Dear Claire,
It is hard for me to begin this letter because I had such hopes of meeting you soon. I have also had reservations about writing a blog post about you, because in some ways I have felt it is not my loss to write about. But then I remember that you knew me through this space and so in many ways it seems fitting that I acknowledge the loss we feel in your passing. Peg printed my past two blog posts and your caregivers read them to you. I can't say how happy that makes me. I am so grateful to Peg and your caregivers that I was able to tell you all about Adeline in this way.

I was so excited to meet you. To share things and learn from you. But mostly just to know who you are. One of the most important women in my husband's life. It takes a very special person to be loved so much by so many. I wanted to thank you for all the ways you've loved and supported Talmon and helped to shape him into the man that he is. He is wonderful, you know.

There have been so many emotions in the Owens house this past week. The night I got the news that you passed, Talmon called me. He was completely broken up and trying to make sense of it all. How could this happen three weeks before our trip to see you? It didn't seem fair. But the loss was deeper than that for him. He watched the sun set in Big Sur and I know that brought a little peace to his heart. When he called me at home and gave me the news, I was putting Adeline to sleep.

She was quietly laying in the bedroom after I finished the phone call. I stood above her with tears in my eyes and she looked at me, her brows so expressive. She has these very wide, serious looks. "You know, Adeline Claire. Your great-grandmother loved you very much," I told her. I didn't know what else to say. I nursed her to sleep that night and thought of you, Claire. You had four children, just like my own mother. How you must have loved each of them, the way I love Adeline.


Motherly love is so scary in some ways. It feels so deeply one sided sometimes. You love this small creature so much, so so much more than anything you have ever loved or will love again. And you grow them inside you and you raise them, and you love them only to send them into the world... away from you.  To give them to the world. You send them to love others.


Claire, I did not know you. But I know how my husband loved you. It is why we named Adeline Claire in honor of you. I have said your name a thousand times or more in French, before I even knew of you. In French, "claire" means bright, clear, luminous.

We went to Pfeiffer Beach yesterday after going to the Post Office. We received a package you sent to us before you passed. Inside the box was a card welcoming Adeline to your family with two bells from your collection enclosed. One was silver, for Talmon and I. The other was porcelain and covered in intricate pink and blue flowers, for Adeline. We let her listen to it and touch it once, very carefully. We will keep it for her, so that she can treasure it in her own home someday. The last gift was a stuffed bear for Adeline holding a pot of flowers and the message "You are Special."



It was an incredibly foggy day along the coast the day we picked up your package and we weren't sure we would be able to stand the cold at the beach. We drove down anyways. It was perfect. A warm ray of sun cut through the rock formations onto our blanket. The ocean was shades of slate grey, dark blue. The sky was turquoise and deep orange. We watched the sunset together and toasted you. Talmon said he was sure you sent us that afternoon. That special time together.


We set Adeline along the shore. She kissed and hugged the bear you sent her. Talmon told us stories about you. He answered all the questions I had about your life. We had a wonderful picnic. It was one of the best afternoons we have spent together as a family. Thank you for making that day for us. We know it was you, because the rest of Big Sur was covered in fog. But there we were. It was bright and clear.


I cannot change what is done. But Claire, I can make you this promise. I promise I will raise my daughter with the message you sent her. "You are special." I will tell her how you loved her. I promise her Papa will tell her stories about you. He already has. I will learn them myself and share them too. Because I know that stories that come from the lips of mothers are sacred. Your story will hold equal weight with the women of my family, I promise. I will always speak kindly and well of you. She will know she was named for  you. That you were luminous.

I know that you are reading this, somewhere. Thank you for loving my husband. Thank you for loving my girl.

Lillian