I named my son Liam because of the beautiful imagery it conjured. Picture a world where every animal peacefully coexists, two by two, on an ark lovingly crafted from the finest wood. The thought of a new beginning captivated me, the planet enveloped in my beloved element, as I have always felt embraced by the ocean’s waves. I envisioned that ancient figure, Liam, standing at the forefront of his vessel, extending his hand to receive two symbols of serenity—a dove and the olive branch she held delicately in her beak. Naming my son after such a cherished figure seemed only fitting, a choice imbued with significance.
On the day Liam came into the world, the sun broke through after 40 days of rain. Born in Oregon, he arrived with a tuft of reddish-blonde hair and a serene expression. He was the first of my children to gaze back at me with curious blue eyes that mirrored my own. His older sister, Lily, who was seven, cradled him in her arms, while his capable four-year-old sister, Clara, looked on in wonder. His younger brother, Noah, just three, was utterly enchanted by every sound and movement Liam made. We named him Liam Patrick, incorporating his father’s middle name, and concluded with my maiden name to make him Liam Patrick Moore. Finally, we added my husband’s last name, creating Liam Patrick Moore Kittel. “Liam Moore,” some would jest, but it would soon take on a different meaning.
Joy quickly turned to sorrow as our time with Liam was tragically short. At his funeral, just 15 months later, I shared these words: “Liam. He graced our lives for one long, beautiful weekend. Born on a Friday night, he was our answer to prayers by dawn on Saturday while the world remained still. We knew the miracle of him before the sun fully rose, while others merely dreamt of such wonders. As the day unfolded, he became a cherished part of our family. We marveled at his little grunts, watched him sleep, shared laughter, fed him his first tastes, and cheered him on as he crawled and took his first steps. By Saturday night, he was indelibly woven into our hearts. He had eight tiny teeth and a radiant smile, clapping for himself as he discovered the joy of standing upright. He expressed his desires loudly, pointed at everything that caught his eye, and delighted in books and ice cream.
As Sunday dawned, we envisioned our future as a family of six. Liam was as integral to our existence as the air we breathed. We played together, creating memories that felt rich and plentiful. Our morning was filled with his sounds, and we cherished him deeply. We celebrated our family’s beauty and felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Yet by Sunday afternoon, Liam had departed, leaving us with a void that could never again be filled. Arriving last but departing first, we are eternally inspired by his spirit. We imparted all we could, but he now knows far more than we can fathom. We are just beginning to comprehend the gifts he bestowed—priceless lessons that transcend words. We remain forever thankful and yearn to experience that Sunday morning once more.”
Twelve years later, our family had grown to include two more children, living in Costa Rica while we left Lily at college. While this milestone was expected to be challenging, the pang of separation was a mere whisper compared to the profound loss of Liam. After all, having said goodbye to my son at a funeral home, any farewell now feels manageable. I had begun documenting the journey of Liam and the loss of his brother, Ethan, whose name means “Liam’s dove,” as he departed during stillbirth, leaving us once more with hearts wide open and longing for connection—Ethan Gabriel Moore Kittel. For three years, I’ve endeavored to capture the essence of their brief yet impactful lives. Often, I’d glance up from my writing, anticipating seeing them toddling towards me, those magical moments spent with my sons while their siblings were at school. In our grief, we learn to cherish what little time we had.
One spring, friends visited us with their three sons, the eldest being Ben, who is autistic. Ben’s parents were Liam’s godparents. Despite the years that had passed since seeing Liam, Ben affectionately called Micah and our youngest, Isaac, by the name—Liam. Hearing that name was music to my ears, and my sons welcomed the association. As a lover of words, naming my children was one of the joys of pregnancy; I chose each name with great care. One of the many ways I miss my sons is in the silence where their names used to resonate. At the end of our week with Ben, I shared with Liam’s godfather how much joy it brought me to hear Liam’s name so often. He sighed in relief, suggesting he thought it might be painful for me. This moment served as a reminder of the misunderstanding that often accompanies our grief.
A few days later, I received a touching digital story from a relative entitled “The Things That Matter.” In her brief three minutes, she chose to highlight how Liam had taught her daughter to climb stairs before he left her playmate behind. It was yet another beautiful gift to hear Liam’s name spoken again.
Even now, 16 and 17 years after their passing, I think of my sons every single day. I will carry their names with me until my last breath. When people hesitate to mention our children, it leaves us questioning whether they’ve been forgotten. Each morning, I long to shout my sons’ names to the universe. “Liam!” “Ethan!” For grieving parents, these truly are the things that matter.
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Summary:
The heartfelt story of a mother named Ella who reflects on the joy and sorrow of naming her son Liam, a name that symbolizes hope and new beginnings. After a brief but impactful time with Liam, his loss deeply affected her family, leading to the birth of his brother, Ethan. Over the years, Ella cherishes the memories of her sons, navigating life while keeping their names and legacies alive. In sharing her experiences, she highlights the importance of remembering lost loved ones, and how their names remain woven into the fabric of her life.