Conversations with Caleb

Caleb, The last couple of weeks have been full. Your sister Eryn received her mission call. She leaves in April. Because her departure is coming so quickly, we hurried to plan a weekend to go see your people - your mission friends. Your siblings rearranged work schedules and obligations so we could all go. All seven of us. You know how our family trips always count eight.  Six kids. Two parents. Seven felt… noticeable. A little tender. A little incomplete. But as we counted off in that van, every single one of us felt it - there were eight. You were with us the entire trip. Thank you for helping us feel whole. Buddy, this weekend was about you. The music. The hiking. The long stretches of driving. We wanted to understand you better, and in so many quiet ways, it felt like you were guiding us. What did we learn? Your gift to see people deeply was real. The people you served felt seen. You loved using your priesthood to bless and lift others. You were a goofball, ev...

Caleb, You always knew this, but since you graduated from this life, it has been made undeniable to me: People are good. So very good. When you were little, you were fascinated with “good guys” and “bad guys.” I remember sitting in the suburban with you at a gas station, while Dad was pumping gas, while you carefully watched every person who walked by. “Mom, are they a good guy or a bad guy?” How do you explain to a five-year-old that a stranger isn’t a bad guy just because we don’t know them? That most people are probably good — we just have to be wise and careful? I did my best. Not long after, the deeper realization hit me. The reason you needed to know wasn’t fear. It was possibility. Because if they weren’t bad guys… then they could be your friend. You believed you could be friends with anyone. And as you grew, I saw it more clearly. You looked past quirks,  awkwardness, and even past occasional meanness. You saw through to something deeper — something truer. You sa...

Caleb, Remember when you were trying to improve your cursive handwriting? Learning handwriting as a kid was hard for you. You didn’t exactly love it. But when you started learning cursive, something clicked. You worked at it because you liked how it looked, even though you felt like you never quite perfected it. Sometime during your teenage years—around fifteen, I think—you picked it up again. I wish I could remember exactly when, but I clearly remember this : you brought me a page you had written and asked what I thought. I remember looking at it and thinking two things at once: First— great job . I loved that you were working on your handwriting again. Second— those words . What made you write those words?  So I asked you. You told me they had just come to your mind while you were trying to think of something to write outside your handwriting workbook. You’d written them in a new sketchbook you planned to use for drawing in. I remember this now because—fast forward to a...

Caleb, It has been one month since you crossed beyond the veil. One month since the ground beneath my feet gave way. One month that somehow holds a lifetime of grieving. When Grandpa died, I cried many tears. We missed him. You missed him. Then one year later, Grandma followed, and we cried again. Losing loved ones is never easy, but we grieved together. Two years after that, we lost Meme—and once more, tears flowed freely. You loved each of your grandparents deeply. Every loss left its mark on you. On all of us. And now, years later, our family is carrying a grief we never imagined would be ours. Losing you. Young. Healthy. Vibrant. Full of life and laughter. Always excited to be with family and friends. Serving with your whole heart. Quietly worrying about your future—about getting things right, about not being enough. Caleb, you were enough. You always were. I hope you see that now. And your future? In the short term, it is brighter than the rest of ours. That truth ...