12/25/1996 - 04/07/2025
Harry’s Joy Ride: A Tribute to Laughter & Love
One of our favorite memories with Harry happened on long car rides. Like many families, we’d be cruising down the highway, music playing, conversations flowing. But what made our drives unforgettable was what happened when we accidentally veered onto the rumble strip. The moment the tires hit that bumpy line, the car would vibrate and hum—and without fail, Harry would burst into uncontrollable giggles.
His laughter was infectious. So of course, once we realized how much he loved it, we started hitting the rumble strip on purpose, just to hear him laugh again. And again. And again. It was the kind of laughter that made your heart swell—the kind that reminded you how beautiful joy can be in its purest form.
Harry had a gift for that.
He was the sweetest, kindest, most gentle soul you could ever meet. Always smiling. He loved people. He loved music—all music. And he had this way of lighting up a room without saying a word.
Harry was born on Christmas Day in 1996, our second child. From the beginning, he let us know he was going to do things his own way. He arrived in respiratory distress and had to be rushed by ambulance to a specialty hospital NICU. The first six months of his life were filled with uncertainty—frequent hospital stays and breathing struggles due to a narrowed airway.
But once that was surgically resolved, Harry began to thrive.
He learned sign language. He fed himself with utensils and sipped from cups. He practiced weight-bearing and scooted through the house like he owned the place—happy as a clam, beaming with pride.
Then, when Harry was eight years old, everything changed. He had his first seizure. It would be the first of many. The seizures and the medications that followed slowly erased much of the progress he had made.
But here’s what they didn’t take: his spirit.
Harry still smiled. He still laughed. And he still inspired everyone he met. His joy was resilient. His love, unshakable. His laughter, unforgettable.
Harry reminded us—every single day—that joy isn’t about having an easy path. It’s about finding light, even on the hardest days. It’s about belly-laughing on the highway over a rumble strip. And it’s about sharing that laughter with the people you love.
We miss him dearly. But we carry his laughter with us, always.