You knew.
Before the world said goodbye,
before February stole you from us,
you knew.
A little boy was on his way,
and he would carry your name.
Theodore Darcy.
I hope that knowledge
wrapped around your heart
on the hardest days.
I hope it reminded you
that love doesn’t stop
where life does.
Two months later,
he arrived.
Tiny hands.
Curious eyes.
A brand-new heartbeat
carrying an old and beloved name.
You never got to hold him.
He never got to know your laugh,
hear your stories,
or watch the way you lit up a room.
But he has always carried
a piece of you.
Not just in memory.
In his very name.
Theodore Darcy.
When I call him in for supper…
When I cheer from the sidelines…
When I celebrate every birthday…
Your name is there too.
Alive.
Loved.
Remembered.
One day, when he’s older,
I’ll tell him about the cousin
who refused to let cancer define him.
I’ll tell him about your adventures,
your laughter,
your kindness,
and the love that surrounded you until your final breath.
I’ll tell him that you already knew.
That before he ever opened his eyes,
you knew he would carry your name.
And I hope that brings him
the same comfort
it brings me.
Because names are more than words.
Sometimes,
they’re promises.
A promise that someone
will never truly be gone.
As long as I have a son named Theodore Darcy,
a part of you
will always answer
when I call his name.
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