BUBBLES, LOVE, AND COMMUNITY

Brought together by our dance studio, held in love at the park to honour Violet

It’s hard to know where to start.

Before Violet died, Charlie was enrolled in dance class—one of the first activities offered in our town for his age group. I would carry Violet up the stairs with me, always making sure she didn’t try to head back down on her own. Through the open door, she could see everything and hear the music. She couldn’t walk yet, but she watched her big brother with full body enthusiasm. She was always trying to be part of it.

When Violet died, Miss Caroline, the owner of the dance studio, was one of the first to reach out. She told us they were there for us, and she truly meant it. Around the same time, she was stepping back from teaching to work on her master’s degree and bringing in new instructors, as well as expecting her first child. Charlie adores her, and I think the changes at the studio made him feel like he was losing her too.

After Violet’s death, he stopped dancing.

We’d still go to class, and he’d start out excited, but then something would shift and he’d end up sitting with me instead.

I think he missed Violet watching him.

I think he missed the version of life that had her in it.

Over time, Miss Caroline and her mother, Miss Barbara, wanted to do something meaningful—something that would truly honour Violet and make a positive difference. That idea became “Bubbles, Love, and Community.”

A fundraiser. A gathering. A day with Violet at the heart of it.

It raised funds for the SUDC Foundation and for our family. But more than that, it created space for something extraordinary and deeply felt: to remember her with the lightness of bubbles and the weight of love.

The event happened on a warm August afternoon. Our little family had a hard time that morning. Grief can surprise you like that, even when you’re doing something beautiful.

Especially then.

But the moment we arrived, things began to change.

The breeze, the atmosphere, familiar faces of family and friends…it all softened something in us. We had mentioned in the invitation to wear purple if possible, and I had been feeling strange about it because I knew some people went out and bought shirts just for the event. I was kind of wishing I had taken that part out of the invitation so people wouldn’t feel any pressure. However, as I looked around that day at a sea of purple shirts, ribbons, and bracelets—it was such a visual reminder of why everyone was there.

We all came together for the purpose of unity and connection.

Families joined us, carrying both their presence and their love. Children played and laughed, reminding us of joy’s resilience even in grief. Bubbles floated everywhere.

That day, our local park turned into a place of celebration and remembrance.

The tables were covered in fresh flowers and draped in purple tablecloths. There were framed photos of Violet and our family set out with care. There were snacks, refreshments, and bubbles soaring all afternoon. An empty book with blank pages was set out for guests to fill with messages or words of strength. Everything was arranged beautifully, with a tangible sense of love in the details.

The SUDC Foundation had kindly provided bracelets for the event. When it seemed there might not be enough, my friend Victoria, unbeknownst to us, ordered extra purple ones. At first, it felt like a simple, thoughtful gesture. But in the weeks since, those bracelets have become something far greater.

They’ve stretched beyond the day itself—passed into the hands of family, friends, and even strangers we’ve met along the way. For Charlie, they’ve become an invitation for him to talk about his sister, to share her story, and to keep her close in conversations that might never have happened otherwise.

We were surprised with a beautiful piece of art, made with such intention and beauty. The artist, Bam, who also works with the dance studio, deserves a special mention.

She told me she had been inspired by our story and the event, and she created a painting that was unveiled at just the right moment. The gesture, the timing, and the thought behind it was absolutely breathtaking.

The painting made everyone pause in a moment of awe, and it felt like Violet herself was there in that light and colour. In fact, while we were admiring it, a bubble landed on Oliver’s back. It is a piece that we will treasure forever.

Among those who came were two first responders who had been there the night Violet died, this time with their families. Their steady presence in our lives since that night has warmed our hearts and is something we will always carry with us.

A few family members were there too, which meant a great deal. My cousin came, carrying her own grief—her baby daughter, Alvina, died shortly after birth. Yellow flowers, her daughter’s colour, were placed on the table in their honour. Her family's presence was a quiet but powerful reminder of the unspoken bond shared between parents who have known the same heartbreak.

One of my favourite parts of the day was watching Charlie and his friend Mia at the photo table. They kept pointing out pictures—Charlie even picked one up to show it off, proud and smiling, a photo of him and Violet. Every time Mia walked past, she’d say, “There’s Violet.” There were tears, yes. But there were also smiles.

It was a good reminder that children grieve, too.

They remember.

And when given the space, they bring their own kind of presence to loss—one that doesn’t always look like mourning, but like knowing.

Several people told me that day that it was a powerful experience for the kids who attended. It wasn’t like a birthday party, they could tell. It was different. But it was open, it was gentle, and it made the act of remembering someone a present part of their world, not in the past and outside of it. It made memorial normal.

A beautiful cake decorated with delicate purple flowers was brought by the dance studio. When it was time to cut the cake, it felt awkward at first because none of us knew what to do. It wasn’t a celebration, we weren’t sure how to mark the moment, but it was something to share with friends and family. I remembered that that morning I had created a poem, (with a little help from chat GPT). All of a sudden, it felt like the right thing to do. I couldn’t read the poem myself, so I put a few people on the spot. Miss Dana read it out loud with such grace and beauty, giving the cake a new importance and meaning we hadn’t anticipated. That quiet, honest moment shaped the pause before the first slice and made the gathering feel full of care, love, and connection.

***

Bubbles, Love, and Community

For Violet

Today we gather, hearts aglow,

With gentle hands and breath we blow

Bright bubbles rising to the sky—

Each one a light, a soft hello.

Not a farewell or letting go,

More like a love that wants her to know:

"I see you still, I feel you near,

In every laugh, in every tear."

Bubbles burst, but love remains—

It lingers soft, like summer rain.

And here, with open hearts and grace,

We hold her light in every face.

So let them rise, and let them shine—

These fragile spheres of yours and mine.

Together, we remember true:

Violet, we carry you.

***

We remembered Violet as she was.

Not just the pain of her absence, but the light of her presence. Her joy. Her love for people. Her connection to her big brother. Her delight in the world.

It felt like we honoured not only her life, but the way she changed ours. It felt like her memory lived through the laughter, the colours, the kindness, the gathering itself—and will continue to do so.

I think she would have loved it.

Bubbles floating, kids running, people gathered not to mourn—but to hold her in the air a little longer.

A very special thank you to the Creative Movement Centre of Dance for being inspired to organize such a special day, and to everyone involved in making it happen. Your thoughtfulness, care, and energy infused more life into our memories of Violet in a way we will never forget.

And to everyone else who showed up for us—thank you.

Thank you for standing in the sun with us.

Thank you for blowing bubbles into the sky.

Thank you for helping us remember Violet not just in sorrow, but in joy.

You helped raise funds that will support other families through the SUDC Foundation.

You helped support us too, in ways that go far beyond the money.

You were a part of creating something profoundly meaningful.

Not just for us, but for Charlie, and for every child who got to say, “There’s Violet.”

We want to keep learning to let love live where grief does, and continue to find ways to speak her name and share her joy.

You reminded us that we are not doing this alone.

And that means more than we can say.