It’s hard to believe it’s been nearly four months since my last blog post. Summarizing the past few months in a short piece is no easy task, but I’ll do my best to catch you up.
Hope In Every Spot
I want to pick up where I left off last time. It was a few days after our first event and I was feeling overwhelmed with gratitude. The impact from that day has stayed with me ever since. In early June, we delivered our first batch of gifts to BC Children’s Hospital, and we’ve continued making regular deliveries since then. Our next drop is this Friday. Thanks to your generous donations, we should have enough for drops throughout the rest of this year.
In addition to the regular drops, on July 16, we celebrated Sofia’s birthday by delivering 27 special gift baskets—one for each bed on the Oncology floor. Each basket contained a plush lion representing strength, a handmade crochet ladybug symbolizing hope, along with gift cards, activities, stickers, bookmarks, and toys. These were given to the patients and their families for a little joy during their difficult times.
Thank you Megan A and Megan D for making the crochet ladybugs. They were perfect!
Honoring Sofia in this way has been deeply meaningful, and I want to thank each of you for making it possible. Your generosity is creating a lasting impact on families who are navigating incredibly hard moments.
Sam and I have already started discussing plans for next year’s fundraising efforts and event. We’ll share more soon.
A New Family Member Coming Soon
For those of you who follow Sam or me on Instagram, this may not come as a surprise, but for everyone else: we’re expecting a baby boy in January 2026!
I won’t go into too much detail here, but I will share that the pregnancy hasn’t been smooth sailing all the way through. That said, everything looks positive right now, and our family is beyond excited.
Excitement, of course, isn’t the only feeling we’re experiencing—there’s also a fair amount of nervousness. A couple of weeks ago, Sam went in for an ultrasound while Carter and I waited in the waiting room. I had no idea how long the scan was supposed to take, but seeing other patients come and go in about 10–15 minutes had me thinking it would be over soon. When 20 minutes passed, I felt a twinge of anxiety. At 30 minutes, I started to panic. By 40 minutes, my mind was racing with the worst possible scenarios. Why hadn’t anyone told me what was going on?
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the ultrasound tech came to get Carter and me and led us to the room where Sam was waiting. Aside from Sam looking a bit annoyed, everything was fine. In fact, the appointment was actually supposed to take that long. A simple heads-up would’ve been nice!
In reflecting on that experience, I realized it was the first time since Sofia’s passing that I was anxiously waiting for a test result, completely powerless to control the outcome. I’d done this so many times with Sofia. Most results were positive, but the few that weren’t left lasting emotional scars I didn’t fully recognize.
As excited as I am about the baby, I’m also aware of how my past experiences are shaping my expectations for the future. That day served as a reminder that my grief journey is ongoing and that I still have work to do.
Change of Scenery
The anxiety I felt waiting for the ultrasound is just one example of how reliving past experiences can trigger strong emotions. When the baby arrives, I expect that many of these triggers will arise in our own home. We are so fortunate to live in a place full of love and support, with amazing neighbors who have become like family. But every step we will take with our new baby will also be a step we once took with Sofia. I worry about how that might affect me—and how I’ll handle those emotions.
For this reason—and a few others—Sam and I have decided to sell our current home and move back to the Burke Mountain area of Coquitlam. This wasn’t an easy decision, but I’m starting to feel more certain about it every day. It’s not that we don’t love where we live, but we’re hoping a fresh start will be positive for all of us—especially as we welcome our baby boy into the world.
Honoring Sofia in this way has been deeply meaningful, and I want to thank each of you for making it possible. Your generosity is creating a lasting impact on families who are navigating incredibly hard moments.
Sam and I have already started discussing plans for next year’s fundraising efforts and event. We’ll share more soon.
A New Family Member Coming Soon
For those of you who follow Sam or me on Instagram, this may not come as a surprise, but for everyone else: we’re expecting a baby boy in January 2026!
I won’t go into too much detail here, but I will share that the pregnancy hasn’t been smooth sailing all the way through. That said, everything looks positive right now, and our family is beyond excited.
Excitement, of course, isn’t the only feeling we’re experiencing—there’s also a fair amount of nervousness. A couple of weeks ago, Sam went in for an ultrasound while Carter and I waited in the waiting room. I had no idea how long the scan was supposed to take, but seeing other patients come and go in about 10–15 minutes had me thinking it would be over soon. When 20 minutes passed, I felt a twinge of anxiety. At 30 minutes, I started to panic. By 40 minutes, my mind was racing with the worst possible scenarios. Why hadn’t anyone told me what was going on?
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the ultrasound tech came to get Carter and me and led us to the room where Sam was waiting. Aside from Sam looking a bit annoyed, everything was fine. In fact, the appointment was actually supposed to take that long. A simple heads-up would’ve been nice!
In reflecting on that experience, I realized it was the first time since Sofia’s passing that I was anxiously waiting for a test result, completely powerless to control the outcome. I’d done this so many times with Sofia. Most results were positive, but the few that weren’t left lasting emotional scars I didn’t fully recognize.
As excited as I am about the baby, I’m also aware of how my past experiences are shaping my expectations for the future. That day served as a reminder that my grief journey is ongoing and that I still have work to do.
Change of Scenery
The anxiety I felt waiting for the ultrasound is just one example of how reliving past experiences can trigger strong emotions. When the baby arrives, I expect that many of these triggers will arise in our own home. We are so fortunate to live in a place full of love and support, with amazing neighbors who have become like family. But every step we will take with our new baby will also be a step we once took with Sofia. I worry about how that might affect me—and how I’ll handle those emotions.
