08/03/2026
We miss you Ollie.
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In Ollie’s years, he was the 3 of 4 kids. He left behind a sister and two brothers. He was both a little brother and a big one. We called him our “little middle.”
Today marks three years since his life was taken, and I have been reflecting on all the places I have looked for him since he has been gone.
I’ve looked for him in colors, in childhood, in laughter, in cyclists riding by. I’ve seen his childhood art reflected in paintings of the sunrise, and I’ve felt his love for his little brother in the rainbows that have touched our house.
On the day he died, the absence of him was so enormous and devastating that words can barely hold it. It remains that way.
And yet, I also see the ways his presence, his joy, his love, and his legacy continue to live in us. Every time we work to protect another child, every time we support another family, every time we choose compassion and care for others the way Ollie always did — he lives on.
His life and his love did not end. What he gave us is still bringing goodness into the world around us.
He deserved more than the ten years he was given. But those ten years were filled with so much meaning. One of the things that brought him the most joy was helping other kids, making people feel included, and looking out for others.
When my oldest three were little, we spent countless hours at the library, the pool, and the park. With three kids, they would often wander in different directions, each exploring their own little world, but in the safety of my care.
Yesterday, while taking a walk, I remembered a vivid day at the park — a day like dozens and dozens of others.
Like moms of several kids do, I had my boundaries before we arrived. Everyone stayed on the playground. I would play with them and keep watch. If they needed me and couldn’t find me, they knew to go to our spot — the blanket where we kept our snacks, our meeting place.
As a mom, I had a lot of criteria for that spot: safety, shade, visibility, comfort.
But I laughed to myself when I realized that I always tried to pick the prettiest place with the best view.
How better to comfort a scraped knee than with a hug and a little distraction from the beauty around us? A dandelion up close is an incredible work of art. The trees, the mountains, the clouds — whatever beauty surrounded us — were invitations to be curious and amazed.
The kids would run off to swing and climb. Ollie was always chasing after his big brother. And eventually, they would find their way back to me, to the most beautiful place I could find.
Now, when my grief needs somewhere to rest, I find myself searching for the most beautiful places I can find, sometimes those places are in people, in novelty, in nature.
If I can’t find them—I create them for myself and others. And secretly, I still hope he will meet me there.
We miss him more than words can express. Our entire family feels the impact of his absence. The loss does not become smaller with time. In many ways, there are only more things to mourn as the years go on — more moments he should have been here for, more memories we should have made.
But we are so grateful that he lived.
We are so grateful that he was ours.
And we will keep carrying his love forward. We miss you, our little Olligator.
As always, in his memory we ask that you put your phones down while you drive đź’™
