Words

from Carole Parker,
Cousin

I am Carole Parker, another of Cassia�s many cousins. But depending on the day, I also call her mother, daughter, sister and always friend.

Cassia, Peter and Asher, Jon, Sharon and Tony and the many more family members here today,

I can't tell you how much it has meant to me to be with you and your family over these past few weeks. Thank you.

I have tried many times to write what I want to say to you today. . . it is so hard and so important that I didn�t know where to begin. I am stunned and angry and sad all at the same time. I am so far away from acceptance I can barely speak. But I will say it for you and for myself and for every parent here today: it is not fair.

The death of a child cannot be explained by any religion. From my own experience I know that time dulls the pain and other children bring great joy. But that knowledge does not make today any easier.

And yet I am so grateful to have known this sweet boy Luca and I would not change that for the world.

Some of you may recognize my name as the keeper of the RSVP list. Over the past few weeks, I have seen the volumes of letters of grief and sadness and offers of support filling my email and voicemail boxes for Cassia and Peter. And then I look around today at what was originally described to me as being a small, intimate gathering of family and friends. Well talk about your understatement. I’m the person who had to tell Barbara and Peter that we were well over 100 people five days ago and at more than 130 today. I am amazed and yet not amazed one bit. This enormous outpouring of love from family and friends speaks volumes about who you both are Peter and Cassia and the difference you have made in this world, and in the lives of others, and in the lives of your boys. No one can take that away from you.

I am so grateful to have been able to spend time with you both and your new family in the past few months. It is indeed one of the happiest reasons Dan and I had for moving our family across the country last summer to join you and the many more Holsteins and Albers and Reichers and Winklesteins and Hechts who call the Bay Area their home. As my husband quips, it is the saner side of our family.

A few weeks ago, I was finally able to wrestle Luca and Asher away from you for a few hours to take them for a walk while Peter got some work done and Cassia went to get her back repaired. I took them shopping up and down Noe Street, where nearly everyone stopped to admire the two sweet mismatched boys and ask questions. Are they really twins? Who was born first? What do they weigh? Are they identical? How come one has no hair? And a plethora of other questions that you probably got a million times each day but which I thoroughly enjoyed answering for the first time. And after what seemed like only a short while, the text messages started beeping on my phone. Luckily, I forgot my glasses and couldn’t actually read them. But I knew who they were from . . . and what they were saying: it was time to get those boys home.

I am so grateful last week to have had a wonderful walk with Asher and Tony to talk to. I decided to put Asher in the snuggly rather than the stroller because I thought it would remind him of his mommy -- carrying him and his brother close together for so many months. He slept peacefully for many blocks and at least an hour and I felt glad for that.

And I am so grateful that I got to say good bye to this dear boy, Luca. He looked so beautiful in his bed with his family there telling him the stories of their lives, his life. And I must wish that he heard this, that he hears us now, and knows that we love him.

Life is like this: a blip on a radar screen: fleet, fleeting and gone. But for one small moment, we love each other and it means something. The surprise for me is not that we die, but that we live at all. I believe we are interconnected by our stories. We live on in memories. In words. In deeds. Despite time. And distance. Every moment feels precious and I hug my own children a little tighter today. And I tell them the story of a boy named Luca.

Carole

(Words spoken at Luca Holstein Albers’ memorial service, 21 March 2008.)