“Each day, especially in the quiet mornings, your light radiates through me. I cherish this light and vow to care for it as I would have cared for your physical being here.”
Episode Transcript
On October 19, 2025, at about 8 months pregnant, my wife gave birth to our precious daughter Audrey Jo. AJ, as we call her, had died in utero a few days prior. Due to many complications over the next 10 days, including sepsis and blood clots, my wife nearly died as well. She is now getting stronger by the day. What follows is a letter I wrote to AJ a few days ago as I try to move through, rather than bypass, my grief. If you’re new to 3MR, welcome. My name is Cameron Conaway. This is a show where, each week, I share a 3-minute glimpse into something that has reframed my perspective in some way. Today is a special episode, but parts of this letter embody reframes I’ve absorbed over the years. May you and those you love find some value in it. One final note: this letter is raw and unpolished and was written to honor AJ on the day that would have been our induction day. Here goes:
Dearest Audrey Jo, it’s your papa. Writing those words made me realize I won’t get to write them to you, in this realm, on your birthdays, when you return from school, when you’ve fallen in or out of love, or just anytime I wanted to share something with you. Your being in my life has been and will always be the greatest joy and the hardest crash I will ever know. Your mother is the strongest and most beautiful and most loving soul I’ve ever met, and I had the honor of making you with her — supported by the many generations of our ancestors and the infinite moments across time that all somehow coalesced so you could arise and fill us with your brief and eternal light. Though I try to practice not clinging too hard to things, even the idea of holding you, feeding you, playing with you, working to support you… all of it gave me a newfound sense of purpose. I imagined our hikes and snuggles. I longed to see you in your mom’s arms, feeling into the deepest kind of love. I looked forward to you and Baker forming an incredible bond as you looked into each other’s eyes. I hope you felt our love as you were in your mom’s belly, as we welcomed your arrival, as you rested so beautifully on your mom’s chest, and in my arms, and when nestled between us both. The tears dropping from my eyes as I write these words… do you feel that love as well? Wherever you are, I want you to know a few things. First, though we are and will continue to struggle immensely with your not being here in the way we hoped, we will be okay. If there’s one thing your mama and papa are good at it’s how to work through and heal through hard shit. Second, know we feel bathed in your light and wisdom. Each day, especially in the quiet mornings, your light radiates through me. I cherish this light and vow to care for it as I would have cared for your physical being here. Lastly, for now, know that you’ve transformed knowings in my head to endlessly deep wisdom in my heart. I love you, Audrey Jo, and I’ll keep trying to shine my light in ways that reflect the love you have for me.
It’s my life’s greatest honor to know you, fellow traveler.
All my love, Papa.
And that’s this week’s 3-Minute Reframe. If you’re subscribed, you’ll hear from me next week. Take care.