beauty and celebration embedded in and between our deepest pain. We knew we needed the love and support of our closest people right there with us, too. And we treated every moment as sacred, not scary. As holy, not superficial,” as she continued.
“Havi’s story is for anyone who has lost the person they love most in this world; for anyone who has watched someone they love lose their beloved; or for anyone who has yet to be touched by their own tragic loss and is open to learning about what it might feel like for them one day.”
What Havi’s Story Is for a Grieving Mother
“For me, Havi’s death is not a one-time event. It happens over and over again every moment she is not where she is supposed to be: Picking out a mismatched set of clothes that look adorable anyway; walking into preschool with her little hand gripping my index finger; pausing between the slides and the swings for a few bites of fig bar at the playground; playing with her little sister who looks up in admiration at her god-given best friend. The losses are layered and constant. And they will accrue, every day, and on every missed milestone until the day I die. I’m not sure people understand that about losing a young child.”
The death of a child made Myra realize the “only way to be okay” is to keep inviting her into spaces. Keeping her present in moments where she should be. This helps them create new memories and experiences with her since her stay on earth was tragically short.
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