For this reason—and a few others—Sam and I have decided to sell our current home and move back to the Burke Mountain area of Coquitlam. This wasn’t an easy decision, but I’m starting to feel more certain about it every day. It’s not that we don’t love where we live, but we’re hoping a fresh start will be positive for all of us—especially as we welcome our baby boy into the world.
Peer Support Counselling
During Sofia’s illness, I estimate we spent around 125 nights in the hospital over the course of 9 months. Through all those long days and nights, we encountered many amazing organizations that support families at Children’s Hospital. One group that had a huge impact on me was the West Coast Kids Cancer Foundation. They provide so much—one of the most memorable being the stocked fridges in the hospital lunchroom. It might sound small, but after weeks of limited and monotonous meal options, it was a game-changer. They also host "Smoothie Sundays," where patients, families, and staff can enjoy fresh fruit smoothies at no charge. And when Sofia first got her central line, we ordered a custom shirt from them with a zipper to make accessing the line easier during treatment.
Because of the tremendous support we received, I wanted to find a way to give back and volunteer with their organization. A few months ago, a new role was posted: Peer Support Counsellor. Sam and I both applied—and were both accepted. We’re currently going through training, and once it’s complete, we’ll be paired with parents who are going through the same things we did. Using both the training and our own experiences, we’ll be able to offer direct support to other families.
What makes this especially meaningful for me is that I’m the first male to register as a Peer Support Counsellor in the history of the program. Men often have a harder time seeking help or expressing their emotions, and I know that firsthand because I was one of them. My very first blog entry here spoke to my desire to change that in myself. I hope that my involvement in this peer support program will inspire more men to step forward and take on roles like this, so we can help each other through difficult times.
Carter
In the summer, we went camping at Bridal Falls with a group of neighbors. There were over 20 kids there, and they all had a blast together.
During the trip, a younger boy who knew Sofia and who Carter knows well asked Carter, “Where is your sister?” Without missing a beat, Carter replied, “She’s in Fort St. John.” Carter was referring to his older sister, Kaitlynn, who lived there at the time, so it was a truthful answer. But as I stood there, I quietly said to Carter, “I think he’s asking about Sofia.”
Without hesitation, Carter replied matter of factly, “I know.”
In that moment, I realized how often Carter must field questions like this. He was so quick to respond because he had already rehearsed it in his mind, probably many times before. It was an innocent question, but it also carried the weight of grief—a grief Carter carries every day, even though he’s so young.
His ability to navigate life while making space for his grief is nothing short of remarkable. He’s truly a special kid, and moments like this camping trip remind me how mature he’s had to become in such a short amount of time.
During Sofia’s illness, I estimate we spent around 125 nights in the hospital over the course of 9 months. Through all those long days and nights, we encountered many amazing organizations that support families at Children’s Hospital. One group that had a huge impact on me was the West Coast Kids Cancer Foundation. They provide so much—one of the most memorable being the stocked fridges in the hospital lunchroom. It might sound small, but after weeks of limited and monotonous meal options, it was a game-changer. They also host "Smoothie Sundays," where patients, families, and staff can enjoy fresh fruit smoothies at no charge. And when Sofia first got her central line, we ordered a custom shirt from them with a zipper to make accessing the line easier during treatment.
Because of the tremendous support we received, I wanted to find a way to give back and volunteer with their organization. A few months ago, a new role was posted: Peer Support Counsellor. Sam and I both applied—and were both accepted. We’re currently going through training, and once it’s complete, we’ll be paired with parents who are going through the same things we did. Using both the training and our own experiences, we’ll be able to offer direct support to other families.
What makes this especially meaningful for me is that I’m the first male to register as a Peer Support Counsellor in the history of the program. Men often have a harder time seeking help or expressing their emotions, and I know that firsthand because I was one of them. My very first blog entry here spoke to my desire to change that in myself. I hope that my involvement in this peer support program will inspire more men to step forward and take on roles like this, so we can help each other through difficult times.
Carter
In the summer, we went camping at Bridal Falls with a group of neighbors. There were over 20 kids there, and they all had a blast together.
During the trip, a younger boy who knew Sofia and who Carter knows well asked Carter, “Where is your sister?” Without missing a beat, Carter replied, “She’s in Fort St. John.” Carter was referring to his older sister, Kaitlynn, who lived there at the time, so it was a truthful answer. But as I stood there, I quietly said to Carter, “I think he’s asking about Sofia.”
Without hesitation, Carter replied matter of factly, “I know.”
In that moment, I realized how often Carter must field questions like this. He was so quick to respond because he had already rehearsed it in his mind, probably many times before. It was an innocent question, but it also carried the weight of grief—a grief Carter carries every day, even though he’s so young.
His ability to navigate life while making space for his grief is nothing short of remarkable. He’s truly a special kid, and moments like this camping trip remind me how mature he’s had to become in such a short amount of time.
Carter, Sam and I delivering baskets on Sofia's birthday
You'll probably have to zoom in a bit but I promise there's a baby on that monitor
Love the update Ryan!
ReplyDeleteSuch a powerful update, Ryan. The way you honor Sofia while embracing the future is truly inspiring. Wishing you and your family so much love as you prepare for this next chapter.
ReplyDeleteSending much love and many blessings. Hugs 🫂
ReplyDelete