Note: This post contains reflections on the loss of children. Please feel free to skip if this topic may be difficult for you.
May 23, 2015, was a day that changed everything. A day after celebrating my sister's wedding, a freight truck ran a red light and collided with the back of my family’s 4-car caravan. Three of the cars were totaled, and my brother, sister-in-law, and mom were injured. But the most unimaginable loss was the one that took my sweet, radiant, little 2-year-old nephew, Dobbs, from this world. It sent my sister-in-law into emergency labor, and two days later, we lost their precious newborn, Reed, as well.
They were gone too soon. Dobbs should be 12 now, and Reed should be 10.
I often daydream about the people they would have grown up to be. What would Dobbs have become at 12? What would Reed have been like at 10? They are forever in my heart, and I miss them more than words can say.
Gentry Dobbs Eddings III & Reed Michael Eddings—we will never forget you.
It feels like time should’ve stopped that day, but it hasn’t. It’s unfair, but tragedy doesn’t pause life. We have to learn to move forward incrementally. And while that’s difficult, we persevere. Grief is heavy—it’s something you can hold in your hands, something that burns your lungs and takes your breath away. Yet, somehow, we push through. Then, after a decade, you look back and see that you’re still here. Still standing. Still living. Still finding joy, in spite of the sadness.
Two things always exist: the pain and the love. The love I carry for Dobbs and Reed, the grief that will never go away—and I wouldn’t want it to.
As a spiritual person, I strive to lead with love, even amidst life's difficulties. In light of the personal grief I carry, I am also deeply aware of the immense sadness that spans across the globe today. Wars, genocides, and the violence we witness in Gaza and other parts of the world are a stark reminder of how fragile life is. People are grieving losses just like mine, but on a scale I cannot fully fathom. In these dark times, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed, to wonder how we can ever find peace.
Yet, what remains in the face of tragedy is the love we continue to give and the moments we share with those still here. I’ve learned to be present with the ones I love—to embrace the fleeting beauty in every shared smile, every hug, every moment together. As the world continues to change, as loss and sorrow are ever-present, I find peace in being here now. In holding those I love, in doing the best I can with the time I have.
This poem by Morgan Day Cecil, from her project The Petition for Presence, captures this idea beautifully:
Just Be Here With Me
SIGNED:
THE MOON.
THE STARS.
SUMMER.
YOUR STILL-HOT CUP OF COFFEE.
YOUR DAUGHTER.
YOUR SON.
YOUR LOVER.
YOUR HEART.
THE GREEN GRASS.
THE WILD FLOWERS.
THE WATERS YOU LONG TO SWIM IN.
THE COLOR YELLOW.
THE COLOR BLUE.
YOUR FAVORITE POEM.
YOUR FAVORITE BLANKET.
THE WIND IN YOUR HAIR.
THE WAVES ON THE OCEAN.
THE MOUNTAIN AIR.
YOUR DAD.
YOUR MOM.
THE RAIN.
THE ICE CREAM CONE.
THE BUTTER SIZZLING WITH GARLIC IN THE FRYING PAN.
THE GROCERY CLERK WITH SAD, KIND EYES.
POSTCARDS WAITING TO BE SENT.
THE CITY SQUIRREL.
THE COUNTRY SQUIRREL.
JUPITER.
THE PHOTO ALBUM.
YOUR GRANDMOTHER'S ROSARY.
YOUR FAVORITE SONG.
INK AND PAPER.
YOUR BEST FRIEND.
THE MONEY IN YOUR WALLET.
THE FORK IN YOUR HAND.
BRUSHES AND PAINT.
DOWNWARD FACING DOG.
THE COLOR TURQUOISE.
THE ALMOST INVISIBLE SHADE OF PINK.
GOD.
THE SKYLINE.
THE EARTH BENEATH YOUR FEET.
YOUR PASSION PROJECT.
THE SHADE OF A GIANT TREE.
THIS MOMENT, RIGHT HERE, NOW.
YOUR BONES.
YOUR BELLY LAUGH.
YOUR BREATH.
YOUR BREATH.
YOUR BREATH.
This is the reminder I carry with me every day—to be here. To feel the weight of each breath, to be present with those I love, to do the best I can and to fully enjoy the moments of joy I’m lucky enough to have.
From darkness comes light. Through the unimaginable pain, I’ve been so proud of my brother and sister-in-law for how they’ve found a way to keep moving forward together. They’ve grown in faith. They’ve grown their family, with twin boys, Amos and Isaiah, who are now 7 (almost 8). A year after the accident, they opened a school in Minoterie, Haiti, in Dobbs and Reed’s honor—the Dobbs and Reed Eddings Primary School. It provides education and a daily hot meal to children who would otherwise go without.
Today, in remembrance of Dobbs and Reed, I’m donating 20% of all sales to a community in Haiti—home to a school they helped inspire. The Dobbs and Reed Eddings Primary School was built to provide education and meals to children in need. While the school is currently closed due to gang violence in the area, the community is still in urgent need of support. Our donation will help provide critical aid—supporting education and meals for children who need it most. ✨
The sadness will never go away, but I find peace knowing that their love continues to touch others.
Squeeze your loved ones a little tighter today, and remember that we never know how long we have. Hug, hold, and love them with all your heart.
With love,
Meg
