He Would Have Been Starting Secondary School This Year

This time of year brings a bittersweet ache to my heart.

He would have been leaving primary school now—saying goodbye to old classmates, signing shirts with bright felt pens, laughing about the memories of his childhood, and nervously preparing for the big step into secondary school.

I imagine him in a smart new uniform, his shoes just a bit too big, his backpack weighing more than it should. I imagine the way he might have smiled, full of nerves and excitement. I imagine all the questions he would have asked, all the dreams he would have had.

But instead, he grew his wings far too soon.

He left us as a baby—before we ever got to see those first steps, hear those first words, or hold his hand on the first day of school. And while the world kept turning, the milestones kept arriving—just without him.

Grief has no timeline. It doesn’t soften just because the years pass. Days like this are reminders of what could have been, what should have been.

But in all that sorrow, there's love. A love that never fades. A love that lives on in memory, in spirit, in the quiet moments when we still feel him near.

So today, we think of him. We honour him. And we imagine him, not in a schoolyard, but flying free with wings we cannot see—forever our little boy, forever loved, forever missed.