Saying goodbye never gets any easier. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve said it, or to how many people... Even when you know that saying goodbye means freedom and relief from pain and suffering - goodbye is still so hard to say.
This morning, we said goodbye to our little Quy. It was hard to lose Quy, so soon after losing Loc. Like Loc, Quy was a huge part of our lives, and another member of our little family.
We nicknamed Quy “Little Star” - a name which reflected how precious we thought she was; a name which told of how Quy's bravery shone through some very hard, darker times.
When we first met Quy, she was bright eyed and full of smiles and energy. She was aware of her world, and took every opportunity to be involved in it. She responded to her name, to music, to bouncing and rocking, to the sounds of laughter and stories being read to her.
When Quy became sicker, she needed much gentler, much calmer, quieter care. Quy needed to feel trust in those around her. She had chronic pain and depended on those that were caring for her, to know her and know her body completely, so that we could avoid causing her any additional discomfort.
It was always easy to love Quy – easy to find time to enjoy life’s simple pleasures with her and share joy filled moments, just as it was easy to find time to hold Quy, and comfort her when she needed it most.
Whatever beliefs we may have – whether that be that those who pass away go to heaven to be reunited with loved ones, or that they are reincarnated for another life, or simply that their lives and souls live within memories and moments and that they are forever one with the earth - ultimately, the universal wish for every person is that they are loved, known, and can find peace.
Quy, you were loved, known, and we hope that you are now at peace.
We will miss you, Little Star.