Whether you count the day after Mother’s Day, or May 11th as the anniversary, it’s been one year since Lauren Davis Shirakawa didn’t wake up from her sleep.
She had just celebrated her first Mother’s Day with her husband, Phil, and their baby, Colin. Autopsy, toxicology, testing of all sorts turned up no conclusive reason why such a bright light was extinguished so early. As much as we would like the world to maintain order and logic, it refuses. It reminds us that what we want isn’t as important as what it’s going to give us, so we’d better act – and react – accordingly.
Lauren is part of my consciousness every day. Without words, her absence tells me to accept that invitation to go out past my bedtime. She convinces me to take on that project I’ve never done before, and to do it with confidence. Not to cram every waking hour with activities, but to remind people in my life that they’re important by showing up for them. Her death affected me deeply, partly because I was one of many who enjoyed watching her grow and become a remarkable young woman. Notably because I’ve seen the changes it’s made to her parents. Life without her was unimaginable, and now here they are a year later, coping the best they can.