This is what I wrote in honor of Rafe:
I have struggled long and hard with what to say here today. To make sense of this. To find meaning. To find a path forward. To have something profound or useful to share. But I have come to the conclusion that there is no sense to be made of this. I have lost ⅓ of all that I hold most dear. My first born son. My protector. My Fikis. I have been shattered into a kaleidoscope of pieces that I do not know how to put back together and I am in agony.

I remember the first time Rafe looked at me. It was a difficult labor, I was very young, and I was scared. They put him in my arms and when he looked up at me, I literally felt the world tilt on its axis. That memory is still as clear as day. I felt a bolt of the purest most intense love I had ever felt. Rafe gave my life meaning and purpose.

Fast forward fifteen years to the psychological holding unit in the same hospital he was born in, and those same eyes looked straight into mine, burning with intensity, as he asked me to let him go (meaning take his own life). I remember my knee-jerk reaction of NO! But inside, part of me felt cruel for keeping him in a world where he did not want to be. And I knew that this would be something he would struggle with for the rest of his life. Because I too have struggled with this. He was offered sustained support in his mental health struggles and I was open about my own experiences. In the end, in his own words to his brothers, his father and me, he said that he knew there was no combination of words that would make this ok, but that he had been deeply troubled for a very long time. He told us that he was sorry, that he loved us all, that this was not our fault, and asked that we be strong like he knew us all to be. He asked to have his ashes scattered along the McKenzie River - his home.

In my journey to navigate Rafe’s death, I delved more deeply into Viking lore. Rafe loved all things vikings and at one point he really wanted to be Ragnar Lothbrok, hairdo, head tattoos and all. The day before he died Rafe actually got another viking tattoo. It meant “the strength of the wolf is the pack - the strength of the pack is the wolf.” This celebration of life is meant to honor that - and give Rafe an event that would make him say “hell yeah, Jenny”. When he would tell me that, I knew I had done well.

Rafe and I shared a love of music and would frequently send each other songs. The viking music that I found helped me feel closer to him. It also helped me get off of my knees - there is pain and longing in the music but also an air of strength telling you to put your chin up, infuse your spine with iron, and fight.

One song in particular really spoke to me. It is called as the moon shone and when I looked up the translation of lyrics, I was struck by how much it reminded me of Rafe. It tells of the story of a strong and handsome young man, who while on a quest in the forest, was bewitched by a forest spirit. Those that lose their heart to a forest spirit never get it back and are forever bound to the forest. They will never be able to get rid of the longing they feel pulling at them, drawing them towards that great unknown. There are three lines in particular that spoke to me “he listens with unhealing sorrow to the whispers from the woods, his soul longs for dreams in the moonlight, and he looks to the woods and cannot find peace”. And he did try. With everything that he had. Rafe was a fighter. I read that people who commit suicide lose two things - a fear of death and hope for the future. I hope that wherever he is, that he has found peace in a beautiful forest, and that I will see him again someday. Because I will forever miss him and my soul is not at rest without all three of my babies.