I write a letter to each of my children on their birthdays, and I thought I'd write one to you, too. I figured you had about as good of a chance to read this as my illiterate kids do!
I'll start at the beginning. Your mom and I were pregnant at the same time. We both had two other boys born around the same time, and it looked like our thirds would be even closer. You knew her as mom, but did you know your mom's name is Amy, like mine? And your dad, Eric, yup, just like your uncle, though you know him as Uncle Hoots. We also got married just six months after your mom and dad. They were always one step ahead of us, and your birth was no different. I had just begun labor with your cousin, who we now know as Avery, when I got the call that Sawyer John Howe had said his first hello to the world! Everyone was thrilled! I figured since everything else had been aligned for us, another boy was in our future. Turns out Avery wanted her own gender, and her own birthday (anyone who knows her isn't surprised by this), so 10 hours after you said hello, Avery Kay was born. All the Erics and all the Amys couldn't have been happier.
We lived far away, but we were able to see you three times this past year, perhaps more than our families have ever been able to manage meeting since we've had children. Our last trip to Phoenix was on a whim, and I'm so thankful for it (thank you, Tar Heels, for losing early during March Madness and making the trip possible).
If not for that trip, I would have never gotten stuck in the elevator with you and Avery for 40 minutes, and what a missed opportunity that would have been! I am happy to say we seized every minute of that elevator incident with only the joy and zeal two 2-year-olds can bring. I showed this video to your dad and he laughed because even when you were very scared at the end, you continued to smile. That seems to sum you up pretty well.
Your signature smile was flashed for many and you made sure we could see ALL of your teeth. You had 10 hours on your cousin, and about 10 pounds. When I say you did life big, it's no exaggeration. Your personality matched you body and it was hard to do anything except smile in your presence.
After news of your death began to sink in, I thought a lot about Avery and how from this day forward, she would serve as a constant reminder of exactly how old you would be on each given year. I thought that might be hard. But then I spent a few days in Minnesota with your family and you know what they wanted to do? Be reminded of you. They wanted to talk about how you loved whizzing around the neighborhood on your bike, how you never stopped drooling on your bib, how you would crash so hard at bedtime after all the fun you had each day. Your parents will always know exactly how old you would have been and they will always be thinking about you, so I hope your cousin Avery will instead serve as a happy reminder of you and the life you lived.
You loved riding in your Papa's old truck, and at the funeral, he talked about how you would follow him around saying "Papa's truck?" Or was it "Papa's truck." I think it was more of a command than a question. And once Papa conceded, "I drive?" would follow....or was it "I drive." After the funeral, on the way to the cemetery, while your brothers were geeking out in the limo behind you (possibly the most memorable part of the day for them), you led the pack in your Papa's old truck. When we got the the cemetery, we had to stop to wait for someone to lead us the rest of the way. Papa got out, forgot to put the car in park, and you got to take one more wild ride as the car rolled back and hit the limo behind it. It's a nice thought that even though we can't see you, you can still reek havoc and get into a little trouble.
Sawyer, it hurts that you aren't here with us, but it only hurts because of how much we love you. We will always love you, remember you, and miss you. It was an honor to be your aunt.
Love,
Aunt Amy
